“I attended Lord Caraway’s lunch,” George reported. “Lady A spent the entire time hanging on M’s arm and his every word.”
“Good.” Angelia was paying attention to Maedoc. Brennan would notice it, especially now that Richard had put the idea of Maedoc’s betrayal into his mind. With luck, he might view Angelia’s sudden interest in the retired general as a sign of her switching loyalty.
“Richard says that you are brilliant.”
“Please tell him thank you for me. How did the attack go?”
“Richard says that the attack went as planned, but B didn’t take the bait.”
Damn it. “He didn’t buy M’s betrayal?”
George paused. “No. Richard says that he underestimated B. B judged the attack as too obvious. He’s likely making inquiries into the rest of the players.”
Brennan didn’t trust anyone, even an ally who stood next to him in a sword fight. This was bad news. “Are we going to Step 2?”
“Yes. He sends his sincere apologies. He hoped to keep you from being involved.”
It was up to her to execute Step 2. In the planning stage, Richard had hoped that the attack alone would be enough to make Brennan suspect Maedoc. In the event it failed to do so, she had to provide a confirmation of Maedoc’s guilt to Brennan. Since Richard and she acted independently, Brennan had no reason to suspect a conspiracy.
Before they started the game, Richard had his brother plant a file in the records of the Military Archive. The image of Richard’s face was now tied to the fabricated identity of a veteran of the Adrianglian Army, who had served a number of years under Maedoc. The Five knew what the Hunter looked like, and now it was up to her to connect the dots between the Hunter and Maedoc, and present it to Brennan.
“No apologies necessary. I need some things. I didn’t have to infect A. She already carried Dock Rot. B isn’t faithful to her, just as Richard anticipated. I need to track down the prostitute he’s sleeping with.”
“Her name is Miranda,” George said. “She works out of the Palace of Delights on Griffon Avenue in the Lower Quarter.”
Sometimes Richard was frighteningly thorough. “Tell him thank you.”
“He says he misses you.”
“I miss him, too.”
“Please be careful.”
“You, too,” she murmured.
The bird spread its wings and shot into the air.
She missed Richard. If she closed her eyes, she could picture him, his eyes, his muscular body, the smile on his lips . . . Her memory conjured the feel of his skin against hers and even his scent. She missed him so much, it almost hurt. The sooner they destroyed Brennan, the faster they could be together. Assuming he still wanted her.
She’d sensed a certain distance between them before they left, as if he was consciously building a barrier between himself and her. Something had changed between them. She wasn’t sure what, but it troubled her.
Charlotte stepped inside. Sophie sat on the couch, her legs tucked under her, a book spread in front of her. The wolfripper hound sprawled on the floor next to her.
“I need your help,” Charlotte said. “We’re going to visit a dangerous part of town.”
Sophie uncoiled from the couch. “I’ll get my sword. Can we bring the dog?”
“Of course.”
Half an hour later, wrapped in a hooded cloak, Charlotte dropped two gold doubloons on the counter of the Palace of Delights. “Miranda.”
The proprietress, an older woman in a crushed silk gown, didn’t even blink. “Second floor, blue door.”
The blue door opened into a comfortable room with a canopy bed, all in various shades of red. The sheets were black silk. A thick red rug hid the floor. The furnishings were rich but slightly vulgar.
A moment, and a woman walked through the door. She was slender, blond, and doe-eyed. She saw Sophie.
“I don’t do kids.”
“Let’s talk.”
“Who about?”
“Brennan.”
“I don’t know any Brennan.”
Charlotte opened her wallet and dropped a coin on the desk. Miranda’s eyes widened. That’s right, a gold doubloon. Charlotte added another to the first, making it clink. Another doubloon. Another. Five now. Five doubloons was probably more than Miranda made in a month.
“I could just take the money,” Miranda said.
“I’d cut off your hand before you touched it,” Sophie said. Her eyes were glacially cold. Miranda looked at her and took a small step back.
Six doubloons.
“Once I stop dropping coins, my offer to pay for your information is withdrawn,” Charlotte said. “Better make up your mind.”
Seven.
She held the eighth doubloon between her fingers for a long moment. Miranda sucked in a breath. The coin clinked against the others on the table.
Charlotte sighed.
“Fine!” Miranda shrugged. “I’ll tell you. Money first.”
Charlotte let her sweep the gold off the table.
“He comes, he fucks, he leaves. If you’re looking for state secrets, he doesn’t share.”
“Tell me about his habits. What does he like?”
Miranda sat on the bed. “Nothing too twisted. He likes to feel he owns you. Sometimes he makes me crawl to him and beg him to fuck me. I don’t care—as long as he’s paying. He’s got this thing about all women being secretly whores. Sometimes he makes me dress up in a nice prim outfit, formal gown, flowers in the hair, the whole thing, and suck him. He gets off on the perversity of it, I guess.”
“Do you know that you have Dock Rot?”
Miranda grimaced. “I know. Damn soldiers. I already took my medicine.”
* * *
AFTER the perfumed air of the Palace of Delights, the cold night breeze felt refreshing. Charlotte and Sophie walked down the street. Charlotte walked fast. Regrettably, the closest place where they had been able to leave their phaeton was a brisk five-minute walk away, and the neighborhood wasn’t exactly safe. They left the dog tied to the vehicle just in case.
“Making her crawl to him is sick,” Sophie said.
“Brennan likes to debase women. He also likes to feel powerful.”
“Why did we need to know that?”
“Because he’s investigating Richard, which means he hasn’t bought our story completely. Angelia’s ignoring him in favor of Maedoc. He’ll look for ways to punish Angelia and possibly replace her. There may come a time that I will have to distract him.”
Sophie mulled it over. “Just like that?”
“Brennan is power-hungry, and I’m his type: tall and blond.”
They turned into the phaeton lot. Two men blocked their way. The taller of the two flashed a knife. “Money. Now.”
Nice tactic. The Palace had to have maintained security because mugged patrons were bad for business. So someone there either noticed that they left early and surmised they were looking for information rather than pleasure, or Miranda had raised an alarm. Likely the first option—the proprietress had given them a sharp look when they left, and Miranda was paid too well to blab. Now they were being scared off, just in case they had any thoughts of coming back.
“Money, you cow!” The man raised his knife.
“May I?” Sophie asked. “Please?”
“Leave, or she will kill you,” Charlotte said.
“Suit yourself, whore.” The man lunged and gasped as his arm slid off his body and fell to the pavement. His mouth gaped open in the horrified beginning of a scream. He never got to make one. Sophie swept past him, and he crumpled to the floor. The other thug backed away, his hands in the air, and fled into the night.
Sophie pulled a cloth from her tunic and cleaned the blood off her blade.
Charlotte looked at the body on the ground. He was damaged beyond her skill. A child had just ended the man’s life and seemed completely untroubled by it.
“Come.” Charlotte headed toward their vehicle. “Do you enjoy killi
ng, Sophie?”
“I enjoy the shadows,” Sophie said.
“The shadows?”
At the phaeton, the wolfripper hound licked her hand. Charlotte let it into the back, and they got into the vehicle. Sophie started the phaeton, and they rolled off into the night.
“I walk the path of the lightning blade. A warrior poised between light and darkness. It’s difficult to explain.”
“I would appreciate it if you tried anyway.”
Sophie frowned, her profile, lit by the golden glow of the instruments panel, etched against the night outside. “The death isn’t important. The only thing that matters is the moment of decision. My path is a line. My opponent’s path is another line. In the instant we meet, we’re forever altered. We may both walk away, or my line or his line may end, but for a brief time we exist in the same space on the verge of action, and that space is full of possibilities. It’s the moment in which I truly live. It’s short. It’s always so very short.”
An old memory flashed before Charlotte. She was sixteen, attending a dance during a summit with another college, and as she stood there, chatting with her friends, she saw an older boy looking at her from across the floor. She saw admiration in his eyes. In that brief instant, when their gazes met, an array of possibilities flashed before her: he could come over, he could talk to her, there could be the start of something . . . It was a sweet kind of thrill, slightly frightening, but exciting. But Sophie found it in battle and was addicted to it. How could you even begin to fix something like that?
“What’s the next step?” Sophie asked.
“The next step is to prepare for the Grand Thane’s wedding. We need to pack and leave in three days. It will take us at least a day to get there, and we need to make sure we don’t arrive too early or too late. You will love Pierre de Rivière. I saw it first when I was your age, and it is a beautiful castle. We’ll attend the wedding, where I’ll catch Brennan’s attention, and find some way to connect Hunter and Maedoc.” She wasn’t quite sure how she would go about it.
Thinking about the wedding made her feel uneasy. Anxiety took her heart into a cold fist and squeezed. What if something happened to her or to Richard? This was no game. If they stumbled, Brennan would kill them.
She didn’t want to do it, Charlotte realized. She was afraid. She wanted to run away with Richard back to the cabin in the woods and pretend none of this had ever happened. The anticipation of what she was about to do pressed on her like a crushing weight. She wanted to escape.
“That’s where Spider will be,” Sophie said. “At the wedding.”
“That’s where you won’t kill him.”
“What if I could?” Sophie asked.
“Tell me, what does Spider do?”
“He’s an agent of the Hand and the head of a Hand’s crew,” Sophie said.
“People under his command are enhanced to monstrous levels. I find it very unlikely that he would travel alone. Look at me, Sophie.”
The girl turned her face to Charlotte.
“Promise me that you won’t kill him. I placed so much trust in you. Tell me you won’t betray it.”
“I won’t,” Sophie said. “You’ve been very kind to me. You don’t have to worry, Lady Charlotte. I keep my promises.”
FIFTEEN
THE long-distance phaeton shot out of the woods. It was time to wake Sophie. Charlotte touched the girl’s hand, and she awoke instantly, fully alert.
“Look out the window,” Charlotte said.
Sophie leaned toward the wide panel of glass in the phaeton. A vast river stretched before them, its placid waters golden and pearl, reflecting the glory of the setting sun. A flat bridge spanned the endless width of the river, and in the middle of the bridge, thrusting straight out of the water, a castle rose.
Sophie took a sharp breath.
The castle of Pierre de Rivière towered before them like a massive stately mountain of buildings crafted with cream stone. Couched in green trees growing from planters, its walls and countless terraces and balconies all but glowed in the sun. Thin, ornate spires stretched to the sky. Giant windows looked out onto the world from among the textured parapets and ornamental wall carvings so delicate, so light, that the entire enormous structure seemed to float upon the waters of the river.
“It’s so beautiful,” Sophie whispered.
“I hoped you would like it. It’s one of the wonders of the continent.”
The phaeton entered the bridge. The wolfripper dog raised his shaggy head in alarm.
“It’s fine,” Charlotte told him.
She’d suggested leaving the hound at the Camarine estate, but Sophie had hugged him and looked at her as if she’d suggested cutting off an arm. Faced with two pairs of sad puppy eyes, Charlotte had capitulated. She had insisted on a leash, a bath, and a haircut, all of which had failed to turn him into a pampered pet. He still looked like he chased wolves through the woods. They would have to make an effort to walk him, and he would make things less convenient, but it couldn’t be helped.
A high, forlorn cry rolled through the sky, as if the clouds had sung.
“Look!” Charlotte pointed at a bright green spark dropping from the sky.
The spark plummeted, growing, becoming an enormous scaled shape armed with massive wings. The wyvern circled the castle, the sun reflecting from the cabin on its back. Another joined it, then another . . . One by one, they landed on the castle grounds.
“The elite of both realms will be there.” Charlotte smiled. “Are you excited?”
Sophie nodded.
“I’m so glad. Enjoy it,” Charlotte told her. “It’s magic.”
They had work to do, but for now she would just sit here and watch the world of wonder blossom in the child’s eyes, and for a few brief moments, she could be fifteen again, riding in a phaeton to her first ball.
The bridge brought them beneath the portcullis to the main thoroughfare that circled the castle. The phaeton veered right, along a side route, and finally came to a stop in the courtyard before a grand stairway. A familiar man stood on the bottom step, speaking to a noble in a dark doublet. Brennan, Charlotte realized.
Their driver opened the door, and Charlotte stepped out.
“Charlotte!” Angelia called.
Oh Dawn Mother. “Angelia!”
Angelia Ermine swept into her view. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
At the stairway, Brennan turned. His gaze snagged on them. He smiled at the man he was speaking too and strode toward them.
Anxiety pierced Charlotte. She pretended to listen to Angelia. She wore a silk tunic and trousers, both in a beautiful shade of green. The clothes were formfitting and only a hint suggestive, which made them rather prim by the standards of society. She hadn’t counted on meeting Brennan right off the phaeton, but the possibility existed, and she had dressed precisely for that occasion.
“Angelia,” Brennan said.
The other woman spun, surprised. “Robert . . .”
“My dear, I’m most put out.” Brennan took Angelia’s hand and kissed her fingers. “You’ve been denying me the pleasure of your company. One would almost think you were displeased with me.”
Angelia blinked. “Of course not.”
“Who is your friend?”
Angelia produced a charming smile. “Charlotte de Ney al-te Ran.”
Brennan blinked. The name had the desired effect.
“Charlotte, Lord Robert Brennan.”
Charlotte curtsied. “Your Highness.”
“Oh no, please. No titles.” Brennan waved his hand. “My memory may be betraying me, but I’m almost positive I haven’t encountered you before. I would have remembered our meeting.”
“May I tell him?” Angelia asked. “May I?”
“As you wish.”
“Charlotte comes to us from the Ganer College of Medicinal Arts. She has spent quite a long time there.”
“They don’t let us out much.” Charlotte smiled. “It’s almos
t like a convent.”
Interest sparked in Brennan’s eyes. She was right—the idea of seducing a woman shut off in a convent appealed to him.
“How peculiar,” Brennan said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a College escapee.”
“Then I’m flattered to be the first, my lord.”
“Are you a healer?” Brennan asked.
“Only a physician, my lord.” Lucky for her, Ganer College was home to both magic healers and their mundane counterparts. Given that Brennan had gone to visit the Island of Na, he must’ve heard of Silver Death killing people on the island with strange magic. She didn’t want to advertise her talents. He could connect the dots.
“She’s a healer,” Angelia blurted out. “An excellent one.”
Charlotte heaved a small sigh. “Forgive me, my lord. We don’t usually identify ourselves outside of the College.”
“Perfectly understandable. I imagine you would be inundated with requests otherwise.” Brennan glanced at Angelia. “I had no idea you kept such exotic company. I do hope you haven’t been ill, my lady?”
Angelia’s composure crumbled. “Lady Charlotte is a friend,” she squeezed through her teeth. “But now that you mention it, yes, I have been ill. I’ve caught a most unpleasant disease from a most surprising source. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”
“I would love to hear it, but we’re being rude to your friend.”
“Oh no, not at all,” Charlotte said. “I’m tired from my journey, and I need to do all those small secret female things women do to make themselves presentable before the dinner. Please excuse me.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Brennan said. “The loss is entirely ours.”
Charlotte curtsied and watched them walk away. Angelia’s spine was rigid like a spear—she was fuming. She was about to reveal to Brennan that he had infected her with Dock Rot, and that conversation couldn’t possibly go well.
“How did it go?” Sophie murmured at her elbow.
“It went well. Now we must lay our trap.”
An hour later, Charlotte paced in her dressing room. Her dress waited on the bed. She wore a long black robe. Her undergarments had been very carefully chosen—she wore the tiniest of black lace panties, a bra that was a collection of translucent lace and black straps, and black stockings held up by thin ribbons simulating leather. She’d had the ensemble custom-made, modeled after some of the sexy garments she had seen advertised in the flyers from the Broken. The outfit wasn’t just seductive, it was erotic, explicit, and raunchy. A woman of her status had no business wearing these kinds of undergarments unless she was aiming to provide very specific entertainment to her lover. Her spike-heeled shoes raised her to dangerous heights. Her hair had been arranged into an elegant wave appropriate to a formal function. Her makeup was perfect, and she was as ready as she could be.
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