FIRST BLOOD

The assassination attempt came three days later, during the morning training session.

Lyra had just finished sparring with Captain Brennan — a draw, though both of them were breathing hard and grinning with the joy of matched opponents — when the Thread between her and Kaelen flared with sudden alarm.

He was in the east garden. Walking with some diplomat or other. And someone nearby meant him harm.

Lyra moved before conscious thought. She sprinted through corridors, leaped a decorative hedge, and burst into the garden in time to see a servant — plain clothes, forgettable face — drawing a crossbow from beneath a tray of refreshments.

Kaelen was ten feet away, his back to the threat, still talking to the diplomat. The crossbow aimed at his heart.

Lyra didn't hesitate. She threw her practice blade — not lethal, but heavy and accurate. It caught the assassin in the shoulder, spoiling his aim. The crossbow bolt went wide, shattering a window. Before the assassin could recover, Lyra was on him, breaking his arm, disarming him, slamming his head into the marble hard enough to stun but not kill.

She looked up. Kaelen stood frozen, his gray eyes wide. The diplomat had fainted. Guards were running from all directions.

"Are you hurt?" she demanded.