The Assassin's Curse Read Online Free PDF Page B

to
pierce. A simple hole in the bottom of that boat, and the thieves
wouldn’t make it more than a half a mile down the river before
their cargo sank.
    Her route took her into darker shadows,
thanks to the peak of the island blocking the low moon, and she
made her decision. Staying low, she scrambled to the water’s edge
and removed her shoes and sword belt. Carrying only Sicarius’s
black blade, she slipped into the lake.
    The boat would pass through the island’s
shadow, and they should have a hard time spotting her as long as
she stayed still and made no splashes. Or so she hoped.
    Holding the dagger made swimming awkward, but
Amaranthe wasn’t about to clench it between her teeth, not with the
poison on the blade. The boat drew closer, and she sank low in the
water, letting only her nose and eyes stick out. Seaweed from the
bottom curled around her leg, and she shook herself free while
being careful not to break the surface or splash. Grimly, she
wondered how far from the island that spirit’s influence
extended.
    Splashes and drips sounded as the boat
approached, its oars dipping and rising in sync. Amaranthe waited
until the thieves were twenty feet away. When she was about to
submerge to swim underwater to the boat’s hull, that cursed owl
hooted again. It flew overhead, a dark winged form gliding beneath
the stars. It had to be warning the Nurians.
    Amaranthe took a breath and submerged anyway,
hoping the thieves could not understand the bird’s alert.
    Darkness reigned below the surface, and she
couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Only sounds guided
her, the splash of the oars and scrapes as they bumped against the
hull.
    She swam toward the noises, hands
outstretched. She needed to find the hull without bumping into the
oars—that would give everything away too soon.
    More seaweed grasped at her ankles. Amaranthe
struggled for calm and tried to shake herself loose. When that
failed, she used the dagger to cut herself free. The stuff was
definitely trying to snare her. She had to keep moving. An image
flashed through her mind, slimy tentacles wrapping about her whole
body and pulling her to the bottom of the lake, never to let
go....
    Her hand brushed something. Wood. Yes, there
was the hull.
    Amaranthe found a grove and hung on as the
thieves rowed, with luck unaware that they carried extra cargo now.
Kicking softly, so they wouldn’t feel her weight dragging at the
boat, she placed the tip of Sicarius’s dagger against the hull
beneath the cargo. She pushed upward and wiggled the blade, trying
to poke a hole without making noise.
    Though the dagger cut through the wood
easily, the going was slow and Amaranthe’s lungs were starting to
burn. She might have to risk swimming away, catching her breath,
and coming back to finish.
    More seaweed curled about her ankle, and she
jerked her leg free. Her knee bumped the bottom of the boat. The
oars paused.
    Amaranthe grew still and curled her legs
beneath her to make sure they would not stick out to the sides of
the boat. She doubted the thieves could see anything under the dark
water, but...
    One of the oars started probing about. It
brushed her sleeve. Cursed ancestors.
    Amaranthe jabbed the dagger into the bottom
of the boat. No more time for stealth and finesse. The black blade
bit through the wood as if it were soft cheese. She sawed a
fist-size hole.
    An oar angled in again, this time clipping
her in the ribs. Her air escaped in a parade of bubbles. Another
oar from the other side of the boat hammered against her shoulder.
They weren’t probing any more but attacking.
    Her hole would have to do. Using her feet,
she pushed off the bottom of the boat. Her trajectory took her more
downward than she would have liked, and tendrils of seaweed snaked
about her from all sides. One piece clamped about her ankle, and
another snatched her wrist.
    Fighting against panic, Amaranthe slashed
with the dagger, keeping her cuts calm and precise. It was