Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

One: Double-Time

A creaking floorboard in the room below alerted Jordan Haverford that it was time to run.

He froze, glancing over at his companion, whose eyes glittered in the dark at him. With a quick motion – more apparent to Jordan, with his magic-tinged sight, than it would have been to anyone else – Jesper directed him to the open window. Jordan stuffed another necklace into the inside pocket of his coat and jumped onto the ledge, just as boots echoed on the stairs outside.

"Go," Jesper hissed, nudging him in the back as voices reached the landing. Jordan looked down, suppressing dizziness at the drop, and stepped out, landing softly on the well-manicured lawn. Jesper was beside him in seconds, directing him to the garden wall.

"Hey!" Light flared behind them. Jordan broke into a run without turning round. "You! Get back here!"

Something crashed behind them. Jesper dug in his pocket and threw a small, thin vial over his shoulder, and moments later glass cracked and laughter spilled into the quiet night.

Jordan's arms trembled as he hauled himself over the high wall. He'd barked both his knees on the jump up and his head pounded from where he'd hit it on the window-frame on their way in. He threw a leg over and jumped, wincing as his bruised knees absorbed the shock.

Jesper landed beside him, light as a cat, and they leaned back against the stone to breathe as hysterical voices in the manor house garden finally receded. He grinned, but Jordan didn't return it. Not that the man would have seen it anyway; Jordan might not wear the cloak that declared him as a demon-hunter when Arlen sent him on jobs, but he still kept his face covered. He had made sure to select a cloak with a hood, as anyone who saw his face and the glowing green of his eyes would know what he was – an Unspoken, a magic user, and someone who certainly shouldn't have been associating with the assassins' guild.

"What did you get?" Jesper asked. Jordan's throat burned from exertion, so he dug around and pulled out what he'd stuffed into his pockets by way of an answer – two necklaces, a small golden figurine, a ring and three gold coins he had found in a dresser drawer. Auriels were the highest-value currency in Shadow's Reach, and Jesper's eyes widened when he saw them. "Watch out, kid, Arlen might kiss you when he sees those."

Jordan made a vague noise of disgust that had Jesper cackling. They got to their feet. Jesper bounced up like he'd only been for a stroll, and Jordan staggered upright like his muscles had turned to lead. He suppressed a scowl as he stashed the goods back inside his cloak and set off into the dark streets. He had to admit, though, that he'd had a much easier time under Jesper's supervision than under any of the other mentors Arlen had assigned him. Housebound as an amputated leg healed, his instructor had set up a complicated schedule of his friends from the guild to get Jordan some experience – though 'friends' may have been generous, since Arlen had a constant air of wanting to stab everyone in the room, including, at times, Jordan.

Runes, bright emerald and visible only to Jordan, glimmered on the walls of the buildings they passed. They patterned the roads they walked on and hummed in Jordan's ears as his own Gift responded to them. What felt like a lifetime ago, when he had first arrived in Nictaven through a portal with his sister Grace, the manifestation of the magic buzzing inside him had felt like the end of the world. Now he found it an unexpected comfort, a constant even when his life was turned continually upside down, rattled around, shaken up and dumped out for anyone to interfere with.

"When Akiva said you were quiet, I thought he was exaggerating." Jesper stuck his hands in his pockets. Constantly moving, energetic, the wiry assassin tired Jordan out just by being there. The break-in into a manor house on the edge of the Orthanian quarter had taken a week to plan. Half of Jordan's energy had already gone into worrying about it before he set foot outside Arlen's home that evening, and his thoughts were a woolly fog.