Page 103 of The Barbarian King's Assassin (Magic and Kings 1)
“Surprise. Failed again. How many times is that now?” I taunted.
His brows beetled. “Guess I’ll handle you more thoroughly this time.” His hands lifted.
Before he could magic another shove my way, I nicked him with my sword, a thin slice across his cheek that turned red before spilling blood.
He slapped a hand to his face. “How dare you!”
“I dare because you killed my parents. Because you tried to have a little girl murdered.”
“Blame your father for being greedy. Couldn’t be happy with what he got, always asking for more.” The man had the nerve to complain, and I would have gotten indignant, only I filtered what he said.
“Are you claiming my father blackmailed you? Why?” I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that I didn’t want to face.
“As if you don’t know.” He sneered. “Bastard.”
The word usually wouldn’t bother me. I used it on a regular basis. But that was before I realized it applied to me.
My stomach roiled at the discovery the man who raised me didn’t create me. Then who? I eyed the grand vizier with horror. “Are you saying you’re my father?”
He recoiled. “Not me.”
A modicum of relief. “Then who?”
“As if you don’t know. Is that why you killed Zasha? Because you found out you could have the Barbarian Kingandthe emperor’s throne?”
I retreated from the grand vizier, shaking my head. What he implied… Who my father was…? It couldn’t be true.
“You’re lying. My mother would have told me.”
His sneering disdain cemented the truth. “Admit she whelped the emperor’s bastard? If the emperor ever found out, you’d have been forcibly removed from her care, or killed depending on his mood.”
“You paid my father to keep my existence a secret.”
“I did, until he got greedy. Given the emperor’s fickle moods, it seemed more expedient to remove him and remind your mother you both only lived by my grace. But then Zasha was born, and the time came to get rid of you as well. Only you escaped, and now you’ve ruined everything. For that, you will die.” The grand vizier lifted his hands, and I watched him as if in slow motion.
I had to be faster. Faster than he could cast a spell. Before I’d finished that thought, my sword speared him through the chest.
His lips parted. He exhaled one word, “Weak.”
I felt myself suddenly slumping, as my legs wouldn’t hold me. My knees hit the floor, but my grip on my sword remained sure. As I fell, it came with me, slicing down through the grand vizier’s chest, ensuring he died. The moment he did, my body regained its strength, even as my mind remained shaken.
What had he done to me? I stood and pulled on my sword, wrenching it free, watching the body for signs of movement. Maybe I should take off his head. Nothing ever recovered from decapitation.
I didn’t realize I had an audience until a stranger drawled, “Hello.”
I whirled to see a man about my age, wearing dark clothes that matched his hair. I’d seen him around, part of the zariina’s entourage, a nobody I’d assumed. He entered the room silently.
Too quietly. I should have heard him.
“Who are you?” I didn’t see a weapon, but I knew better than to dismiss him as a risk.
“I am Marell. His son.” He pointed to the body. “Thank you for finishing him off. I thought he’d never die. He foiled every attempt.”
“Maybe you should have tried harder.” My sarcastic suggestion.
“I would have, but can you believe he spelled me so I couldn’t kill him?” He lifted his arms and showed off a pair of metal bracelets, tight to his flesh and seamless.
In confusion, I said, “So you want him dead but couldn’t do it yourself because he put some magical jewelry on you?” Saying it aloud didn’t make it sound any more believable.