Eventually, Valek nicked Jorin’s arm and Hedda ended the oddest match Valek had ever fought.

“Jorin, I told you to use magic on him,” Hedda said.

The man pressed a cloth to his bleeding cut. “I did.”

“All of it?” she asked.

“I couldn’t read his thoughts or manipulate them. He broke through the shield and I couldn’t stop his charge. Nothing worked.”

“Wait, magic?” Valek asked.

“Yes,” Hedda snapped. “You need to learn how to fight a magician. How else can you...?” She gaped at him.

Confused, Valek glanced at Jorin. “You’re a magician?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why the knives missed. You used magic.”

“Yes.”

“Is that why...?” Valek brushed his face. The feeling of cobwebs still tingled on his skin.

“Why what?” Jorin asked.

“Why the air was sticky?”

Jorin exchanged a look with Hedda.

“Try it again,” she said.

Turning his brown-eyed gaze on Valek, Jorin’s brow creased. A wave of thick air engulfed him, clinging to his clothes.

“Is this how magic feels?” he asked, moving his arms around.

“You shouldn’t feel anything,” Jorin said. “You should be frozen solid, unable to move a muscle.”

The magic pressed on him, slowing him down but not stopping him. He walked toward the magician. The soupy syrup thickened, but he pressed on and reached Jorin.

Sweat beaded the man’s forehead. He released a breath and the air returned to normal. “Nothing works on him.”

“So that means...” Delight danced in her eyes. “He’s immune to magic. And he might be the one to assassinate the King.”

“I will assassinate the King,” Valek corrected. While he was unsure what this immunity meant, there never was any doubt about the King.

“I’ve never heard of anyone being immune. How long have you had this?” Jorin asked him.

“I don’t know. My grandfather was the only magician in my family, but he died years ago. Other than him, I really haven’t been around any magicians.”

“How about that sticky feeling? Have you felt it before?” Hedda asked.

Valek searched his memory. “Once when I waited on your stoop. During our talk, I felt a brief touch.”

“Ah, that’s why Colette couldn’t get a read on you. We thought it was due to the trauma.”

Trauma. What a nice concise word for such ugliness and pain.

Hedda shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “And here I thought this would be a surprise lesson for you and contain your cockiness. It was a surprise all right.” She blew out a breath. “Well, now, King Killer, more good news. I’m going to personally see to your training.”

Uncertain what it meant to be Hedda’s student, Valek decided to focus on her inflection instead. Before when she called him King Killer, it was a tease, like calling a small man big. Now her tone implied a matter-of-factness. That he liked very much.

Hedda’s training included the usual sparring matches and mind-numbing repetition until he could perform a move in his sleep. However, he finally was learning the art of being an assassin, reading body language, picking locks, studying poisons, climbing buildings and lying without giving himself away.

“Remind me not to play poker with you, King Killer,” Hedda joked one night after he’d convinced the cook that Arbon had spilled the soup even though white cream spotted Valek’s pants.

When Valek had been at the school for almost two years, Hedda declared he was ready. He was fifteen years old. A mix of pride and unease swirled in his chest as he entered her office. Would she assign him a mark? Hedda not only trained assassins, but she was the go-between for many of her former students, taking half the assassination fees for her services.

However, the bigger question was, could he kill a man who hadn’t been a party to his brothers’ murders?

“I’ve a job for you, King Killer,” Hedda said. “Think you can handle it?”

He straightened. “Yes.”

“Good. You’re the new stable boy for the Icefaren Garrison.”

Not quite what he’d been expecting. “Who’s the mark?”

“No one.”

Had he done something wrong? “Then why?”

“A huge part of this job is collecting information. You need to learn this aspect. The actual assassination is the least time-consuming task. First you spend months and months assembling information about your mark. Then you spend days and days planning your attack. The attack itself might take hours at most.”

“All right. What information do you need?”

“A precise account of the comings and goings of all the officers in the garrison.”

“You could bribe one of the enlisted for a copy of the duty roster.”

“I could.”

He considered. “But that might tip them off.”

“Right. It’s always better to have someone trusted inside. And not just anyone, but a person who is invisible. And that would be...?”

Valek recalled his lessons. “Servants, housekeepers, low-ranking staff members and the homeless.”

“Correct. No one pays attention to the stable boys. Make sure you act and dress appropriately. There will be a place for you to sleep. If you’re arrested, you are on your own. You’re to report at dawn. Better get going.”