"We have a tenuous position here, Leesil," his mother whispered to him late in the night. "Necessary, highly skilled-and expendable. If we refuse or hesitate, we will be the next ones to die unexplainably in our sleep or be exposed and executed for our crimes. Do you understand, my son? Always nod and do as you are bid."

No matter what the monetary rewards, Leesil did not possess the temperament required for a life of isolated servitude. Spies and assassins make no friends. His mother must have felt his loneliness. On the day of his fifteenth birth celebration, she presented him with a large, silver-blue puppy that crawled all over him with uncontained wiggles and licked his face. It was the one moment of pure happiness that he could remember.

"This is a special hound," she said, her graceful hands held outward. "His great-grandfather protected my people in frightening times long past. He will watch over you."

That was all she'd ever told him-that he recalled-of Chap or of her homeland, wherever it might have been. And Leesil gave few thoughts to her words at the time. If he hadn't been so happy in that one moment, he might have asked more questions, or even remembered to ask later, but he only cared that some part of his life seemed like other boys'. He had a dog.

When Leesil turned seventeen, his father declared his training finished, or perhaps did so at Lord Darmouth's insistence. His mother presented him with the box filled with all the tools he would need for his duties.

"You are now anmaglahk," she said, her voice quiet and hollow-a statement of fact filled with no pride.

She seldom spoke her native tongue in all of his life that Leesil remembered. Though he'd learned several of the land's dialects, she never taught him the elven language other than a few words he'd picked up on his own. Once, when he tried to beg her to teach him, she turned coldly angry.

"There will never be a need for you to speak it," she said.

And as he left her, quick to exit her chamber, he was uncertain of what he saw. As she sat on the window bench, looking out, her face turned away from him, a shudder ran through her body as if she were sobbing silently.

Looking at the box in his hands she had given him as a birthday present, he did not need to ask what the word she had used meant. He knew what he'd become. The same day, he was ordered to assassinate a baron believed to be plotting against Darmouth. The command came from his father.

That night, Leesil scaled the walls of Baron Progae's fortress, slipped past a dozen guards, and climbed down from the tower into the target's bedroom window. He drove a stiletto into the base of the sleeping man's skull, just as his father had shown him, and then slipped out again. No one found the body until nearly noon the next day. What servant would willingly disturb the late sleep of a nobleman?

Progae's lands were confiscated. His wife and daughters were driven into the street. Leesil sought out information about the family later. One daughter was taken in as the fourth mistress of a loyal baron. The wife and two youngest daughters starved to death as everyone feared assisting them. Leesil never asked about the families of his victims again. He simply slipped through windows, picked what were often considered unpickable locks, carried out his orders, and never looked back.

At twenty-four, he still looked as young as a human in his late teens. One night Lord Darmouth summoned him personally. Leesil loathed being in his lord's presence, but he never even considered refusing.

"I don't want you to kill this time but gather information," Darmouth told him through a thick, black beard. "One of my ministers has given me cause to doubt his true interests. He trains young scribes as a hobby. Your father tells me you speak and write several of our dialects?"

"Yes, my lord," Leesil answered, despising the brutal hands and unwashed face of the creature who owned his entire family.

"Good. You will live as his student and report to me on his activities, his comments, his daily habits, and so forth."

Leesil bowed and left.

He was allowed to bring Chap to his new residence, which was a comfort since the dog represented his only link to a life beyond his duties. But the first meeting with Minister Josiah was almost unsettling to him after years of plots, schemes, and silent deaths. A small, white-haired man with violet, laughing eyes, Josiah grasped Leesil's hand in open warmth and friendship. Rather than armor or clothing designed for stealth, the man wore cream-colored robes.

"Come, come, my boy. Lord Darmouth tells me you're a promising student. We'll find you some supper and a warm bed."

Leesil hesitated. He'd never met anyone like Josiah. The merry minister mistook his pause.

"Not to worry. Your dog is welcome, too. A handsome creature and a bit unusual, as I don't think I've ever seen his kind before. Where did you get him?"

Chap's back now reached a grown man's thigh. His long, silver-blue fur, pale, near-blue eyes, and narrow muzzle often drew compliments from those who saw him. The dog trotted straight up to the old minister and sat, with a switching tail, waiting to be petted. It was the first time Leesil had ever seen Chap do such a thing with anyone but himself and his mother.

Leesil wasn't sure how to answer and tried quickly to figure out what purpose the question served, what agenda might be hidden behind it.

"My mother," he finally answered.

Josiah looked up from scratching Chap gently on the head.

"Your mother? Why, I would have thought him to be a father's gift, but no matter"-he laughed softly and smiled-"a mother's gift is even better."

With that, the old minister ushered both Leesil and his dog into the house and into his life.

Josiah's loyalties became clear in the days and weeks that followed. He had no intention of creating insurrection, but he had turned his large country estate into a haven for those displaced by Darmouth's continuing civil wars and intrigues. Barracks and small cottages had been built to house refugees. Leesil spent part of his days in lessons with Josiah, and the other part helping to feed or care for the poor. He found the latter acts somewhat futile, since these tragic people would still be poor tomorrow. The poor were poor. The rich were rich. The intelligent and resourceful survived. That was the way of things.

His attitude toward Minister Josiah, however, was quite different. Never given the opportunity to admit or recognize admiration, he did not understand his feelings of protection for the old man. Indeed, he was foolish enough at first to believe he could save himself, save his family, and save Josiah by simply reporting nothing to Lord Darmouth. After all, he disobeyed no orders, refused no tasks, and there was nothing to tell.

"What do you mean, 'he's loyal'?" the bearded lord demanded when Leesil had returned once on a "visit home."

Leesil stood rigid and attentive in Darmouth's private chambers. Although tired and thirsty from his journey, he was offered neither a chair nor water.

"He bears you no ill will, speaks no treason," he answered in confusion.

Anger clouded Darmouth's eyes.

"And what of all these peasants flocking to his fields? No other minister gathers armies of the poor. Your father believes you are skilled. Is he wrong?"

Leesil never answered any question before thinking carefully, but now he felt adrift. How could Josiah's act of feeding the poor possibly be construed as treason?

"Is this task beyond you?" Darmouth went on after taking a long drink, draining a pewter goblet filled with wine and then slamming it back on the table.

"No, my lord," Leesil answered.

"I need evidence, and I need it quickly. His peasant hordes grow. If you can't bring me simple information, I will assume your father is a fool as well and have you both replaced."