1st of Blossom Moon

Cassian’s mouth tilted into a frown as he crossed his arms. “Sir, if it’s being handled, why am I getting sent to babysit?”

Ragnor waved a bejeweled hand dismissively. “The council paid me, and I pay you. You follow my orders.”

Cassian Evermore hated Ragnor LeRoche more than anyone. He was rude, brutish, and arrogant—and to make matters worse, he owned Cassian. Thanks to his father’s endless debt and poorly timed death, his young son had been forced to take up the mantle of hired hand. Cassian had started training under Ragnor over seventy years ago and had spent nearly thirty handling his dirty work. It wasn’t a job Cassian enjoyed, but it kept Ragnor’s collectors away from his mother, and that was enough for him.

Ragnor had been personally invested in him since he was young, overseeing much of Cassian’s training directly. Although Ragnor rarely dealt with the multitudes of assassins in his employ, he never allowed anyone else to give jobs to Cassian. Ragnor had kept him close his entire tenure, and it was suffocating.

“Then clarify what I’m supposed to be doing once more. I’m not killing anyone this time. Why?”

Ragnor sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re toeing the line of my patience, Cassian. You are to retrieve the files and ensure Van Alder’s assassination is completed. For once, this isn’t an elimination for you to handle. Is that clear enough?”

Cassian squeezed his eyes shut to calm himself before he replied. “Yes, sir.”

Ragnor turned his chair away to face the expansive windows looking down onto the city of Ebenfell. “It’s not the first time the council has requested one of my employees to back up the Legion or the Red Guard, you know.” Ragnor stood, clasping his hands behind his back, observing the view from the window as if he owned it. And in some way, Cassian supposed he kind of did.

He was the type of man who had his fingers in everything—money laundering, prostitution, and more legitimate business ventures like personal security and investments. His connections to the Red Council were unsurprising; he was the most influential man in Ebenfell, even if he was a criminal. They couldn’t touch him, so instead, the council decided to work with him.

They allowed him free reign of his less-than-legitimate ventures as long as he wasn’t causing too much trouble. Ragnor had long since learned what the Red Council would allow and what they wouldn’t. As long as it benefited their goals, they didn’t care what Ragnor did. Or, by proxy, any of his employees.

Ragnor stayed silent for several moments. Cassian didn’t move; he’d found out the hard way what leaving before Ragnor dismissed you was like. It was not pleasant, and usually involved more than one broken bone.

Ragnor was a violent man when he needed to be, and the multitude of times he’d broken Cassian’s arms or wrists for insolence, real or perceived, had proven that not asking questions, and waiting for Ragnor to speak, was better than the alternative.

“The legionnaire assigned to the task is one of the indentured,” Ragnor finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Cassian’s eyebrows rose. “Is that why I’m being sent?”

“That’s part of it,” he said, but continued on before Cassian could ask another question. “You’re leaving tonight. Arrangements have been made for you in the city. You’re dismissed.” He waved his hand, the light streaming in from the windows reflecting off the large gems embedded in the many rings on his fingers.

It had always been this way—Ragnor sending him away on a job, explaining hardly more than the bare minimum. Last week, it had been a business partner who’d failed to pay back money he owed Ragnor. The month before, a petty crime boss who’d encroached on Ragnor’s territory in the east district. He had years of blood on his hands, blood he could never wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed.

Cassian bowed his head to Ragnor’s back and exited the opulent office into the hallway. He’d been sent to Spiral City before, but this would be his first time directly dealing with the Legion.

He had no idea what to expect, and that was enough to make him nervous.

♦♦♦♦♦

That evening, Cassian tried his best to look stern as he handed his luggage to the girl behind the counter. “This is fragile, please be gentle with it.”

She nodded, grasping the top handle with both hands. “Don’t worry, sir, we always treat passengers’ luggage with the utmost attention to detail. Your items will be safe with us.”

He nodded once to her, grasping the small techpad in his hand that held his boarding pass. Techpads weren’t a new invention, but it seemed they got sleeker and stronger with each passing year. Originally, they’d been bulky, black plastic things that allowed one to communicate over long distances. In more recent years, they’d finally figured out holographic technology, and now most resembled small pieces of glass with rubber grips.

Cassian had two—one of the handheld versions, which fit in the palm of an average humanoid’s hand, and a larger version that he could use for more complex tasks like research and writing.

Ragnor had given him barely enough time to pack before he’d needed to catch the bullet train from Ebenfell to Spiral City. The ride was a relatively short one—about six hours. Cassian looked forward to sleeping in his own cabin.

Twenty minutes later, he settled into the first-class train car and stowed his backpack on the luggage shelf above his seat. He sighed, flicking the lock closed on the compartment door and pulling the privacy curtain over the glass. He opened the file Ragnor had sent him on his large techpad as he sat down.

The train shuddered to life beneath him, the file showing him a holograph of a young seraph boy smiling up at him. Blond hair sprouted from his head, shorn closely on the sides but left slightly longer up top. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, their rich, chocolate brown color still visible.

The file wasn’t extensive—the boy had been in the Legion for barely four months, not long enough to really garner a thick file. His experience came mostly from the training new legionnaires underwent with their mentorship program. Van Alder was only his third elimination.

In the grand scheme of things, this was a fairly standard elimination for any legionnaire.

Cassian shook his head. He’d never been able to figure out quite how the Legion operated. He knew at a base level that most of the people in the nineteenth were indentured, whether that be through the Fallen Crown Mission or other ways of servitude, and that they all answered directly to the commissioner and vice commissioner. Other divisions had a more militant reporting structure, but the nineteenth was special.

The other thing that set the nineteenth apart was where their missions came from—usually, they were handed down by the governor himself. Of course, he only knew this much because of Ragnor. The nineteenth’s true objective wasn’t common knowledge.

Often, they eliminated criminals or hunted down syndicates that had been a thorn in the side of Spiral City for a long time. Ones the usual system of justice would never be able to capture. But sometimes, they were sent to do the governor’s dirty work.

Cassian shuddered and clicked the techpad off. The light was straining his eyes now that the sky outside was fading to a bluish purple. He twisted the small, silver pinky ring on his right hand as he watched the light fade. Night wasn’t far off, and the train would arrive in Spiral City before sunrise.

He laid his head back on the backrest of the bench, knowing he wasn’t going to catch much sleep during the ride. But he closed his eyes anyway, the image of Kellan’s face burned on the inside of his eyelids.

♦♦♦♦♦

He’d had this dream before, he realized as a familiar scene played out before him. The strong yet gentle hands of his father were as familiar to him as his own reflection. It had been nearly a hundred years since he’d died, and Cassian had long since forgotten what he’d looked like, but he’d never forget those hands.

The room before him was familiar, too. It was the living room of the house he’d lived in as a child. He could hear the sounds of his mother making dinner in the other room, humming a tune that was familiar yet unspecified.

His father’s face swam before him, the features blurred as if a droplet of rain had obscured them. But his hands were clear, holding out an unremarkable silver ring.

“Take it, son,” his father’s voice said. It was hazy but deep—so deep that it reverberated in his chest.

He obeyed, grasping the silver ring with his child-sized hands and gazing upon it with wonder.

“That ring is special,” his father continued. “It’s a precious heirloom that you cannot lose. I’m giving it to you, so you must keep it on at all times. Okay?”

He nodded vigorously, and as he did, the walls of the house began to shake. The ceiling collapsed, massive chunks of plaster raining down around them. Giant cracks formed, crawling up the walls like massive, fast-growing vines.

But the blurred figure of his father before him never moved. “Promise me, Cassian. Promise me you’ll never take it off.”

He tried to answer, but his voice wouldn’t come.

He opened his eyes. He always opened his eyes after that.

Cassian was still on the train, but it was slowing, the squeal of the brakes rising with every passing building. He glanced down at the ring still resting on his pinky and sighed. It hadn’t happened like that at all, of course, but the dream had taken one of his few happy memories of his father and turned it into…well, that.

He stood and stretched as the train continued its deceleration into the central train station at the northern edge of Spira Mirabilis. The station itself looked like an old cathedral, built of a grayish beige stone and dotted with soaring arched windows. Inside, its lofty ceilings curved in arches above their heads, the central walkways filled with planters and benches for weary travelers.

Even though he preferred the old-world charm Ebenfell boasted, he had to admit, Spiral City had its upsides. This train station was one of them.

He navigated his way through the crowded platform and retrieved his luggage from the claim, double-checking the locks hadn’t been tampered with. Confident that everything was as it should be, he headed out of the station to the hotel Ragnor had booked for him.

Cassian was a bit surprised he wasn’t staying in a safehouse, but Ragnor had mentioned something about procuring new ones. They’d have to make do with regular establishments in the meantime. He wondered if the old safehouses had been compromised somehow.

Even though he’d been here several times during his time with Ragnor, he’d only used the safehouses twice. Once had been on his very first mission here. He’d been assigned to a mission with a man named Leonardo Whitburn.

At first, he’d seemed normal—kind, even. He’d taken Cassian under his wing, showing him the ropes of being in Ragnor’s employ. He’d learned a lot from Leo.

But he’d come to realize that Leo was nothing like the man he’d pretended to be at first. He was cruel, sadistic, and delighted in torture. He had no remorse, no sense of guilt at all. In fact, Leo was the perfect assassin to work for Ragnor—smart, deadly, and with a thirst for murder that no normal man should have.

The longer he’d spent with Leo, the more obsessed he’d become with Cassian becoming his partner. Leo had seen something in him that made him want to keep Cassian close. What that was, he never figured out.

They’d parted ways nearly 20 years ago when Leo disappeared. No one had been able to find him, and Ragnor had simply assumed he’d died. No one had heard from him since.

Cassian shook his head as he left the station, clearing his mind of thoughts of Leo. He hadn’t even thought of the man for so long, so it was pointless to think of him now. He flagged down a bright purple taxi, spoke the address of the hotel to the driver, then sat back and calculated his next move of the day.

According to the file, Kellan planned to strike sometime this evening. He’d need to be there before the legionnaire to ensure he could obtain the files Ragnor had requested. Truthfully, he had no idea what the documents were, or what information they contained.

He didn’t know if Kellan was going to be after the same information. All he knew was that he’d be there to kill Van Alder.

He leaned back in the back seat and rested his head against the headrest. The buildings flew by as the cab made its way through the streets of Spiral City, the grayish blur of metal and glass lulling Cassian back toward slumber.