Nightfall ran a hand through tangled mahogany-brown hair that no longer was covered in grime, dust, and dyes. Once a master of disguise living regularly as seven different men, and occasionally as several others, he had spent months adjusting to his given name, Sudian, and the one appearance he had not used since childhood: his own. Doing so obviated the need for him to assume postures that made his slightly less than average height seem taller or shorter, his slender and sinewy frame seem muscular, lame, or bulky; but it also left him feeling naked and vulnerable. Clean-shaven, Sudian had no way to hide his strong chin and cheekbones, his fair skin; and no shadowing or squints masked eyes the dense, dark indigo of blackened steel.
Now free of splints, bandages, and the ache of healing bones and muscles, Nightfall felt driven by the sudden urge to
move
. His life usually kept him in constant motion, in body and mind. He felt withered by the healing and resting, in desperate need of a reckless run or climb. His gaze went naturally to the window, and memory caught him in a sudden and frantic crush. Once again, he felt himself surging through the air as he attacked Chancellor Gilleran in a blood-maddened frenzy, his hands scrabbling for the sorcerer’s throat. Using magic, Gilleran flew, dragging Nightfall with him, through the seventh-story tower window. The sorcerer’s fingernails raked Nightfall’s face in crooked lines of fiery pain. Gilleran kicked and flailed to free himself, soaring ever higher to assure that when Nightfall’s grip failed, the fall would kill him.
Now, as then, Nightfall hid fear behind desperation and will. His mind was inescapably drawn back to that fateful encounter, and his vision gave him only whirling pictures of treetops, guards leaning from the tower windows, and the courtyard far below them. Gilleran’s struggles, and his own previous blood loss, impaired his coordination and threatened his hold on the sorcerer. Given the choice of dying alone or taking the chancellor with him, Nightfall chose the latter. He tapped the talent that had come to him at birth, driving his weight upward, beyond Gilleran’s ability to support. And both of them had plummeted.
It was a plunge Nightfall could never forget, seconds of utter panic that passed like an hour of shrieking agony. Gilleran’s screams had shattered his hearing, and the struggle to break free of Nightfall’s hold became lashing, pounding, and desperate. In the final moments, Nightfall had abruptly lowered his weight, propelling his body to feather-lightness with a thought. He could not reverse the deadly momentum, but it gave him the top position over Gilleran and allowed him to grab a tree limb to slow his descent. Ultimately, the landing killed Gilleran and left Nightfall with a shattered left hand, a dislocated shoulder, a badly bitten thumb, several broken ribs, and deeply unconscious.
He considered himself lucky to have survived at all.
Now, Nightfall pushed aside the detailed pictures his mind still so easily conjured. His life had always depended upon quickness in thought and action, deadly accurate skill, and split-second timing. He could not afford to develop a fear of anything. Hesitation would spell his doom, no matter how normal that delay or unwillingness might seem to the rest of the world. He had no time to spare for second thoughts when his only escape lay beyond a second-, or seventh-, or millionth-story window.
A knock on the door dragged Nightfall fully back to the present. He flipped open the wardrobe and grabbed a set of clean clothing: a shirt, tunic, and breeks in royal Alyndarian purple and silver. Noble’s clothes.
“Who is it?” he called, while he swiftly pulled off his nightshirt and donned the proper garb.
The muffled male voice was unintelligible.
Nightfall smoothed the cold fabric of his silks, shook back his hair, and opened the door to a young male guard with a sword at his belt, dressed in similar colors over mail.
Apparently expecting more conversation shouted through the door, the guard retreated a step, then bowed. “My lord, King Edward Nargol would like to know if you’re well enough to join him in court today.”
King Edward.
The title still sounded bizarre to Nightfall. King
Edward
. He wondered if he could ever see more to the eighteen-year-old monarch of Alyndar than the impetuous, idealistic prince he had escorted around most of the world. Using Chancellor Gilleran’s magical “oath-bond,” King Rikard had bound the deadliest assassin in the four kingdoms to his dangerously naive younger son. Nightfall had been charged with the task of keeping Edward alive and getting him landed within a rapidly dwindling time period, all without the prince knowing his mission or his identity beyond that of the dutiful squire, Sudian. If Nightfall failed at any part, the magic assured Gilleran would take Nightfall’s soul and, with it, his natal weight-shifting talent.
And failure seemed a certainty. No matter what approach Nightfall had taken, Edward’s raw and innocent zeal mangled his best-laid schemes and plans. In the end, Gilleran had undone himself by murdering the elder prince and the king, thereby granting the crown to Edward, landing him through inheritance. Had Nightfall not interfered, Gilleran would have slaughtered Edward as well and would now rule both Alyndar and Nightfall’s soul.
Nightfall lowered his head. He would rather chew off his own fingertips than sit through a morning of highborns’ griping. “Please inform His Majesty pain kept me awake most of the night.” It was a lie. Nightfall could not remember a better sleep. “I’m still not quite ready for court.”
“Yes, my lord.” The guard bowed again, turned, and retreated down the hallway.
Nightfall closed the door, sighing as he did. The excuse would not hold up much longer. Two weeks had passed since the month-long grieving period for King Rikard and Crown Prince Leyne had ended, and the royal healers now proclaimed Nightfall fit. Twice, he had attempted to sit upon the chancellor’s seat at Edward’s side and perform his promised duty, but even dawdling had not rescued him from the tedium. Both times, he had arrived late enough to avoid all the fussy preparations, but he still had to face the proceedings. The first time, he fell asleep amid the ramblings of some knight about honor and family. Nightfall had blamed the lapse on pain medication, though he had taken none in days. The second time, he found his mind wandering and his body in perpetual, fidgeting motion.
Hoping to fulfill another need, Nightfall returned to the window and looked down the three stories into the inner courtyard. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and no one yet tarried or frolicked among the statues, flowers, and benches. Most had just awakened, and the autumn morning chill would keep them away at least until the approach of midday. Certain he had no audience, Nightfall sprang to the window ledge, then swung down onto the stonework of the tower wall. From habit, he easily found finger-and toeholds in the mortar.
A breeze caressed him, bringing with it the memory of wind surging around him as he tumbled helplessly toward the ground, locked with Gilleran. He banished the image fiercely. Fear would not have him. Instead, he concentrated on the feel of the cold stone against his hands, feet, and cheek, finding chinks from long habit, and shinnying down the side as if born to the process. This time, he did not even need to rely on his natal talent. Custom and practice alone allowed him a perfect downward climb.
The moment his feet touched ground, Nightfall shinnied back up, dodging the windows in the first and second floors. It would not do for the castle regulars and help to see the king’s adviser scurrying up and down walls like a spider. Soon, his stomach unclenched and his muscles loosened, falling into the familiarity of their task. The memories of his fall would stay with him, but they could no longer hurt him. One more climb and he would purge the feeling of desperation from his system, would escape the natural inclination to avoid any situation that might remind him of his latest brush with mortality.
For a man like Nightfall, escaping death was as routine as breathing; and he would not allow one incident to haunt him. His new position, as Edward’s adviser, protected him from many of the daily agonies he had known in his prior life. He no longer had to scrounge or steal to eat, no longer had to dodge predators in dark, shit-stinking alleys, no longer had to hide from the whims and rages of the street folk who had unwittingly raised him. But even the magnificent army and navy of Alyndar might not keep him safe from sorcerers.
Nightfall had learned in childhood to avoid using his natal weight-shifting talent whenever possible, worried about discovery. Sorcerers gained their magic only by slaying those rare people born with such an ability, and their method required tortuous ritual slaughter and taking possession of the victim’s soul. Any sorcerer who knew of his power would hunt him as fiercely as Gilleran and others had, and many people would sell any Gifted’s secret for the rewards a sorcerer would pay for such a tip. The Alyndarians still whispered about the gods, happenstance, or demons that had rescued Nightfall from sharing Gilleran’s fate; but few spoke their concerns aloud. To do so might belittle the sacrifice that had rescued King Edward from the fate of his father and brother.
Reaching the sill, Nightfall reversed his course again, needing one more wild climb to placate his internal demons. This time, he skittered like a squirrel, performing broad zigzags and looping circles, clinging sideways and upside down, reassuring himself that his wounds had claimed nothing permanent and his trepidations would never own him. He was Sudian now and forever, but no one had yet demanded that the king’s new adviser become as stodgy and ham-fisted as the others. In his many guises, he had scaled fortresses and mountains, scuttled across riggings and lines, and found his way through tunnels and mazes. He had even escaped the great prison of Alyndar.
Nightfall headed upward again, prepared to clamber back into his room and start his day with the rosy glow of exertion still on his face. As he reached the sill, a hand clamped over his, pinning it in place.
Nightfall froze as possibilities ticked through his mind. A sudden jerk might free him but would also send him tumbling to the ground. He would live, but he saw no need to risk injury, or reveal his talent, unnecessarily. Then, righteous indignation filled him. He knew of no law preventing him from climbing to his own bedroom window. He glanced upward to the young, plain features of his betrothed. Short hair, as white as an elder’s, feathered around her fine cheeks and green-brown eyes narrowed in clear irritation.
“Kelryn.” Nightfall hefted his other hand to the ledge. “You startled me.”
Taking his other wrist, she hauled him toward her.
Nightfall allowed her assistance, though he would have done better without it. Concerned he might inadvertently drag her out the window, he kept his weight on his legs and used only toeholds to work his way inside.
Once there, the lovers faced one another in silence. Nightfall made the first move, reaching for her.
Kelryn dodged his embrace. “Sudian, what are you doing?”
Nightfall smiled innocently. “Trying to hug and kiss the woman who promised to marry me.”
“Now what fool woman would agree to that?” Kelryn bantered, but an edge in her tone took the humor from her words.
Nightfall would have liked to give a witty reply, but he could not ignore the obvious. “You’re mad at me.”
That opened the floodgates. No longer attempting to hide her disappointment, Kelryn spilled the reason. “Of course I’m mad at you.” She turned away, a move that did nothing to lessen his desire for her. Once a dancer, she had a captivating grace that drew him every bit as much as her slender, muscular body. “Ned has treated us with such amazing kindness.” She used the nickname Edward preferred from friends, when formality did not exclude it. “How can you act so blatantly ungrateful?”
“Ungrateful?” Nightfall blinked, surprised by the accusation. “I am grateful. I’m grateful as hell.” Though perhaps not the best choice of words, Nightfall meant them. Gilleran had revealed Nightfall’s identity as the shadowy demon of legend to Edward. The new monarch had been all but honor-bound to execute Nightfall, yet had promoted him instead. Few would have the gall or desire to place an assassin in the ultimate position of trust, yet Edward had. He had also kept Nightfall’s secret, even from his inner circle of guards. The trust the king of Alyndar had placed in Nightfall would have seemed ludicrous and fatally misplaced had it not been so absolutely and utterly correct. In pretending to protect and venerate the guileless, mettlesome prince, he had come to respect and like him, much to his own surprise. “I nearly died saving his royal hide. Isn’t that grateful enough?”
“No.”
The answer caught Nightfall off guard. “No?”
“No, Sudian, it’s not enough.” Kelryn glided to the bed and sat, which only continued to fuel Nightfall’s desire. He had known her for years, yet his hunger for her never seemed satisfied. She had become his shining star, his very definition of beauty. “Graciousness isn’t a one time thing. Edward is a friend, and you should treat him like one. Always.”
Nightfall did not bother to argue. Right or wrong did not matter; he could never win against Kelryn. “I’ve had exactly three friends in my life, and you’re one of them.” He crouched in front of her but did not reach to touch her again. “Perhaps I just don’t know how to treat them.”
“You do.”
Nightfall was not so sure. “Treat me like I don’t.”
Kelryn sighed and pulled her legs onto the bed, folding them. “Let’s start with this: You don’t make promises to friends you have no intention of keeping.”
Nightfall knew exactly where this was going. “You mean the adviser thing?”
Kelryn gave him a penetrating look. “The ‘adviser thing,’ as you so interestingly put it, was your vow to serve Alyndar and her king to the best of your ability. You agreed to become nobility, and it’s time you took up the responsibilities of your position as well as reaped the benefits.”