“Your break is over,” he barked. “Get to work.”
“Yes, Captain!” their voices shouted in unison.
They scrambled to get their things in order as he made his way to the training hall. The large space was empty, the wood floors scarred by years of drills and sparring. Slivers of moonlight beamed through tall, narrow windows, giving just enough light to make out the chalk ring marked on the floor. Practice swords and rapiers were arranged along the walls, their blades dulled for sparring.
Cedric lit three sconces, grabbed a sword, and approached the nearest dummy. Once, twice, and three times he sliced through the layers of canvas protecting its straw innards. The crude face stitched on its head had a lopsided grin, mocking him.
“She doesn’t listen,” he muttered, performing a spin and striking its right side. “Why doesn’t she listen?”
Cedric slashed its floppy arm, then the other. The smile that remained on the straw dummy fueled his rage.
“She could have died!” He slashed through its abdomen, and straw exploded from its form. Pieces of hay floated over his boots, and he kicked at the debris.
“Sir?”
Cedric whirled, poised in a defensive stance, his sword raised. Jean leaned against the doorway, expression calm except for the slight quirk of his brow. He lowered his weapon, determining Jean a non-threat, and returned it to its place on the wall.
“What is it?” Cedric demanded.
“I’ve come to report.” Jean stepped inside, eyeing the straw littering the ground.
Cedric rolled his hand, “Go on, then.”
“We followed the culprits, but they split in different directions. We lost track of them.”
Cedric swore under his breath.
“However, one of them left this behind.” Jean fished a small, cream-colored packet out of his pocket. “I think you’ll recognize what it is.”
Cedric gingerly took it from him and unfolded the seal. The odorless white powder gleamed softly, revealing its iridescent sheen under the dim light.
Silent Breath.
A chill traced his shoulders. This had not been smuggled in blindly—someone had made room for it.
Sealing it away, Cedric slipped the packet into his pocket for further study. “Is there anything else to report?”
“No, sir.”
“Then your next mission is to track down those men. I want their names, where they live, and who hired them. And look into who is providing Silent Breath shipments in the black market.”
Jean saluted, “Yes, Captain.”
Turning, Cedric waved ahand in dismissal.
There was more to this plot than anyone had realized. Something in him had whispered it from the beginning, but now evidence lay folded in his pocket. The spy who had poisoned the first assassin was still at large, and now he suspected there were more.
As he picked up the training sword, his mind wandered, captivated by the silvery gleam of its blunted edge. But instead of metal, he saw stone floors, a forgotten cellar, and Nin crumpled on the ground.
“She never should have been down there,” he murmured.
“No,” a voice chimed in behind him. “She shouldn’t have felt the need to.”
Cedric pivoted, frowning as Jean remained leaning against the doorframe. He should have known he was still there—he hadn’t heard the telltale retreat of his boots.
Perhaps he was losing his edge.
His gaze sharpened.
