Florin was eight the first time he witnessed a successful assassination.
By that time had seen two failed, non-lethal attempts already. He averted his eyes as the attendants cleaned up the blood and the guardsmen pretended to search.
Later all he could remember feeling was irritation. The man killed was the host of the night's party and his death meant Florin had sat through an afternoon of stuffy formalities for nothing. There would be no four-course dessert banquet and no chance for a few hours of precious, unsupervised play with his peers. A man had just died, but Florin didn't think about it. He didn't think about who sent the assassin, or how they'd breached such a well-protected fortress. The Dagasi were just a part of life and he never spared a moment to wonder where they came from.
But he would.
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