She stared at him. “And if I don’t satisfy your curiosity, you’ll use it anyway.”
“If this was about mere curiosity, you wouldn’t be given this chance.”
Lacing her fingers together, she pressed her arms tight to her body. “I’d bet you didn’t have to explain everything to the Commander.”
“The Commander knows me better than my heart mate. And if I were you, I wouldn’t trust rumor and speculation. I didn’t beat the Commander in our first fight. He won and could have easily killed me. He still can. With his knife or with an order. That isn’t the reason I’m his second-in-command.”
“What’s the reason?”
“Pay attention and you’ll find out. Come on.” He strode to the door.
“Where are we going?”
He nodded at her jumpsuit. “To get you a uniform. Nice touch, by the way, hiding lock picks under your toenails.” Valek mentally added check toenails and fingernails to his growing list of new procedures for the castle’s guards.
She covered her surprise. “Thanks.”
Valek guided Onora to the seamstress’s quarters. Long wooden tables strained under the weight of piles of clothing. Dilana sat in her favorite spot by the window, hemming a pair of pants.
And just like she had done with Yelena, Dilana took the girl in hand and fitted her with the standard plain black pants, shirt and boots the members of his corps wore. After Onora had a stack of clothing, Valek showed her to an empty room in the wing used by his corps.
“Bedding is in the supply closet at the end of the hall,” he said. “Meals are served in the dining room. Report to my office right after supper for your first assignment. If you don’t know the way—”
“I know the way.”
Valek ignored her little dig. “Good.”
“What about my weapons?”
“They’ll be returned to you tonight.”
“And if I take off and disappear?”
“Then you will be considered a criminal again. But I’m thinking you’re not the type to run. And besides, what else is out there? Since the Commander’s been in power, there hasn’t been much work for an assassin, and the few who have survived the takeover have moved to Sitia.”
Then it hit him. Perhaps the man who attacked Yelena was an Ixian assassin. Before the takeover, magic was allowed in Ixia. Valek might have the name of her attacker listed in one of his files.
He left Onora and headed straight to his office. The haphazard stacks of files on his desk and the towers of dossiers on the conference table plus the general disarray might give a visitor the impression that he was disorganized. Not so. The mess had been arranged with care and, within the piles, Valek had implemented a system that would help him find the information he needed without having to search his entire office or suite.
After flipping through a heap of reports under the conference table, Valek located the dossier on known assassins. He settled behind his desk and read. Many of the names were familiar. During his years at Hedda’s school, he’d met a few others who’d graduated.
When he’d first started his training, he’d known only Arbon. The boy had shown Valek around the complex and had answered his questions. Arbon had arrived at Hedda’s a season before Valek and had been working on hitting the target with a bow and arrow, which came after perfecting your aim with a knife. They’d spent hundreds of hours inside the training building together and a friendly rivalry began.
“The knife is supposed to stick in the wood, not bounce off the target,” Arbon said to him during one of their daylong sessions. “Can’t kill the King let alone a bunny with that weak throw.”
Valek ignored the jab and considered Arbon’s comment. His throw had lacked power. He needed to strengthen his muscles. That night, Valek found the weight room. The air reeked of sweat and body odor. A few others worked out in the dim lantern light. He didn’t know if the four men and two women were students or instructors and they didn’t bother to introduce themselves. They mostly ignored him when he headed toward the barbells.
But there was always one big mouth. “Hey, skinny arms, do you want me to call my mother to help spot you?” he asked as the others laughed.
Valek stared at the man. Taller, heavier and with thick muscles, the bruiser would pound Valek into pulp. He kept his sarcastic retort about the man’s mother to himself. But someday, he wouldn’t worry about whom he’d pissed off. As he lifted the heavy weights, he focused on that future time.
The teasing stopped after Big Mouth realized Valek wouldn’t react to his digs and when Valek continued to lift the heavy weights every night despite his sore and aching muscles.
“Gotta respect the dedication,” the big bruiser said.
Arbon scoffed at Valek’s efforts. “You’ll burn out by the end of the warm season.”
Curious, Valek asked, “What happens if someone doesn’t complete the training?”
“Why? You thinking of quitting?”
“No. Just wanted to know where to send you my condolences.”
Arbon’s laughter boomed with a deep explosive sound. “Well, then, you roll up your note of sympathy, stick it into a bottle, seal it and toss it over the cliff. When you hear the splash, consider the message delivered.”
Harsh. But that explained why information about the school had been hard to find. Those who failed became fish food. And those who succeeded kept the location of their home base a secret. In fact, most of the students kept a low profile and didn’t make friends. Valek had no idea how many students trained here, or the number of instructors or graduates, for that matter. The lack of information intrigued more than frustrated him.