Chapter 1
Let’s get this over with, then,” I sigh and crouch next to his whimpering body. “You know why you’re being targeted, yes?” He shakes his head and I grab his throat, lifting him from the ground and slamming the back of his head into the wet stone. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Samuel. You know exactly why I’m here. Now tell me.” A spark of hope lights his eyes momentarily, as if he thinks admitting his crime is my requisite for letting him go free. Imbecile. “I—I hurt someone.” “You hurt someone.” It’s not a question. He did, but I want him to elaborate. All of my targets confess to their crimes before I take their life. And if they refuse? Well, the guild would have a temporary prisoner, I suppose. But my reputation always proves useful, because these bastards are too frightened of Eldoria’s deadliest assassin to keep their truth hidden for long. “I hurt someo—” I squeeze his throat, and he looks to my eyes for any hint of safety or hope. He won’t find it. Even if I wasn’t here to kill him, he wouldn’t see either. My face is always the mask I wish others to see…nothing else. And right now? Samuel sees death in my gaze, and a promise that it will be much worse for him if he chooses to lie to me again. “I killed a woman.” Every bit of fight, what little he had, abandons his limbs and he goes slack in my hold. “Now you get it,” I praise sweetly. “You won’t be leaving here, Samuel. I will not show you mercy, and I doubt the Angel will, either. Not after you raped and murdered Olivia.” I laugh to myself as my anger demands more than his life. “You’re lucky the method of your death is not my choice,” I whisper sharply, and watch his brows furrow as his body registers the blade in his chest. I only nicked his heart, which will prolong his suffering for a while; it’s not enough to sate the hunger in me that wants to make him pay in full value for his crime, but it will have to do. This was not my revenge to have. I’m only the executor. I pull the blade out, smirking when he drops to the ground with a heavy groan. I wipe the blood off the sleek steel using his shirt and continue to twirl it through my fingers as I lean back against the wall. Suddenly, I’m no longer annoyed with having to stay in this frigid, damp alley. The pained whimpering coming from my target is entertainment enough. I close my eyes and imagine it’s the king’s life sputtering away in front of me, instead of Samuel. As soon as the light left his eyes, I would weave my forbidden temporal strand, taking time back a few moments so that I could watch the second he dies over, and over, again. Weaving that type of essence would ensure my death, if murdering the king didn’t first. That’s fine with me; preferable, actually. There’s nothing left for me here once I get my revenge on him. Maybe Isaiah, but he would easily live without me. He doesn’t need my protection anymore. The muffled voices from a nearby tavern get louder—it must be later than I thought. Looking toward the rapist, I frown when I see he’s already dead, and I missed the best part. I bend to feel for a pulse, or spot any slight breathing, though there is neither. I sigh, frustrated with my wandering thoughts. I wouldn’t chance weaving my temporal strand on him, though, so I will just have to endure the disappointment. The clamoring outside the alley increases and I stand to take my leave, almost feeling sorry for whoever finds this grotesque mess. But I’m not being paid to clean things up…I snort under my breath. I wouldn't despite being paid—Samuel’s body deserves to rot in this cold, empty place for a while. I slip out of the alley, pulling my hood up to hide my easily identifiable hair. I’m fond of the color…it’s the same color my mother’s was, and it feels like I hold a piece of her with me. Unfortunately, no matter how much I love the silver strands, they’re very recognizable. Being the only person in the Eldorian Kingdom, in the physical realm even, with this color makes it difficult to go unnoticed anywhere I am. So I hide it most of the time, allowing myself to travel without the constant stares and whispers. I wish I could weave my shadows everywhere, but no one alive knows that I possess the ethereal affinity. I cannot use any of those strands when others are around, because if I’m found out, I will be executed. Not only is the ethereal affinity illegal, my father told me to never report my third affinity. It’s bad enough that the kingdom knows I possess the other two, making me a useful object to the royals. But to be a universal weaver? There’s only one weaver in history who was known to possess all three affinities, and she was sacrificed to the realms for her essence. According to the official documents, I have the living and elemental affinities, and can only weave the flora, aero, and kinetic strands from them. They've no knowledge regarding my ability to weave all the strands from each affinity, as that would also make me a big target in the eyes of the Eldorian royals. So I keep my secret from everyone, including Isaiah, and allow the king to use me as his personal killer. He’s never met me, as that would look bad for his reputation; but whenever he sends an assignment to the guild, he always requests the Silver Wraith to complete the job. And I do. Gladly. One day, I will use his preference for me to my advantage; it may allow me to get close enough to sink my blade into his heart. Killing him just like he did my father. I push the consuming thoughts away and focus on the damp stone under my silent feet. The streets are nearly empty, as expected, which is a relief for me. Being around many others has never been a comfort of mine; I prefer the darkness and solitude. My thoughts keep me company enough, and these assignments allow me to move about the city without the expectation of conversation. I can just breathe in the empty space around me and bask in the city's quiet. I stretch my neck, attempting to coax cool air into my cloak. It’s warmer than usual this season, though it’s my fault for deciding to wear my fleece-lined leathers instead of my regular ones. I always get hot in these, and yet just like to torture myself for some reason. The sound of clanging hooves drifts from the corner of the next street, and I immediately duck into the shadows. I’m very familiar with the sound of the royal carriages. I watch as the large horses come into view, and my brow furrows. Why would one of the members of the royal family be out at this time of night, let alone in this part of the city? The crimson red and deep gold accents contrast the otherwise white carriage, the colors clear as day even under minimal moonlight. There’s a royal guard stationed on each side of the transport,
