Valek’s aim with the knife improved faster than with the stone. Arbon claimed Valek would never catch up to him despite the fact Arbon couldn’t finish the requirements with a dart. It just added more incentive for Valek. After working with the weights, he grabbed a lantern and returned to put in a few extra hours of target practice. A couple of weeks later, he started dimming the light a little more each night. It made sense to him. Assassins worked mostly at night. It’d be rare that he’d be aiming at a victim in the bright sunlight.

By the time Valek caught up to Arbon—both working with throwing darts—Valek was sleeping only four hours a day. No one had set a schedule for him, so he slept during the afternoons. Also there were no lessons in fighting or how to be an assassin. On occasion an instructor would arrive to test his aim, but otherwise no one bothered them.

“This is impossible,” Arbon said. He stood about thirty feet from the target, but his dart didn’t reach.

Valek’s efforts to strengthen his muscles showed as he had struck the bull’s-eye at thirty feet, but at forty feet the lightweight dart nose-dived five feet short of the target.

“Is this the last weapon?” he asked Arbon.

“I think so. We’ve done stones, knives, arrows, crossbow bolts and now darts. What’s left?”

“Chains, whips, nunchucks.”

“You practice with those on a dummy. I’ve seen the practice area. It’s in the building along the edge of the cliff.”

Valek hadn’t spent too much time exploring the complex. He considered it a waste of time and energy. He’d been given a task and would accomplish it so he could move on.

After Arbon gave up for the evening, Valek continued to throw the darts. No amount of force made any difference. He mulled over the problem. Perhaps there was another way. Valek picked up a crossbow and tried using a dart instead of a bolt.

The force of the string destroyed the dart before it could launch. Valek laughed for the first time since his brothers’ murders, and the burning pain that had seized his heart for the past year died down for a brief moment. He returned the weapons to the wall and left the training building, which Valek suspected was only used for the new students to see if the boredom and repetition would drive them away.

A warm breeze blew from the east for a change, carrying the dry scents of pine and earth. Even though it was the heating season, the chilly damp air from the Sunset Ocean kept the temperatures low.

He strode to his favorite spot along the cliff, where large gray boulders jutted over the ocean far below. From this height, the crashing water sounded muted and mild. The white tips of the waves glinted in the bright moonlight.

Smaller gray rocks covered the ground between the path and the outcrop. As Valek crossed them, he concentrated on keeping his weight evenly distributed so the stones wouldn’t crunch under his boots. Success was spotty, but tonight he managed only a few cracks.

Grabbing a handful of the rocks, he settled on the edge. His feet dangled and he tossed a bunch of the stones out into the darkness. After a couple of heartbeats, a distant plunk sounded. He absently rubbed two of the rocks together as he pondered the problem with the darts. Nothing sparked. Not even from the heat generated between the stones. However, the action had scraped away the dull gray and revealed a darker color underneath.

Valek pocketed the two rocks and headed back to the target room. On the way, the wind rustled the long green stalks of bamboo that lined the complex’s paths. A hollow wooden ring mixed with the shushing of the leaves. He stopped and cursed his stupidity.

After fetching a knife and a lantern from the training building, Valek cut a piece of bamboo from the plant and brought it to his room. Hedda had called it a cell, and if it’d had bars, he’d agree with her. The tiny space held a cot, a table, a chair. It had no windows, a dirt floor and no place to build a fire. By sleeping in the afternoon, Valek stayed warm, but he wondered what he would do in the cold season. Arbon stayed in a cell two doors down. The other three rooms in the one-story structure that resembled a long shed instead of a building were empty. Again Valek thought isolating the new students had been done for a reason.

He worked on his piece of bamboo until the sides were smooth and straight, and the inside was completely hollow. Sap coated his fingers and the blade of the knife, but he was careful to keep the sticky substance from getting into the center of the bamboo.

Once he was satisfied with it, he returned to the target room to test out his new blowpipe. Starting at the first red mark, he loaded the bamboo with a dart, aimed, then blew out a quick puff of air. He smiled. Much better.

When Arbon arrived after dawn, Valek hid his blowpipe. The boy had once again shaved his hair close to his scalp. White skin shone through the black stubble and looked odd on top of his round face.

“Did you get any further last night?” Arbon asked.

“To sixty feet,” Valek said.

“Liar.”

“How about a bet?”

“All right. What’s the bet?”

They both owned nothing of value. “How about if I hit the target with the dart, you owe me a future favor, and I’ll owe you one if I don’t?”

Arbon agreed.

Valek stepped up to the sixty-foot mark, whipped out his blowpipe and hit the bull’s-eye.

“That’s cheating!” Arbon cried.

“No, it isn’t. I never specified how I’d accomplish it.”

“But—”

“But what, Arbon?” Hedda asked. Clothed in black, she stepped from the dark corner of the room.