I’m grateful for my cloak, even with the sun on my face. The sun will burn away the worst of the chill within a few hours, but the dampness will remain, as it always remains in the Thorn.
AT LEAST TENpeople are training today, all of them carefully ignoring one another. Nothing reminds you that you might end up killing your neighbor quite like practicing next to them each morning for years.
I don’t know why I work with Fallon every damned day. She once told me she wants to win the Sands and join the Praesidium Guard. She may have the skill, but she’s not a natural killer. And the Sundering rewards ruthlessness.
I sigh. I train her because if I leave her to her own devices, she’ll bounce into the emperor’s arena with the enthusiasm of a puppy. And she’ll die.
Her footwork is improving, but she still hesitates when forced to use her left hand to swing her sword, as if her body is screaming at her that the movement is unnatural.
“You’re doing it again,” I call.
She spots me and curses. “I’m almost as fast with my left hand as my right.”
“Almost isn’t good enough.” The words are bitter, and I force myself to take a long, slow breath. “Show me your mixed drill.”
With a nod, she turns, her long red hair flying with the motion. Her sword sweeps through the air as she nimbly switches her hands, holding her right arm at her side as if it’s now useless. She pants, gazing at me.
“Better.” I nod.
“Want to spar?”
“I would, but I need to go to Mataras. I’m only here today to remind you that you’re still too slow.”
She glowers at me, and her knuckles turn white around the hilt of her sword. But when her gaze drifts behind me and her cheeks heat, it’s not difficult to guess who she’s looking at.
Carrick.
He’s leaning against the wall at the edge of the training arena, and for the barest moment, I see another man in his place, a hint of a smile curving his lips as he watches me train.
I blink, and it’s just Carrick once more, the silver of his sigil glinting in the sunlight as he pushes tousled blond-brown hair off his face.
“Work on that mixed drill,” I mutter to Fallon.
“I thought I’d walk you home,” Carrick says as I cross the clearing to him.
“I’m not going home.”
He folds his arms. “Then I’ll walk you wherever you want.”
“Carrick.”
“Another body turned up. Heart missing, just like the others. It’s not just mundanes, either. Three sigilmarked have been killed in three weeks. Two of them went missing in the middle of the day.”
I chew on my lower lip. That makes nine bodies since the first death less than two months ago. I’m not surprised Carrick is paying close attention. He knows everything that happens in the Thorn.
“Evren and Gerith—”
“They’re with a group of friends. Those who went missing were alone.”
“Fine.” I turn, striding toward the road. He effortlessly falls into step beside me.
Who would want to do such a thing to the people here? Taking theirhearts would suggest there’s some ritualistic purpose to the murders, and yet it could merely be a final insult from a deranged killer.
Carrick nudges me with his elbow. “What are you thinking?”
I tell him my thoughts, and he casts me an appreciative look. “I’m leaning toward the first option. Taking someone’s heart is time-consuming. Messy. But the wardens refuse to investigate.”
“Shocking.” I take a left, marching past Perrin’s apothecary and heading toward the main thoroughfare. Years ago, Kas and I used to pick flowers in her garden and sell them to nobles along this road as they traveled back into Lysoria.
