“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and King Killer.”

He turned. “Yes?”

“You’ll be paid. Not very much, but I expect half of your wages. The other half is yours.”

It seemed a fair deal. Hedda had provided food, clothing and weapons for the past two years and had asked for nothing in return. He wondered just how much an assassin earned. From the size of her school, he guessed quite a bit. And in the past two years the local authorities hadn’t bothered them once, which meant a large portion of that money had to go to bribing the officials.

Valek packed a couple of knives, a handful of the gray rocks and another set of clothes. Stable boys couldn’t afford more than two sets. He changed into his oldest tunic and pants. The clothes he’d arrived at Hedda’s in no longer fit. He’d grown taller and thicker. Not barrel-chested, bulging-biceps thick, but a ropy muscular. Valek worried about keeping in shape while mucking out stalls.

After walking for four hours, he arrived at the stable just after dawn. The Stable Master cuffed him on the ear for being late. The desire to stab the guy flared, but stable boys didn’t stab their masters if they wanted to stay invisible. He swallowed instead, gazing at the ground.

“Git your ass in there and help Reedy,” the Stable Master said.

Valek helped Reedy, a skinny kid barely twelve, groom, water and feed horses. He mucked out stalls, swept up horse hair and cleaned tack. All day. The Stable Master’s leftovers were their meals—not enough for one let alone two. And the “place to sleep” was a pile of straw bales under a scratchy smelly horse blanket in an empty stall, unless all the stalls were filled—then it was on a pile in the aisle without a blanket. And since it was the start of the cold season, he needed that blanket.

He kept track of the officers and discovered their names from their companions and the Stable Master. Most went out in the morning and returned in the evening. But groups would leave and be gone for days, doing sweeps of the outer towns.

After adjusting to the hard labor and long hours, Valek used the cover of darkness to climb into the rafters and onto the stable’s roof to keep in practice. He also scaled the garrison’s main building. A four-story wooden structure with windows.

His pay was a pittance, but he saved half for Hedda. With the other half he bought a few carving tools and a blanket at the market on his day off—the first in a month.

He showed Reedy how to carve. The boy picked it up quick.

“Maybe you can apprentice to a wood-carver,” Valek suggested. “It’s better than here.”

The boy shrugged. “I like it here. Better than starving on the street. And the horses like me.”

True. They preferred Reedy’s care over his. Even though he’d learned more about horses in the past month than he thought possible. At one point, he thought he had marked all the officers, but then a big group he hadn’t seen leave arrived one night from a sweep. Guess one month wouldn’t be enough time.

Boredom eventually drove him to attempt to open a window and slip inside the garrison, thinking he’d find a duty roster and copy it so he could return to Hedda’s.

Late one night, he climbed up to the third story on the darkest side of the building. The window opened without trouble. He entered an office, but it was too dark to read anything and he hadn’t brought a match for the lantern. Voices nearby spooked him and he left.

Some assassin. He’d gone in unprepared and without an inkling of who was around that office or knowing if a light would have tipped them off to his presence or not. Next time, he’d be ready.

“Hey, boy.” A boot nudged him in the ribs later that night. “Wake up. Help the riders.”

Half-asleep, Valek rolled off the straw and pulled saddles from sweaty horses as the men collected their saddlebags. They laughed and joked and ignored Valek and Reedy.

“There’s Fester. What took you so long, Fester? Did you get lost?” The man chuckled as another rider entered the stable.

“Damn horse threw a shoe,” Fester grumbled.

Valek froze as ice seized his heart. That voice. He turned as Fester dismounted. The stable’s lanterns lit the officer with a pale yellow glow. Beady eyes, bulbous nose, cracked lips—Valek would never forget this murderer’s face. He reached for his knife and paused, closing his eyes for a moment.

Lose the anger. Hedda’s words repeated in his mind.

When he opened his eyes, he noticed the details he’d missed before. How many other armed officers crowded the stable. How close the Stable Master stood to him. If he stabbed Fester, they’d be on him in seconds. And what about the two other murderers? They’d be from this garrison, as well. Kill one and it would alert the others. Better to wait.

As he groomed the horses, he had to give Hedda credit. This was more than a training exercise in patience. He’d been so focused on learning to kill, he hadn’t spared a moment to consider how he would find the soldiers who’d murdered his brothers in the King’s name. She’d been one step ahead of him.

Over the next season, he discovered the names of the other murderers. He learned their schedules, habits, vices, and virtues—none. After he collected enough information, the next stage, planning, loomed over him. Without any prior instruction on how to plan revenge, he returned to Hedda’s school on his next day off.

“That’s an impressive amount of intel you collected in three months,” Hedda said. “You need to find the best way to kill all three without being caught.”