“We’re looking for a woman about your height,” Ghrasia interrupted. “She has long dark hair, about here,” Ghrasia said, putting a hand to her waist. “Maybe forty-odd years old, high forehead, sloping nose, plump like my friend.” Ghrasia realized she had described Javia, the former Kai.

“No one like that here,” the man said, squinting. “What did they do to bring the Liona militia all the way out here?”

“I’m afraid we can’t discuss it,” Ghrasia said. If this man was a foreign assassin, she needed three more Oras and half a dozen militia on hand. She could have Halimey call them up once they were out of sight of the house, post a watch overnight, and overtake him in the morning with a mounted force.

“Thank you for your time,” she said.

Too late.

Halimey made a choked sound of distress. He groped at his throat and tumbled backward. Ghrasia grabbed his coat. A massive force thumped her from behind. The railing broke. They fell. Ghrasia had a long, sickening moment of freefall, just enough time to wonder how much it was going to hurt. She released Halimey. Relaxed her body. Bent her knees and prepared for impact.

She landed hard on the balls of her feet. Pain jolted up her legs. The air rushed from her lungs. Halimey thumped beside her. Ghrasia’s right ankle throbbed, but she felt no shattering pain. As she struggled to breathe, the assassin leapt from the railing and fell slowly to the ground beside her. She yanked at her sword, still gasping.

The assassin stepped on her scabbard. She followed his look to Halimey. Blood flecked the boy’s mouth. He had fallen hard on his right side. She could tell from the angle of the arm pinned beneath him that it was broken. A parajista could only fly if she was not wrapped in the powerful grip of another parajista.

“You wanted to talk,” the assassin said. “It would be impolite not to invite you inside.”

He yanked Ghrasia’s sword from its sheath. The everpine branch curled around his wrist. He ran Halimey through with it.

Ghrasia cried out. The man plunged the blade a second, a third, a fourth time into the boy’s prone body.

She turned over and clawed forward, ignoring the pain in her ankle. The assassin grabbed the knot of her hair and yanked her back.

“Not you,” he said. “You’re a gift to the dogs. The great Dhai hero. Even I have heard that name.”

He thumped Ghrasia over the head with the butt of her everpine sword. Blackness pooled across her vision. She lost her balance, collapsed. She was suddenly weightless, wrapped in a skein of air and propelled into the sky so quickly, she blacked out.