The following morning, I woke up with bruises and tomato stains all over me, which, for the record, are quite difficult to scrub off. My cloak was in tatters, having absorbed the worst of my last rooftop mishap, and the dagger I'd somehow managed to keep was now smeared with mustard.
It seemed that, in the chaos with the vendor cart, I'd knocked over a few suspiciously mustard-scented jars.
I stretched and groaned. This was what I had wanted: a destiny of death, danger, and—apparently—condiment-related disasters.
Rael, ever my dedicated instructor, arrived with a tray of something that I assumed was breakfast. Or rather, something that might have been breakfast if it had included more than hardtack, week-old cheese, and one oddly squishy apple.
"I hope you're prepared for the next stage of your education," they said, all seriousness, as always.
I bit into the apple and immediately regretted it. The texture was practically rubbery, but I managed to swallow it, gritting my teeth. "I mean, I don't know how much worse it can get."
Rael shot me a measuring glance. "We'll see."
The next phase of my training, naturally, involved hand-to-hand combat.
Now, I have no idea who thought a cat-assassin would be good at fighting humans, but they clearly hadn't witnessed my reaction when I accidentally bumped into a wall and briefly mistook it for a giant spider.
Rael taught me a combat stance, which they assured me was the most efficient method of bringing a person into submission without requiring a knife.
"Here's what you do," Rael instructed, demonstrating. "You stand tall, feet shoulder-width apart—"
I immediately took a step back. "I can barely stand on two feet, okay? Let's not pretend I'm ready for a fighting stance."
Rael rolled their eyes and sighed. "You'll get there. Now, position your feet like this—"
But, of course, I tripped over my own feet and face-planted straight into the dirt.
It's truly a gift.
After my triumphant face-to-dirt display, we moved on to grappling. Rael explained that you were supposed to put someone into a headlock, disable them, and then slip away, leaving no bloodied trail.
Rael looked at me with a mix of disappointment and weariness. "Grappling is crucial. You must stay composed and turn your opponent's momentum against them."
I nodded earnestly, convinced that nodding would somehow make me seem more competent.
They gestured toward the punching bag. "Get on with it," Rael said. "Grapple with that."
I hesitated, trying to avoid my usual tendency to panic in the face of... well, anything that didn't involve napping.
I stepped forward, grabbed the bag, and immediately froze because I realized I had no idea how to grapple.
So, I yanked on it like it was a stubborn cat toy, and, naturally, ended up slapping my face into the bag.
The bag hung limp over me.
I glared up at it from beneath the weight of the bag. "This is not how I pictured my life."
Rael didn't even flinch. "Well, you're a natural."
"Natural disaster," I muttered, trying to shove the bag off of me.
Then we moved to stealth walking. Rael had attached a bell to my tail. The challenge was simple: sneak around the room without the bell ringing.
But this wasn't just any room. This was a room full of cats.
Not just any cats. Mischievous cats.
I could feel my tail twitching in dread as soon as I stepped inside. The bell rang. Oh no.
A chorus of meows erupted from every direction. It felt as though the cats had all conspired against me.
I moved forward, trying to sneak like a cat—if that cat had just drunk ten cups of coffee.
I took a slow step, and the bell chimed again.
The cats leapt into action.
One clamped onto my tail. Another jumped onto my shoulders. I squeaked and tumbled to the floor, barely escaping a fur-covered landslide. "I'm not ready for this! How do you do it?!"
Rael stood in the doorway, arms crossed and unbothered. "You need to out-sneak them, not out-squeak them."
By the end of the day, my body ached like I'd just been dragged through a Lego maze, but strangely, my heart felt validated. I had gotten everything wrong, spectacularly wrong, and yet somehow, it still felt like I was doing something right.
"I have questions," I said, scraping dirt from my cloak.
Rael smiled. "What do you mean?"
"Why did I think becoming an assassin was a good idea?"
Rael fell silent for a moment, then flashed me a dry smile. "Because it's entertaining to watch you attempt it."
"Right," I said, beginning to extract twigs from my hair. "Isn't that the point of training?"
Rael regarded me thoughtfully before replying, "No. The lesson is learning. And perhaps someday you'll be dangerous."
I blinked. "Perhaps?"
They smiled enigmatically. "For now, you're dangerous to yourself. But I have hopes."
The day had been hectic, humiliating, and yet in some strange way, inspiring. Tomorrow, Rael was going to teach me how to vanish into thin air. I had no idea how they were going to pull it off, but I was pretty sure I'd end up falling into a well or something equally disaster-prone.
Through it all, one thing was certain.
Being an assassin was one heck of a rollercoaster ride.