RHODY

Rooting through the pack, my fingers brushed against the rough leather of Zeph’s logbook. I yanked it free, its black cover peeling away like an old scab. Inside, the first page carried a grim tally: rows of names, each struck through with a sharp, deliberate line.

King of Wands, she’d killed this many... Every time I opened that book, the list pressed upon me. Tonight’s confrontation added a new layer to that disbelief. If each crossed name had security like Karich's the grand total of her victories in combat could fill this book twice over. Flipping through page after page, I reached the end of her list: six unmarked names, starting with the warlord Karich and ending with Ablee Urough.

I swallowed hard; despite my better sense, I'd developed a picture of the girl in my mind, the daughter of a tyrannical warlord, young and impressionable; could I really blame her for consuming Ambrosia? The information we'd been given had her only two years older than me. She'd not been seen outside the keep in years. What if she was a victim in all of this? Regardless, we had to see it through. Zeph was going to kill her, and I was going to help. That was the will of the gods.

I turned to the next blank page and readied my pencil, returning my attention to the patrolwoman. I'd been trying this whole time to push away the weight of my earlier mistakes and the realization of the nature of my cards, “The Keep. I need the layout—defenses, guards, everything. What can you tell me?”

She glared, blood streaking her chin.

“Don’t make me get her involved. She didn't kill any of you... but that doesn't mean she won't...” I said and nodded in Zeph's direction. The blonde bombshell's eyebrows twisted as if to say, "Really?" I didn't feel confident when I said it, and felt less confident now.

The woman's defiance cracked under the assassin’s presence. Lip trembling, she relented. Each word pained her—Zeph’s handiwork had left her speaking with a lisp. Still, I pried enough detail from her to sketch a useful picture of the Keep’s defenses.

I turned to Zeph. Her precision had gutted the village’s defenses without taking a single life. Brutal yet restrained. It didn’t add up. She was an assassin with an incredibly deadly weapon, yet she'd spared these people. Why?

Curiosity was plastered across my face, but I couldn't ask her that.

Zeph smirked, “How many stories can a dead man tell? I want them alive to spread word of what they saw.” it was as if she'd read my mind, but her answer was nonsense.

Father Herus had to be out of his mind pairing me with her. When I'd agreed to join her, I imagined she'd have me covertly using my cards to identify threats and keep me away from the messy parts—she’d sneak in, kill Karich and the others quietly, then vanish.

Instead, we'd brawled through the village like a storm. I didn’t even have a weapon.

She proceeded through the crowd of broken watchmen, binding their limbs with rope she'd stolen from a covered wagon, beaming with confidence.

The Ace of Swords, I'd performed a reading when I first met her. It was one of the minor arcana, the first time I'd drawn one outside of a temple event meant to fill out my roster of cards. Minor arcana were past the pinnacle of mortal ability; they were an imbuement of divine capability. Most people had a few mundane suits they ranked in. I myself was a Five of Tumbles, Eight of Scrolls, Page of Hands, and, to my chagrin, a Seven of Tricks.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Zeph's highest-ranking mundane suit was Fire-Arms, a rather new addition to the Tarot. She had Kinged it, the absolute peak of mortal ability, and the gods' requirement to even be considered for a True Fate from the minor arcana. Her ranking in Swords was a step beyond that; through pure merit, she'd earned unnatural precision.

“Why..." I asked, dreading an oncoming reprimand, “Why are we fighting everyone here? Aren’t assassins supposed to sneak?”

“Ha!” She tossed her golden hair, the brim of her hat, atop a wicked grin. “Who told you that? An assassin should be notorious. How else would we find work?”

That stopped me cold. Was she right? Everything I’d read about assassins—mostly penny dreadfuls and comics—portrayed them as shadowy figures avoiding direct confrontation. Zeph shattered that image. Shooting our way through this village, just steps from our mark’s home, disobeying the quiet of night? That was her way?

“Alright,” she said, “what's our next step?”

I scanned my notes. “The roof’s our best bet. We can climb the Keep’s side—it’s barely defended.”

“Good. Grab the hook.”

“Wait, don’t you want to hear the—”

“Of course not!” She waved me off. “I've got my next step. Don’t cloud my focus with anything else.”

I nodded, unable to offer any more resistance, and followed her through the town. Children peeked out from grimy windows. The winding road climbed on toward the Keep, the shadow of its walls growing closer with every step.

At its base, she took the grappling hook from my hands, swung it three times, and sent it soaring. It caught with a faint clink, its hemp rope pulling taut as she yanked it into place.

Zeph started climbing, her movements sure and quick. “Want me to leave the pack?” I called up.

“What? No. We’ll need it.”

“You expect me to carry it?" My eyes widened with dread.

“Obviously. Herus said you were resourceful; figure it out. When you reach the top come find me, just follow the noise.”

She ascended with ease, almost walking up the wall. Her toned arms moved her weight effortlessly. I stared at the pack, then sighed. No way could I climb with that. Instead, I secured the rope to it. I'd have to climb and then hoise it up once I'd reached the top.

The ascent came naturally to me; years of acrobatic training made it manageable. But graceful? No. I wasn't Zeph.

Halfway up, my thoughts couldn't help but drift back to the deck. Had I really bought it? I’d promised Herus his money back regardless of the outcome of our wager, and when I won, I returned the money and claimed the cards. That felt damning enough. It was a transaction.

Fuck... How could I not have seen that back then? After all that time cursing the cards from the second-hand store, I'd made the same mistake twice. Maybe it was the curse's fault; maybe it'd clouded my vision.

When I'd replaced that first deck with the one Brenna’d gifted me, things had become simple, almost too easy. I'd put together a plan to get what I wanted and enacted it flawlessly. Well, with one flaw. I could have kept Herus's money, and he'd probably still have agreed to the wager, but I'd been greedy; I couldn't let myself risk losing.

Quit lying to yourself, I thought; you didn't promise the payment because you wanted to win. You did it because you felt guilty.

Sleeved aces, I winced. It was a common trick in those back alley games. I'd reserved its use for hands I couldn't afford to lose, and that last hand with Herus was not one I wanted to leave to chance.

Greetings Reader. This is the most recent chapter of the rewrite. All text from here forward is from the original version.