LITMIR.BIZ

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forever. Nor can I.

      Be useful, Azelma said the day she was taken, be smart, and stay one step ahead of everyone.

      And then it comes to me. Breathtaking in its simplicity, really: the only way to protect someone is to give them to the protection of another Guild.

      I remember Tomasis’s reaction when I was given to him, and I frown. No Guild will want the Tiger’s prey, for all the Lords fear the Tiger.

      Except, perhaps, the Dead Lord.

      I sit upright so suddenly that Ettie looks at me, blinking.

      “What is it, Nina?”

      My mind is racing as I begin to make a new plan, and I am faced with an inconvenient fact: no one has seen the Dead Lord or his Ghosts in weeks. His absence is strange enough to be whispered about in the Court. There is only one person who might know what has become of him.

      The thought is so insane it is laughable.

      What choice do I have?

      “Where are we going?” Ettie asks.

      “To find Lady Corday.”

      “Who is Lady Corday?”

       You don’t want to know.

      “The Lady of the Assassins Guild.”

      Ettie catches her breath. “Where will we find her?”

       Somewhere no one goes—at least, not if they want to walk out alive.

       8

       The Dealers of Death

      In times past, terrible wars threatened to tear the Miracle Court apart, which is why the Law was created to govern all the Guilds. But even with the Law, the Guilds can’t quite give up the moldering suspicions that make them so distrustful of one another. The location of almost every Guild House is a closely guarded secret, known only to Femi and the People of the Pen. One of the exceptions is this house.

      The building is impressive: tall, ancient, built of white marble. Its architecture is spare compared with the extravagant Gothic style of its decaying neighbors.

      My mouth goes dry looking at it. They say it used to house the finest undertakers in all of France; some say it still does. We walk up a manicured path of smooth white stone leading to a large terrace. The front door is tall and black; its knocker is a heavy brass skull.

      The Assassins don’t need to hide their Guild, because members of the Miracle Court usually aren’t foolish enough to seek them out.

      I take a deep breath, wrap my fingers around the cold brass, and rap on the door. The noise thunders through the house, and an eerie, unnatural silence answers us. I pray that no one opens the door.

      No one does.

      “Are you sure this is the right place?” Ettie whispers.

       It’s the right place.

      No one may enter a Guild if they are not a child of that Guild. It is a Law of the Miracle Court. The punishment for entering a Guild House uninvited varies by Guild. Thieves like to hang people from the Pont Neuf by their nether regions, which could be why no one ever tries to visit them. There are stories that say entering the front door of the Assassins Guild without an invitation leads to instant decapitation via hidden guillotine. Invitations are scarce. We’ll have to do without one today.

      Every nerve in my body is alive with dread as I push the heavy door open. That it’s not locked frightens me more than I can say. I pause for a moment. No guillotine falls.

      We stare down a long corridor lit by dim sconces; the floor is a chessboard of black and white marble. There’s a small fountain gurgling delicately at its far end.

      Beside me, Ettie is rigid and quiet. My fear is contagious.

      “Good hunting,” I call as loudly as I dare, making Ettie jump. My greeting goes unanswered.

      “Maybe they’re not home,” Ettie offers. I shake my head.

       The Bats are always home.

      We walk down the corridor; my heart beats a wild staccato.

      This Guild House, like its children, is stark, elegant, and devoid of feeling.

      Ettie approaches the fountain. I grab her by the collar to stop her.

      “Half the members of this Guild have devoted their lives to concocting deadly poisons. Don’t drink anything.” She nods, and we proceed with small, cautious steps. Ettie runs her fingertips along white markings on the dark walls as we go. I glance at them and my blood runs cold. The marks are carved into the wall. Each group of four is crossed with a fifth line. It’s a running tally.

      Ettie is wide-eyed as she inspects the paintings hung on the walls. On the left is a smudged mural of a skeleton dancing with a beautiful young woman: the oldest existing depiction of the danse macabre. On the right is a cluster of portraits: gentlemen and women of varying ethnicities, all dressed in fine black velvet, each holding a goblet filled with what looks like red wine but is actually blood. Rumor has it the portraits are painted in blood too. Each figure either holds a dagger or has a snake wound around their free arm to show which of the two houses of the Guild they belong to: Poisons or Knives.

      “Who are they?” Ettie whispers.

      “The Lords of this Guild.”

      The last portrait depicts a slight woman holding a dagger to show she’s of the House of Knives.

      There’s a breeze.

      The hair on the back of my neck rises, and every nerve in me screams danger.

      “Can I help you?” asks a voice like a dagger point.

      Ettie leaps in surprise. Out of nowhere a tall, thin young man has appeared beside us. His hair is black and barely curls. His skin is tanned, showing his Maghreb heritage. He’s dressed from head to toe in varying shades of almost-black. He looks at us with dark, expressionless eyes.

      He is Montparnasse of the House of Knives, Master of the Assassins Guild. Children of the Miracle Court are respected for the threat their Guild poses. Montparnasse is one of the highest-ranked Masters of the most dangerous Guild of all.

      “Bonjour,” Ettie says politely.

      Horrifyingly, slowly, I become aware that the space around us is full of people. An ebony-skinned young man and a Corsican with an eye patch stand on either side of us, watching.

      “Master of Knives.” I try to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Nous sommes d’un sang.” We are of one blood. I give the slightest of bows while keeping my eyes firmly on him.

      He tilts his head and looks me over, and in a blur, he is inches from me. He raises a hand and I incline my head, a sign of submission, offering my neck for slitting if he sees fit.

      Something cold and sharp touches my skin like a whisper, brushing my hair behind my ear, to reveal my diamond tattoo, the mark of my Guild.

      Montparnasse is so close I am sure he can taste my fear. I try hard not to shake as he looks at me, close as a lover. I try very hard not to think about the fact that he smells of steel, salt, bone, and blood.

      “Thieves Guild,” he whispers, like a caress on my skin.

      Do I imagine the tiniest glimmer of surprise in his voice?

      Then we’re grabbed from behind, dark sacks thrown over our heads. Ettie cries out through the rough cloth. This is bad. I was mad to have come. No one walks into the Assassins Guild and leaves alive.

      I make a noise

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