Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

don’t even have a sword, little witch,” he spits. “You couldn’t actually cut my arm off…” The way he trails off sounds more like a question.
    I reach into my sash and pull out my own dagger. The weapon is short, with a wide blade and a slim handle that fits my hand perfectly. It’s my thirteenth birthday present from Jackal, and the only constant companion I have left.
    “But I don’t need a sword.” I twirl the dagger between my fingers and smile.
    Derrin swallows hard, and I’m not sure if it’s the weapon or my smile scaring him. He clenches his fist, but then shakes his head, discarding whatever vengeful thoughts were forming.
    “I’ve heard the rumors,” he murmurs. “But I didn’t actually believe you’ve been trained to fight.”
    I almost laugh. All the years Jackal spent training me, all the secretive lesson and lectures, and it’s still a surprise that I can fight. Are people really that stupid? Or are they just oblivious?
    I put a single finger to my lips. “Oh, but I haven’t been trained. Right?”
    Derrin quickly nods in agreement to the lie. I turn my back on him, satisfied that I’d scared him into silence. Or maybe it’s the rumors that scare him, the ones that say I’m a deadly magic-user. It doesn’t matter much, as long as he’ll keep quiet.
    I make it barely two steps before he calls out to me.
    “Wait!”
    I glance over my shoulder. “What is it?”
    He straightens his shoulders, gathering what remains of his pride. “Answer one question for me. Just one. And then I’ll swear that I’ll never speak of this again.”
    “You already swore that.”
    “Just
one
.”
    I sigh and wave my hand at him. “Fine. What’s your question?”
    He clears his throat and stares right at me. “You’ve had me running all over the city tracking this one man for months. You’ve paid me hundreds and risked sneaking from your safe home—” He points to the looming castle walls in the distance, lit by dozens of torches. “—to come and gather information from me. I want to know. Why are you so desperate to find this man?”
    I try to smile, but judging by Derrin’s grimace, it’s more of a snarl. I turn and walk away, my answer only loud enough for my own ears: “Because I’m going to kill him.”

Two
    The dagger is heavy in my sleeve. I keep the weapon tucked safely against my forearm, my eyes scanning the castle corridor for danger, my shoulders sore from staying so tense.
    Shadows paint ghostly patterns on the floor, reflecting the flickering light of the torches lining the wall. I think back to the hummingbird phoenix I saw in the alley, to its fiery wings and strange eyes and foreign magic. It’s been hardly an hour since I left that alley, but it already feels like an eternity has passed. The royal castle and all its grandeur is so different from the Water District, almost like stepping from one world to another.
    As I approach my chambers, Jolik stands in front of the doors, frowning down at me. I have a quick flashback to ten months ago, when Jolik frowned at Ashe as he read the arrest orders. A shudder runs through me, but I expel it with a deep breath.
    “Miss Princess,” Jolik greets me.
    I don’t like how he calls me that, but I let him get away with it. It’s never smart to argue with a Vampire.
    When I don’t respond immediately, his scowl deepens, and some inner part of me screams that I should run the opposite way. But I don’t—my fight-or-flight instinct died out a long time ago, replaced by the instinct to fight or die trying.
    “You were out late tonight,” Jolik says, his rumbling voice echoing through the corridor.
    His words are sharp, and I unconsciously glance at the sword at his side, my instincts prickling with a warning to be careful. Jolik is a member of the Iris Guard, an elite group of Vampire mercenaries who protect royalty. Centuries ago, an ancient spell back-fired on the Vampires, forcing them to live a life of servitude until the day they die. But the Vampires have kept their ancient warrior roots, and most of them spend their lives as protectors. Jolik is no exception, and while his dark skin and tall stature make him stand out from the regular human guards, it’s his explosive temper that really sets him apart.
    He glances at the bulge in my sleeve and raises an eyebrow. His exasperated expression tells me that he suspects it’s a dagger, but he’s not going to call me out on it. He knows Jackal—the former leader of