Free The Misbegotten (An Assassin's Blade Book 1) by Justin DePaoli

If you heard the mess I was told about Vileoux’s death—”
    “Hear, hear, hear,” my brother said. “Did you actually see anything?”
    I spun around so hard and fast, my knee slammed into the side of the cart. “Did I see anything? Did I see anything ?”
    “Shut your bloody mouths,” one of the transport guards said. “Fuckin’ road’s hell as it is, I don’t need a splitting skull to go along with it.”
    Anton laughed quietly at me. “You didn’t. Tell me otherwise. Go ahead. Tell me you saw evidence that Edenvaile’s king was murdered. Don’t even go into all the things you heard. Just tell me you at least saw him lying in a sarcophagus, dead.”
    “Something big is coming, Anton. I’m sorry you don’t have the wherewithal to perceive that.”
    “I’m sure,” he said in a patronizing tone. “War is pretty big, after all. If you want my theory, it’s that the Verdans are playing a game of keep-away with Vileoux, pretending he’s dead. They don’t like that the Glannondils are so powerful, so they’re going to play the assassination card, blaming it on Lord Braddock. A few agreements later, alliances are made, war breaks out, and the world is restructured. No conjurers, no silly magic. Just old-fashioned bloodlust.”
    The horses at the head of the cart snorted, and an inquisitive rabbit hopped out of the way. “Just one problem,” I said. “Rivon Eyrie.”
    “Would you let it go? He played you, brother. He’s not a Rot anymore. He’s trying to climb the ranks, swindle himself into the court. He did himself a big favor by turning you in. I respect it, actually.”
    Poor Anton, one eye black and the other white, forever and for always, it seemed. “I saw the hopelessness in his eyes, heard the loss of life in his voice. I felt the dread, the primal terror in his words. This wasn’t an act. Something — someone — disturbed him, deeply.”
    “Acting is a skill,” Anton said. “Like a blade, one can sharpen it till it sings.”
    “Even if that were true, he would never forget the Black Rot.”
    My brother shifted in the seat. “Climbing the ranks is more important to him than old friendships.”
    “That’s not what I mean. Have you wondered why, if your dear Lord Braddock seethed with so much hatred for me, he never sent a small excursion to the Hole? Why, if anyone else had the mind to off his uncle, he’d bring the wrath of the Glannondils down upon them. But he gift-wrapped me nothing more than a thinly veiled threat.”
    “You always told me the Hole is impregnable.”
    “It is,” I agreed. “But what’s stopping a small platoon of cavalry from waiting nearby, till I clamber on down from my hill.” I leaned close. “ Fear , that’s what. Do you know why spiders instill such fear in so many?”
    Anton looked annoyed.
    “They’re the true embodiment of darkness,” I said. “They lurk in the emptiness, the dank, the shadows, the places your eyes can’t see and your mind doesn’t like to go. They’re silent as a wisp, despite skittering across your floors, spinning their webs, spawning their alien young. And they’re everywhere, in every nook of the world. Worst of all, they’re unpredictable. You never know in which direction they’ll scurry, where they’ll move to next. But they’re always there, aren’t they? And so it is with the Black Rot, with one tiny difference.”
    “Your assassins don’t have eight legs?” Anton said.
    I smiled. “If you hunt us, the entire colony will swarm you. Kill me in action? Fair enough, but don’t you dare make an example out of me. Don’t you dare hunt me down. Kingdoms have rotted away from the inside out because some pompous lord wanted to make an example of the darkness. But you cannot control what your eyes cannot see. Rivon knows this. He was a part of it. He wouldn’t risk his life to climb another step up the royal ladder. Something bigger than you, bigger than me, bigger than the five families is brewing right