“From the day I killed Ashvik onward, I never had any hope of slipping free of the shadow of the Kingslayer. The name carried so much more weight than the one they’d given me as a child, that sometimes I could barely stand the load. But even so, I wasn’t the most famous of Blades. Mythkiller outweighed Kingslayer, and Deathwalker had eclipsed us both when he was in his prime. Kelos Deathwalker, two-hundred-year-old lord of assassins, a legend and an inspiration before he died with the fall o...f the temple. He had taught me more about the arts of death than all my other teachers combined. His death had felt almost as impossible as Namara’s. Without hers, it would have seemed completely unbelievable. That’s why the scene in the room below our hiding place cut straight through my heart. Legends died, they didn’t turn their coats. Yet there was Master Kelos, alive and well and practically bending his knee to a woman whose robes declared her the Lady Signet, Nea Sjensdor, preceptor of the Hand of Heaven.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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