The Assassin's Curse Read Online Free PDF Page A

in
death. His spirit is here, restless and angry.”
    Amaranthe stared at him. That a dead Nurian
was somehow reaching out from the afterlife to affect Sicarius
seemed impossible. Though there were countless stories involving
ancestor spirits in the empire, she’d never seen anything to prove
that they truly existed. Of course, a year earlier, she hadn’t
believed magic existed either, but she’d seen ample examples of the
mental sciences in recent months.
    “What does he want?” Amaranthe asked.
    “For me to kill you.”
    “Me?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat,
fighting for a calm voice, but she was all too conscious of the
fact that Sicarius still gripped her arms, and he continued to
breathe hard, as if he was fighting against something. Something
that was trying to compel him. “Why me? I’ve never even met—”
    “You’re Turgonian.”
    “So are you.”
    “Yes,” Sicarius said, “and he already tried
to get me to commit suicide.”
    Amaranthe swallowed. When had that happened? When Sicarius was up ahead? Or back on the beach when
they first came ashore?
    “But you resisted,” she said.
    “Yes.”
    With more confidence than she felt, Amaranthe
patted him on the side and said, “You’ll resist killing me
too.”
    For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe,
and, through his grip, Amaranthe could almost sense the loathing of
the dead sorcerer.
    Then Sicarius released her. “Yes.”
    The strain in his voice when he said that, as
if he were speaking through clenched teeth, worried her. Everything
here worried her, and she wondered if this good deed was worth it.
She also regretted wishing Sicarius was less infallible. Resist , she silently urged him.
    “You should leave the island,” Amaranthe
said. “Get out of his range of power.”
    “I won’t leave you here alone.”
    “I can handle a couple of thieves on my own.”
Or so she hoped. If the Nurians had sneaked into a heavily guarded
army fort and stolen all that equipment, they certainly weren’t
neophytes. Amaranthe shifted, and her ankle twinged. She couldn’t
forget the roots, branches, and falling trees that seemed to want
her dead too.
    “You’ll have to,” Sicarius said. “I already
tried to kill them, and he stopped me. He’s protecting his
countrymen.”
    “Why’s he only attempting to manipulate you
and not me?” she asked. As far as she knew, no spirit was marauding
through her head, trying to convince her to kill herself.
    “Perhaps he can only control one person at a
time.”
    Sicarius left her side to jump on the back of
the machine crumpled against the boulder. He yanked his dagger free
with a grinding of metal. Amaranthe had seen his black blade in
action numerous times, and it did not surprise her that it could
pierce metal—it probably wouldn’t even be scratched.
    Amaranthe picked up her crossbow and examined
it, careful not to brush against the poisoned quarrel. “Why would
he choose you over me? I haven’t had any training to resist magic,
so I’d be easier to control.” As soon as the words left her mouth,
she realized it might not be a good idea to announce such things to
the malevolent island. “No, he must realize you’re the better
tool.”
    She dropped the crossbow. The firing
mechanism was broken.
    “Do you have any poison left?” Sicarius
returned to her side. An owl hooted nearby.
    “Yes,” Amaranthe said.
    Sicarius pressed something cool into her
palm—the handle of his dagger. She stared at the dark blade.
    “Apply poison to the tip,” he said. “If I...
bother you, use it.”
    “Sicarius, this is ridiculous. Just swim back
to shore.”
    “I’m not sure he’ll let me,” he said
softly.
    “Try. You’re not getting yourself killed out
here, and you’re certainly not killing me. I’ll just go take a look
and see if there’s a way to talk these people out of leaving their
ill-gotten plunder behind, and then I’ll meet you back at that
dock.”
    “Amaranthe...”
    She