House of Heirs, S. E. Gutierrez [intellectual books to read TXT] 📗

it!" Sam shouted, exasperated.

"I packed my tools, son. They're down in the wagon outside." Graham replied, his voice tinged with sadness.

Cera groaned. "Fix it, Graham. Use a normal knife if you have to."

Graham had a horrified look on his face. "You could get an infection that way!"

Cera rolled her eyes open and fixed him with an icy glare. "I said fix me. Sam, you still have your knife, right?" Sam nodded, pale. "Good, dip it in some alcohol and fix this."

After a few minutes, Graham conceeded, taking the knife Sam offered him Graham dipped the blade in the nearest bottle of alcohol. Taking a deep breathe, he instruced Cera to lay on her uninjured side, bit down on a leather strap, and stay as still as possible. She did as she was told, preparing herself for even more pain. Pain, she thought, my entire life has been pain. That was her last though before the knife tore into her skin and she screamed. Sam had to look away, and Annie blanched and hid in the corner. A few minutes later, Cera was unconcsious, and Graham was stitching her closed. 

Sam and Annie stayed with Graham, helping him clean up his office and pack everything into wooden crates. The palace was no longer safe, and Graham had every intention of leaving. He thought be might track down the King and offer to tend the family in their safehouse until things in Cadwell settled down. Deep in his bones, though, Graham had an odd feeling that that wouldn't happen. A knock on the door shook Graham out of his thoughts. He wondered if perhaps it was a courtier or servant looking for a tonic to calm their nerves. He opened the door, not recognizing the Cold Assassin.

Ten

 She swept into the room like a thunder storm rolls into a valley. She pounced on Sam, wrenching the knife from it's sheath on his thigh. Like a tornado, she whirled through the small office, slicing at anyone who dared get close. Her aim was Cera. She would not leave until her cousin's blood ran down her hands. She was going to rule, and she would do anything, kill anyone to get there. 

She saw Sam sneak up behind her, and whipped aroud to slide the blade into his shoulder. He clutched his shoulder, and Graham rushed over to him, holding bandages and gauze. Sam waved him away, and rushed over to Cera. Lianna was faster and was leaning over her, ready to slam her knife into her cousin's heart. Then Annie was wrapping her arms around her waist and jerking the assassin backwards. Lianna stumbled over the little girl. In a fit of rage, she raised her knife, preparing to bring it down and end the young girl's life. Graham stared in horror as he saw the knife arch toward Annie. Before he knew what he was doing, he knocked Annie out of the way and felt the tip of the blade pierce the skin over his heart. The last thing her heard was Sam's anguished cry and the last thing he saw was Cera leaping of the table, her lips curled back in rage. Then he was gone.

Sam rushed over to Graham's lifeless body. He saw nothing but the man who had raised him, the man who had taught him, the man who had loved him. Sam was blind to Cera snarling at Lianna and driving her from the room. He was unaware of Annie resting her hand on his shoulder and closing Graham's eyes. All he could focus on was the fact that the man he'd come to think of as his father was lying dead in his arms. He didn't see Lianna turn tail and flee, he didn't see Cera kneel next to him, and he didn't feel her arms wrap around him.

For what felt like an eternity, Sam sat on the floor, oblivious to his surroundings. It wasn't until Cera tugged Graham from his arms that Sam snapped out of his stupor. Together, he, Cera, and Annie wrapped Graham in a sheet stripped off of the bed and laid him on the table. They' burry him in the morning. For the night, they needed to stay where they were, barricade the door, and sleep. Cera and Sam decided to let Annie have the bed. Sam took first watch, staring with bloodshot eyes at the door. Cera attempted to sleep, but it evaded her. Instead, she watched Sam. She knews Sam's death had shaken him, but she didn't know how to approach him about it. After wiggling around for a few minutes, unable to get comfortable, Cera crawled over and sat next to Sam.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know it hurts."

For the first time in years, Sam cried. As the tears streamed down his face, Cera held him. She whispered calming words, rubbed his back, and wrapped a warm blanket around his shoulders. She might have been an assassin, but she knew losing people hurt more than anything. It hurt more than getting stapped. It hurt more than getting shot with an arrows. It hurt more than breaking you're rib three times in a week or less. She didn't know just how close Sam had been with Graham, but she recognized the pain. 

"Do you want to talk about him?" Cera whispered. "That helped me the most when I lost my mother."

Sam shuddered. "He was the only person in this world that treated me like family." Sam paused. "Why are you doing this? Why aren't you running?"

"Because you're in pain. I might be an assassin, but I'm not heartless. I remember how kind you were to me when I had no memories. You and Johnathan. You saved me when you didn't have to, took me to Graham. My cousin is the Cold Assassin, not me."

"Speaking of her, why is she here?" Sam asked, his voice quiet and somber.

Cera sighed. "She's here because of me. Me and Johnathan. You see, she has this idea that she's going to rule all of Tallirey on her own, and to do that, she need to kill me, -- heir of Fantimore -- Johnathan, -- heir of Shavonine -- and Lea Snow -- heir of Ellisen. She also needs to kill all of our parents. She wants the throne and she wants it now." Cera neglected to mention that she had the same goal. The only difference was that she was willing to wait.

Sam shook his head. "We had a house full of heirs and we didn't even realize it."

Cera nodded. "I intend on protecting my crown," she paused. "And that means killing Lianna."

Sam looked over at her, meeting her gaze. "I'll help. She killed the man that raised me, I'll do all I can to see her head on a stake."

The intensity in his eyes made Cera shivered. "Johnathan should be safe for now, Lea too. You, though, you'll be on her list."

"Why?" he asked. 

"Because you lived. Me and Annie, too." she answered. "When she attacks, the kills. No survivors. We just broke her track record and she is livid."

He nodded, thinking. "Cera?" he asked. "Why is she called the Cold Assassin?"

Cera took a deep breathe. "My father gaver her that name when she picked off every member of her immediate family without batting an eye. When she was taken before the king, the only thing she said was 'target practice'. She kills without emotion. She kills without thought. If you think I'm dangerous, she's even worse. She doesn't mind getting her hands dirty, in fact, it excites her. She's scary. Growing up with her was like growing up with a predator waiting to rip out my throat. When we were kids we'd play house, and every time, she'd find a way to plot my "pretend" death. When she killed the family dog just for fun, my father had her sent to Assassin's Hold, where he trained her and used her to kill anyone he didn't like. He had me trained at the family estate and gave me any missions that required tact and grace. In other words, slaughters were all Lianna's and coups were all mine."

"When did you start training?" Sam asked, curious for a reason he couldn't -- or rather wouldn't -- identify.

"Nine," she stated. "I was nine. Lianna -- she's two years older than I am -- started training when she was seven."

 Sam's eyes widended. "Oh." was all he could muster.

"Sam," Cera started. "If we're going to kill Lianna, we're going to need help. All the Assassins I know are siding with Lianna -- that's how I ended up in the river. Have any ideas on who we can turn to?"

Sam thought for a moment until a name popped into his head. "Syd," he said. "Syd the Slayer."

Eleven

 The next morning, Cera forced Sam to sit on the bed in Graham's office, and strip. "Sam!" she ordered. "I need to clean all your wounds."

"The ones you gave me, or the ones your sister inflicted?"

Cera glared at him. "Strip."

He shook his head. "No."

"Strip or die." Cera threatened, brandishing scalpel she'd found in one of Graham's messy drawers.

Blushing, Sam tugged off his shirt. "I'll let you take care of my shoulder, but I'll do my thigh by myself."

Cera had to stop herself from admiring Sam's well sculpted upper body. "Fine." she conceeded, sneaking a peek at his muscular abs.

Grabbing some clean bandages, a rag, and fresh water, Cera set to cleaning the gash in Sam's shoulder. The second she finished tying the bandage, Sam was pulling his shirt back on. Cera frowned, already missing the view. Sam glanced at her, a puzzled look on his face.

"What's wrong? Is your side getting worse?" he asked.

It was Cera's turn to blush. "N-no!"

Sam gave him a skeptical look. "Let me see." he demanded.

Grudgingly, Cera lifted her shirt, revealing her puffy, but thankfully normal colored side. "So you have no problem with me lifting my shirt, but you? Oh no." she grumbled.

Sam chuckled and poked her side, making her cringe. "It's going to take a while before you're fit to fight."

She glared at him. "I'm an assassin," she snapped. "Broken ribs will not stop me from getting a job done."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hopefully there's a few horses left in the stalls, neither of us is in good enough shape to hike to where we're going."

"I'll wake up Annie and check," Cera paused, fixing Sam with a glare. "So you can fix your thigh alone."

Sam shook his head as Cera woke Annie. Together, the girls went to find horses,