The strike came so suddenly that Cael’s mind barely had time to register the glint of steel in the moonlight. Rowan’s shove sent him stumbling backward, his shoulder slamming against the wall of the alley just as the assassin’s dagger buried itself in the cobblestones where his heart had been a heartbeat before.
The shock of it rang through him. If Rowan hadn’t moved him—if he had been even half a step slower—he would be lying dead at the assassin’s feet.
“Move!” Rowan roared, dragging his sword free with a hiss of steel.
From the rooftops and shadows, more figures emerged. At least half a dozen, maybe more, their faces hidden beneath black cloth, their movements soundless as smoke. They moved with deadly precision, each one wielding twin daggers curved like fangs.
“Council assassins,”
