CHAPTER 26
I walked out of Clan Harzi’s gates with a mordok on my shoulder and a chain in my hands.
The chain was attached to a collar around the man’s neck.
They’d also tied his feet so he could walk but not run, and his wrists, and they’d gagged him with a strip of cloth.
For people who didn’t trade in humans, they were remarkably thorough.
We walked down the street without saying a word, as fast as we could without the man tripping. I was leading a human being on a chain. I wanted to end this ASAP.
The street was deserted. Please stay deserted. Please don’t let anyone see me.
The streets of Fifth Hill didn’t have corners or intersections.
It was all a single road, and it wound around the hill in a spiral.
As soon as we made it around the first curve, I stopped.
The mordok riding on the leather pauldron on my shoulder decided that would be an appropriate time for shrieking into my ear.
“Cut his ropes, please,” I told Lute.
Lute gave me a cautious look, crouched slowly, and sliced through the tether on the man’s legs. His arm restraints were next. I stepped closer and unlocked his collar.
The man from the Garden pulled the gag out of his mouth, stretched, and kicked the restraints to the side of the road. The metal collar made a screeching sound as it slid over the cobbles.
“Much better. We meet again, my lady. As I said we would.”
That voice was like the auditory equivalent of chocolate. I should’ve mentioned that to Everard and Gort.
He gave me a wolfish smile.
Lute was right next to me, with his hand on his sword, and this guy didn’t have any weapons, but I didn’t feel safe.
Something about him communicated danger.
I needed to move this conversation to a place where we were not alone on a deserted street.
It would take at least ten minutes to get off the hill.
I started down the sloping road. He joined in, walking next to me. Lute’s face behind him was sending all sorts of danger signals.
The mordok on my shoulder growled. At first glance, she looked a little like a slender white cat that had somehow sprouted large feathery wings.
The wings reminded me of a seagull, her feet with their long non-retractable claws could have belonged to a racoon, and her face looked just like a mongoose.
She was tiny and very light, barely two pounds, and only eighteen inches from the tip of her little black nose to the end of her long fluffy tail.
She looked cute, but her claws were wicked, and she was using them to try to shred the reinforced pauldron to which she was attached by a long, thin chain.
“You still haven’t told me your name,” he said.
“You haven’t told me yours, my lord.”
“I’m not your lord, but I could be.”
He said it like a come-on, but there was a threat wrapped in that smoldering voice. The faster we got down to the city, the safer Lute and I would be.
“What were you doing at the Harzi house?” I kept my voice light.
“They have something that doesn’t belong to them. I came to retrieve it.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“It seemed like the best option at the time.”
“You’re clearly a man of some means, although the quality of your wig and beard says otherwise. Why not simply bargain with them for it?”
He smiled. “I see my disguise has failed to impress.”
And he had ducked the question.
“It would be better if the beard matched your eyebrows.”
He chuckled softly. “Do you prefer me clean-shaven, my lady?”
I had to string him along until we reached the main street. “I do.”
He peeled the beard off and tossed it aside. “Better?”
He was a dangerous, scary bastard, but damn, that face. “Yes.”
“What were you doing at the Harzi house?”
“Buying a mordok.”
I pointed at the beast perching on the pauldron on my shoulder. The mordok promptly bit my finger.
“Ow!” I jerked my hand back. Blood swelled on my skin. That was the second time she’d bitten me today.
The man from the Garden laughed. “Adorable. What’s her name?”
“Tzeri.”
“How in the world did you convince the Harzi to sell you an animal? They do not trade with the likes of us.”
“They do if the price is right. The beastmaster was overjoyed to be rid of her. He told me not to bring her back.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
We were almost to the main road. I could see it below us. People walked across it, heading to the bridge connecting Old Town with the rest of Kair Toren.
“Every time we meet, you’ve risen in station,” the man said.
“How so?”
“In the Garden you looked like a beggar, then a servant; in the market like a merchant’s wife; and now you look like a noblewoman. I can’t wait to see what will come next. The colors of a Great Family, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.” Keeping it cool and noncommittal, that’s me.
“And then there is the other thing,” he mused.
“What is it?”
“Every time I see you, things take an unexpected turn.”
“In what way?”
Just a little farther.
“We meet at the Garden, and the next day the world discovers Galiene has a daughter. More, she breaks a five-year dry streak and takes a lover—and not just anyone. Inhan. The second prince.”
“I can’t imagine what that has to do with me.”
A brilliant move, Galiene. Of all people, Inhan had exactly the right combination of means, clout, and a lack of ambition that would keep her safe.
Inhan Savaric had figured out long ago that his best chance at enjoying a long life hinged on convincing his older brother that he was not a threat.
Kiel was rabid and aggressive, while Inhan was passive and avoided conflict.
He indulged in wine and women, built elaborate moving models, and patronized the arts.
When it came to his princely duties, he did the bare minimum, just enough to keep from enraging his father.
Both Sauven and Kiel had written Inhan off long ago, but he was still a Savaric. Not only did he possess considerable resources, but Kiel was directly invested in keeping his brother distracted. If Hreban threatened Galiene in any way, the crown prince would come down on him like a ton of bricks.
We stepped onto the main road and joined the foot traffic. Finally. The bridge curved just ahead. Yes! Made it.
“We meet at the Market, and then things that should’ve happened do not,” the man continued.
What did he mean by that?
“I come to the Harzi house, and you frustrate my plans. You should stop.”
“I was more surprised to see you in the cage than you were to see me outside of it, my lord. I had my own plans, which had nothing to do with you, but I couldn’t leave you in there. As you’ve said, we’ve met three times. We are practically friends.”
“Is that what we are?”
I realized Lute wasn’t behind me. I turned. He’d stopped in the middle of the street with an odd look on his face.
The man from the Garden stalked between me and Lute, blocking him from my view with his body. He was too close, way closer than was appropriate, and there was a spark of magic in his golden eyes.
“A friend is someone who knows you,” he said. “And you don’t know me at all, my gentle mel.”
I went cold.
Mel meant a year-old lamb-like creature. It sounded like a term of endearment, but it wasn’t. When a lamb became mel, it was marked for slaughter. There was a man who said this exact phrase in the books, word for word. He said it to Inhan Savaric just before he slit his throat.
Silveren. The man from the Garden was Estol Silveren. The Lord Commander of the Redeemer Knights. The man who had allied with Hreban and kidnapped Matheo.
Fuck.
“Lute!” My voice sounded too sharp, but I didn’t care.
Silveren smiled.
A metal blade slid over his shoulder along his neck.
The smile died. His eyebrows rose slightly. He hadn’t expected that.
“Step aside,” Lute said, his voice a quiet snarl.
Silveren took a step to the right, then another. Lute pulled the sword back and put himself between me and Silveren. On the other side of the bridge two men stopped to watch. A woman halted on the right. People were looking at us.
“Be on your way,” Lute said.
Silveren took two steps back, turned, and strode across the bridge into Kair Toren.
I slumped back. Lute caught me and helped me lean against the stone rail of the bridge.
“What happened?” I asked him. “Why did you stop?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I blinked and he was between us. Are you all right? You’ve lost color.”
“I just need a minute.”
The first time I ran into him in the Garden, he had called Hreban a toad and mocked him.
And then he’d said, Alas, one shouldn’t keep such a rare beauty waiting.
I’d assumed he was talking about a celebrity attendant.
He had been talking about Hreban. Hreban was the beauty.
They could meet at the Garden in complete privacy without raising suspicion.
Galiene’s people would simply lead them to the same secluded room one at a time, and nobody would be the wiser.
Hreban must’ve shared his intentions for Galiene with him. Silveren knew, so he paid attention when that scheme collapsed.
It explained why he’d been at the Dog Market. He knew about the Butcher, so he went to check out the killer’s handiwork for himself. But what about the Harzi? How did they fit into this? Why was he there, what did he want? They weren’t a part of Hreban’s plan in the book. I was missing something.
Damn it.
I needed to speak to Everard. The sooner, the better.
I pushed from the rail.
“Are you good?” Lute asked, his eyes concerned.
“Yes. We have to get home.”
“Agreed.”
We started across the bridge.
He said the Harzi had something that didn’t belong to them. What could it be? A weapon of some sort?
“Maggie?” Lute asked.
“Yes?”
“What was all of that for?”
“What?”
“Going to see the Harzi. What was it for?”
“For Tzeri.”
I nodded toward the mordok on my shoulder. She hissed.