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because I still have some use for your… ah… particular set of skills.”
    “Oh? Sarn asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
    “You will return to Havar and find a man named Hiril Altaïr. And there you will murder him.”
    Sarn knew the man’s name—a very capable siri. But why would Dassai want this man dead?
    Dassai continued, “Mark him when you are finished. I need to know it was you who made the kill. Then leave for Riyyal. The Sultan has called for you.”
    “What use does the Sultan have for me?”
    “That is not for you to know,” Dassai answered.
    It was clear to Sarn that Dassai didn’t know, either.
    Sarn looked at Dassai, then at his men who had come to surround him. “Not much of a choice then?”
    “You never had one,” Dassai said. “Every time you run, you are lying to yourself. There are only two things that you do, that give you any worth: you kill to survive, and you survive to kill. Never forget that.”
    “I must try to keep that in mind,” Sarn responded. “Someday soon I will revel in spilling your blood.”
    “You have your duty.”
    “So be it,” Sarn said, brushing past Dassai and through his men.
    They will all die , Sarn decided. It would start with Altaïr—but it would end with Dassai.
    “Pity this place had to burn.” Dassai called out as Sarn mounted his horse. “But what is it they say? ‘Nothing in life is without loss.’“
    Nothing indeed . There was little more to hold Sarn here, but then again, there never really had been. Sarn gave it one last glance before spurring his horse and galloping away.
    He did not look back again.
    10
    AT LAST .
    Dassai’s mind raced as he watched the horse and rider grow smaller, fading into the landscape like a wisp of smoke in the wind.
    His plan was set into motion, and Ciris Sarn would serve as the centerpiece in this game of deception. The attention surrounding the assassin would afford him all the time he needed.
    He reveled in the thought. Sarn would deliver him the seeds of power, while orchestrating his own destruction.
    It was perfect.
    A cruel smile lit Dassai’s face.

Part Two

    CRUEL FORTUNES
    22.3.792 SC

1
    MARIN ALTYÏR scanned the horizon.
    The wind picked up and whitecaps began to form as the ship cleared the Ruinart headlands and sailed into the open water of a powerfully running sea. She had no reason to look back at the shadows of the Soller Mountains or the towers of Cievv, a city that could never be her home. This was a moment for savoring freedom. She wanted to feel free. But instead, she felt empty—a traveler merely passing through her own life.
    Rising gusts tugged strands of hair from her scarlet hood, blowing them across her eyes like the fine gold bars of a cage. She brushed them aside with a warrior’s grace. She sniffled at the ocean air. Her eyes were wide and bright with emotion. The sailors, squinting against the wind and bright water, cast her sidelong glances as they went about their business, but otherwise left her alone.
    Marin’s destination was no secret. She had secured passage to Messinor in the kingdom of Hayl. Those of the Illam faith would have recognized the silver cinerary urn that lay beneath the bunk in her cabin below. They would understand this young woman’s pilgrimage beyond Messinor and into the foothills of the Tayar Mountains. They would know, from the expression on her bold, angular face, that her year of mourning was nearing its end—and that she planned to be at Sey’r an-Shal , the Falls to Heaven, on the anniversary of someone’s death.
    She had no idea where life would take her after she discharged this sad duty. Right now she had far too much time to reflect upon how life had brought her to the deck of this ship, sailing westward with her husband’s ashes.
    Marin Altaïr knew it would be a long voyage.
    2
    A CANOPY of gray mist hung low in the afternoon sky .
    The suns had waned, lost in the shadow of approaching nightfall and rain. Winds wailed beyond an