The words were barely out before the spear left his hand.
The man stopped hesitating.
A blade snapped from his wrist guard into his palm.
The two boys reacted faster than he could swing it.
Hoffer drove his shoulder into the man’s waist without a sound.
The assassin staggered.
Whatever training the man had, Hoffer’s charge only knocked him off balance.
The dagger kept coming.
Silver Scorpion’s thrown spear arrived.
The assassin glared at Valar, who had used Hoffer’s opening to scramble away, snatching up a broken practice lance as he rolled.
The spear punched through the assassin’s body.
The man did not pause.
He spoke in High Valyrian, low and heavy.
“I am sorry.”
He reversed the dagger and drove it into his own throat.
Dead beyond any doubt.
Silver Scorpion pulled his spear from the corpse.
“A Sorrowful Man.
Young master Valar, you may need to return to Volantis early.”
“Who sent him?” The fear on Valar’s face had faded.
He stared at the body, confused.
Hoffer stood in front of him, eyes locked on the corpse.
Silver Scorpion stabbed the body through each limb, the chest, and the head.
Then he turned toward the Silverblood soldiers and the towering armored warriors with double-bladed axes who had come running at the noise.
The Weepers.
“Silver Scorpion!” Steel clattered.
“What have you done?” Gunther Flamebane stormed into the courtyard with Sebastian Flamebane at his heels.
Gunther Flamebane was a tall, powerfully built man with brown hair and a knotted beard.
His polished silver breastplate bore the Flamebane sigil: a black flame on a deep blue field.
He was a hereditary sworn sword of House Valezeth.
Unfortunately, his line had withered.
He had known one unhappy, unforgettable marriage.
His beloved wife died in childbirth.
Grief-stricken, he had impulsively drunk the Oath-Wine laced with Lancel’s blood and sworn never to remarry.
And so House Flamebane had tragically ended.
Another sworn house had met a similar fate.
The former first household, House Valtaken.
Their sole heir, Raffa Valtaken, had choked to death drinking.
House Valtaken had ended too.
Fortunately, Lancel had a large supply of suitable children at the time.
So Sebastian became Gunther’s adopted son and took the name Flamebane.
Lynn took the name Valtaken and the Valtaken seat among the sworn houses.
“Lord Gunther, this is not the time for argument.” Silver Scorpion faced him.
“A Sorrowful Man infiltrated the manor and attempted to assassinate young master Valar.
We need to lock the estate down immediately.”
Gunther steadied himself.
“Understood.
Sebastian, with me.
Silver Scorpion, protect the young master.” He drew his longsword and ran out with a grim-faced Sebastian and several Silverblood cavalrymen.
The remaining Unsullied and Silverblood soldiers moved to secure every entrance to the courtyard, faces hard with alarm.
“Young master Valar, Hoffer.
You need to leave with Lord Gunther and his men.” Silver Scorpion looked at them.
“A Sorrowful Man is bad enough.
If they hired a Faceless Man, the consequences don’t bear thinking about.”
Valar and Hoffer grasped the danger.
They ran to their rooms to pack.
The search lasted a full day.
“Sebas.
Any news?” Valar hurried over the moment a winded, puzzled Sebastian walked into the room.
The fear had passed.
What rose behind it was anger and a strange excitement.
He wanted to know who had the nerve to come after him.
Sebastian grabbed the glass pitcher from the table and poured himself a cup of amber fruit wine.
He drained it.
“My father and I searched the entire estate.
We only found a few hired servants who helped the assassin get inside.
They didn’t know he was a Sorrowful Man.
He told them he was a new Silverblood recruit.”
“What happened to the servants?” Valar pressed.
“Nothing.” Sebastian poured another cup and finally caught his breath.
“Hoffer gave them the Contract-Wine.
They couldn’t lie.
Once we confirmed they weren’t involved, we let them go.”
Valar nodded.
His brother Lancel’s lessons had sunk deep.
“The messenger to the lord should be reaching the manse by now.
We leave tomorrow morning.”
“Good.” Valar nodded hard.
Crash.
Expensive glass shattered across the floor.
“Who did it?”
Lancel’s deep violet eyes were shot with red.
The boy drew a long breath and looked at the sworn men standing along both sides of the long table.
“Forgive me.
That was excessive.”
First Sword Vansen Caon stroked his beard, thinking.
The silver-haired young man Aslan Londer spoke, face tight with fury.
“My lord, it had to be the Tigers.”
“Aslan, evidence.” Doctor Vysaris cautioned.
“The lord is no senator.
Assassinating either the lord or young master Valar harms the Tigers and gains them nothing.
It only hands their enemies a weapon.”
A cold laugh cut him off.
Zethar Shadowweaver, a pale man in black, looked sideways at Vysaris.
“Scholar, do not apply reason to the fools inside the Black Walls.”
The hereditary spymaster of House Valezeth was skilled in Lysene poisons and the Braavosi art of building intelligence networks.
He was also the teacher of Tigaro Dajareon, the man Lynn Valtaken had dragged back.
“Several parties inside and outside the Black Walls can reach a Sorrowful Man.” Zethar Shadowweaver leaned on his serpent-headed cane and limped toward Lancel.
“But only one has a direct conflict with you.
House Bentaro.
Mogul Bentaro is a worthless failure, but House Bentaro’s wealth is enough to fund one reckless impulse.”
“Then why not come after me?” Lancel asked.
“Killing Valar gains him nothing.
Valar has no connection to any of this.”
The boy stopped.
His jaw tightened.
“Or did he think killing my brother would get to me?”
Then he won.
The thought settled in the boy’s chest.
“Because it costs too much.” Zethar Shadowweaver stopped beside Lancel.
“Even the archons of the city-states or the triarchs of Volantis cannot afford the price on your head.”
Lancel had no response.
True.
He had fierce soldiers.
He had Unsullied.
More importantly, he had blood magic.
His sworn men and servants had all drunk the Oath-Wine and the Contract-Wine.
The cats, the dogs, even the ravens in the manse ate feed mixed with his blood.
This manse was a death trap for any stranger.
Even a Faceless Man would find it nearly impossible to infiltrate.
A dragon would be better, of course.
“Fine.” Lancel looked around the room.
“Now let’s discuss how House Bentaro pays.
My brother does not get frightened for free.”
“Perhaps I could use poison?” Tigaro raised a hand.
“Three drops of greycap essence and a little manticore venom.
I can kill everyone in the Bentaro manse without a trace.
The symptoms would read as severe typhoid.”
“The price is not only lives.” Lynn Valtaken countered.
“Tigaro, sometimes you are too extreme.”
“Both Lynn and Tigaro have a point.” Vansen Caon smoothed the air.
“My lord, you…”
“House Bentaro will not pay this price alone.” Lancel studied the map on the long table, eyes narrowing.
House Bentaro had dared to act.
Whether it was truly them or not, they were the prime suspect.
So it was them.
And the Tigers backing them would pay too.
Making the Tigers pay a price that did not cripple them was something their rivals the Elephants would happily support.
That opened room to maneuver.
Perhaps this was the chance to fully redirect the Black Wall nobles’ attention away from his real plans.
The ships were nearly ready.
Once Malach recovered, they could sail for the Valyrian ruins immediately.
Lancel could feel it.
Ever since completing the fire prophecy ritual, something inside him had been pushing him toward the Valyrian ruins.
As if something there was calling to him.
“Lord Caon, prepare the elephant carriage.
Lord Zethar, Tigaro, remain here.
Aslan, Lynn, you’re with me to the Senate.”
“We’re going to settle my brother’s account.”