It’s as much as he’s ever said about Euyn or my connection to the palace. When I first learned that Fallador was alive and living in exile, I worried he’d judge me for surviving, for living with the enemy, but he never did. Instead, he said:if you are devoured by an iku, it does not make you sprout gills. But perhaps his feeling has changed. I’d like to say it doesn’t matter, but it does.
After our traditional cheek kisses goodbye, I walk out of his villa and into the heavy rain. The monsoon season started today, giving us twenty-eight days, two sunsaes total, to return to Yusan. I hope it’s at the head of Khitan’s army.
Either way, I swear on the stars that if Joon touches a hair on my father’s head, I will cut away everything he’s ever cared about. Including his daughter.
Sora may trust her, but I do not. She’s still hiding something. I’m not sure what it is, but I will find out.
With my collar up, I take the narrow, winding side road that leads back to the harbor. Oligarch has a main passageway that circles the mountain as well as smaller, connecting side streets that snake down the hillside. I decide to take the latter.
Most people carry umbrellas once the rains start, but I never do. I need to be able to see in every direction. A lined raincoat would be a good purchase, though. I’ll buy one soon. Khitan uses paper money, and Fallador gave me a thousand marks before I left. It’ll be more than enough to cover everything we need, but there are always other means of getting money.
I make it down one street before I confirm I’m being followed. I caught a shadow as I left Fallador’s villa, and I just heard a noise. I let out a sigh. Whoever is watching me is plain sloppy. The lack of effort is offensive.
A single block later, I’m surrounded—three spies, all Khitanese.
Someone tipped them off. Another traitor in our midst.
I sigh. Yet another lie to sniff out.
“Spymaster,” one says. “We are here to bring you in.”
“I’m afraid I already have plans,” I say.
Thunder claps overhead, and I grab ahold of my dagger. I turn so my back is to the wall of a yellow villa, leaving a spy to each side of me and one in front.
The woman steps forward. She must outrank the two men, but all three seem younger than me. No wonder they’re sloppy—they’re low level. They even look like spies, wearing dark, drab clothes. Although one does have a nice raincoat.
“Drop your weapon,” the woman says.
I smile. “Now, why would I do that?”
She is just far enough away for me to get a running start. I take one step. Two. Then on the third, I launch into the air and aim my dagger. I don’t slit her throat so much as lodge my blade into her neck.
I pull out the dagger just as swiftly. She falls, gurgling to the ground. The second spy moved to strike while my back was turned. Not a bad play, but he’s not nearly fast enough. I swing my arm back and stab him in the gut. Then I pull the blade upward until I hit his breastbone. He doubles over in pain and lets out a howl so loud it can be heard over this thunder.
Stars, die with dignity.
I yank the dagger out and slit his throat so he stops screaming. I don’t need nosy passersby or innocent, helpful people to join us in this alley. Thankfully, most sought shelter from the storm.
The last spy is still trying to get his blade out. I shake my head. He should’ve been a fisherman instead.
He stills when I walk up to him, too scared to move, despite being my height and maybe a little more muscular than me. My arm and dagger are dripping blood. I drop the blade as I get within a few feet of him, letting it clatter onto the wet stone. He stares at the ground, confused for a moment. It’s long enough for me to reach out and take his head in my hands. With a hard twist, I snap his neck.
All three lie dead or dying. I take the raincoat off the last spy, then rifle through each of their clothes. I help myself to another five hundred marks, two daggers, and three poison pills. It’s not like they need any of that now.
None of the spies carry identification, so they at least knew that much. There’s no indication of who sent them, but I’m fairly certain this welcome party came from General Vikal herself. I might as well send back a reply.
I wait for a full minute, folding my new black raincoat, and then I set it on a barrel down the street. It’s still raining hard, but I leave it off because I’m about to make a mess—blood work, of a sort.
I grab my dagger off the ground and then I kneel. I slit the woman and the last spy open from their necks to their navels. Conveniently, I already cut open the other one. But this is why I waited the extra minute—to ensure they were dead. The spies were incompetent, but they hadn’t wronged me. They didn’t deserve to be alive to feel this. This isn’t lingchi.
With all of the bodies open, I stick my hand into the first man. The organs steam. It’s all blood and a hot, squishy mess because this is the one I gut stabbed, but I’m far from squeamish. It takes a little fishing around. I’m a killer, not a healer, but I find his spleen. I cut it out and toss it to the side.
It’s kind of like gutting a fish.
Then I do the same to the other two bodies.
Khitanese people traditionally believe bravery comes from the spleen. They might as well believe it comes from the big toe for all the sense it makes. Bravery is in the mind being stronger than the body, more powerful than logic. But my message is clear: the demon is alive and well in Khitan, and if you come for me, you’d better have more nerve than this.
