“Well, then I’m glad you do. Now, let’s discuss Edward. Tell me everything: When he was last seen, how long he’s been missing, whether he’d been acting strangely before his disappearance, who his friends and acquaintances are, what he had for supper…anything could prove to be important.”

“That’s…a lot, but I’ll tell you everything I can. I’ll order us some refreshment and then we’ll get started.” The queen headed toward a large golden gong hanging from one of the walls.

She never got there.

The sound of shattering glass caused them both to crane their heads skyward. The queen cried out as broken shards pecked at her skin. A heavy stone landed not an inch from where she fell to the ground. But Tomas was more focused on the shape that came after. For a split-second, its shadowy form backlit by the sun, he thought it was the bat-winged creature that had murdered the Wastelander within the palace, but then a rope dropped through the gap and the form slid smoothly down, gloved hands slowing its descent.

Tomas was still in shock, but as the black-garbed figure approached, instincts kicked in and he finally snapped from his stupor and launched himself forward toward the mother he’d never known.

Wham! The intruder leapt from the rope while still well off the floor, feet slamming into Tomas’s chest and rocking him back. He skidded on his rear for a few feet, clutching his chest, unable to breathe.

And yet his eyes still found the mother he’d lost, a woman he’d truly never despised, a woman who, even now, he was hoping would love him. The intruder grabbed at a red belt slung around his waist, untethering it in an instant. Before Tomas’s very eyes, the previously flexible belt stiffened into a long shaft. The sword flashed crimson, its edge catching the sunlight. The black-garbed assassin spun deftly around behind the queen, held her firmly with one hand while she tried to kick free, met Tomas’s eyes across the room—dark with a violent promise—and then, without hesitation, drew the blade across her throat.

Still gasping, Tomas fought to his feet, trying to scream at the assassin, who calmly stood, pointing the sword at his chest. “You need to run,” the voice said. A man’s deep rumble, though there was something off about it, like he was trying to disguise it. His face was hidden by the cowl of the dark hood draped over his head. At his feet, the queen was still, blood pooling around her.

It was impossible. Unfathomable.

“You…you killed her.”

“I did as I was commanded. And you should too. No matter what you say, you’ll be blamed. You’ll be arrested. You’ll be executed.”