The Steel Princess

Chapter 1: The Final Test

There were few things Skye Eskel appreciated more than a well-balanced dagger. Its weight in her palm, the leather grip against her skin, the blade whetted and oiled and honed to razor perfection - all of it gave her a thrill like little else. This one had been a gift, and tonight... Tonight she'd get to use it.

She straightened from her crouch on the rooftops, surveying the vista. The jumbled domes and spires of Imaldra turned the skyline into a fractured, uneven thing, and made the star-studded sky behind even more pristine. Skye had little time for stargazing, though. She didn't need to pinpoint her location by the Sister Stars, because she knew every inch of this city, and tonight she needed to move quickly.

There'll be others, help and hindrance both. Teacher's words came back to her as Skye started up the sloping roof at a jog. There'd be other students, yes, out training or running errands, but she also knew there'd be people looking for her. This was her final training mission, after all, and Skye was under no illusions. Plenty of those out here tonight would have been put there to see her fail.

She dropped off the edge of the roof onto a balcony, then danced along the railing to where it abutted a water tower. It was nothing personal that would lead fellow assassins to stand in her way tonight. No, this was for her own benefit, to make sure she was absolutely ready, as honed as her blade. No-one became a blooded member of the Conclave, of age or not, without deserving every bit of it.

There was someone at the top of the tower. Skye knew as soon as she started to climb, fingers easily finding handholds in the rough sandstone. It was a fairly obvious location both to keep a lookout and to assume she'd pass by, but sometimes obvious could be useful. Not everyone looking for her would make an effort to be discreet.

She reached the top of the wall and peered through the stone balustrade, but there was nothing to be seen except a conical roof in Imaldra's characteristic red tiles. Skye boosted herself up, swinging over the parapet with practised ease, just as the dagger came in from her left, slicing for her throat - or at least it tried to.

The blade hadn't been blackened, and she saw the moonlight glancing off it as it swept in. Skye ducked, grabbing the attacking knife arm with both hands, even as she swept a foot out behind her. Her attacker broke the hold on his arm easily enough, wrenching free of Skye's grip, and tried to dance over her outstretched foot. He would have managed it, too, if she hadn't already dropped both hands to the floor to steady herself, and scythed the other leg after the first.

Her attacker went down with a grunt, and although he bounced back up nearly as quickly, his dagger clattered to the floor and went spinning away into the dark.

"Dammit."

Skye had recognised her opponent from the moment of his attack, and sure enough he wasn't the discreet type, but his voice confirmed it. She scooted into a crouch, waiting to see if he'd go hunting for the lost dagger. "Hello, Marcelo."

Marcelo straightened, yanking down his veil, his grin a flash of white in the darkness. "Good evening, Your Highness."

Skye grimaced. The title wasn't just a joke. It had been impossible to hide her origins upon arriving at the Conclave. It wasn't common for royals to train as assassins, but it wasn't unheard of either, and the masters had never gone to great pains to disguise it. Skye's own efforts hadn't been particularly successful; everyone from the lowliest pot boy to the Grandmaster had known who she was by the end of her first week.

Most of them had long since stopped teasing her about it, but not Marcelo. Even after six years, he still thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

Skye got to her feet. "Too slow, as usual. That was one of Philippe's viper blades, wasn't it? He'll kill you if you lose it."

Marcelo swore loudly and went scrabbling off into the shadows. He returned triumphant, holding the knife aloft. They both stared at it, moonlight running like water along the scale-patterned steel, before Marcelo gave it a quick polishing swipe across his sleeve and returned it to its sheath.