“What was that?” he said. “Did you hear that?”
“No,” the duke grumbled, sinking lower in his chair. “Probably our idiot porter getting into the—”
The sound cut him off before he could finish. It was a soft, rolling thump, followed by a clatter. Finley looked at his son, all tiredness gone, and they stood up together. The duke’s hand dropped down to the old sword at his side as he crept toward the library door.
Just before his hand touched the handle, the door flew open, and a white-faced servant burst into the room.
“My lord!” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “You have to get out!”
“Why?” the duke said. “What’s happened?”
The servant looked over his shoulder at the dark hall. “An intruder, sir.”
“Intruder?” the duke said. “Nonsense, let the guards have him. That’s what I pay them for.”
The servant shook his head, grabbing the duke’s arms. “The back, quick—”
The word ended in a tight gasp. The servant’s mouth was still moving, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide as he crumpled, the back of his neck cut wide open. He was dead before he hit the ground.
The duke jumped back before he realized what was happening, drawing his sword on instinct alone. Now that the servant was out of the way, he could see the guards at the end of the hall. Both men were down, lying in dark pools with the back of their necks cut, spines severed cleanly, just like the servant’s.
Finley grew very still, eyes searching the shadows while his fingers tightened on his sword. But the house was still, silent except for his own ragged breaths and those of his son behind him.
Without taking his eyes from the door, he motioned Henry back to the fireplace. Other than the windows, the room had only one entrance. Finley kept his sword up, watching the shadows for any trace of movement. On the floor, the servant’s blood was seeping into the thick carpet. It was so quiet the duke could hear the liquid spreading through the fibers. Panic began to rise in his stomach, but Finley fought it down. He took a deep breath, ignoring the taste of blood in the air and forcing himself to be calm, to look.
That was when he saw the killer.
The man stood at the corner where the stairs met the hall, less than five steps from the fallen guards. He was so still that the duke’s eyes had a hard time picking his dark clothes out of the shadows. Finley blinked several times, still not sure if his eyes were telling the truth. If the man was standing at the other end of house, there was no way he could have killed the servant, not from that distance. Perhaps there were two intruders? As Finley’s mind scrambled to reconcile the facts, the man began to move. He rushed forward, racing down the hall in a handful of seconds, his padded feet completely silent on the hardwood floor.
Finley gritted his teeth and cursed himself for a fool. He’d just wasted his only chance to escape. Now the man stood in the study door, blocking the only exit with his body.
“What do you want?” Finley said, surprised at how stern and clear his voice was.
The man didn’t answer. Now that he was standing in the well-lit library, the duke could see the intruder was slender and tall. He was wrapped head to toe in dark cloth, and even his eyes were hidden beneath black netting. He had a sword at his hip, the sheath wrapped in black as well, but Finley could tell it was a short blade. The duke hefted his own sword. There was still a chance. He had reach on the assassin, so did Henry. The killer had lost his chance at surprise by running forward, and it was two on one now.
At once, Finley felt his confidence returning. He inched his feet forward, stepping into position. Behind him, he heard Henry follow his lead. Finley licked his lips, getting ready to shout for Henry to begin the attack. But the words died on his lips, for at that moment, the assassin drew his sword.
The sword appeared with a flash of silver. Its blade was heavy, short, and gleaming with its own silver light. Finley sucked in a breath. A man in Osera didn’t go through a lifetime of sword training without learning to recognize an awakened blade. The duke was no wizard, but even he could see the sword’s surface trembling in anticipation as the assassin stepped over the servant’s body.
The blow came before the duke could think to raise his sword. One moment the assassin was facing them, short sword in hand, the next the sword was through him. Finley gasped more in surprise than pain, looking down at the blade through his chest, and then up again at the man still standing in the doorway holding a sword that was no longer short, but long as a spear with its point jutting out Finley’s back.
On the other side of the room, the assassin flicked his hand. The sword flashed like a wave, the steel sliding out of Finley’s body, and Henry began to scream. The duke jerked in surprise and turned to help his son, but his body wasn’t moving anymore. He toppled, falling to the carpet. He turned as he fell, looking back just in time to see the glowing blade snap like a whip as it finished slitting his son’s throat.