“What a beautiful smile.”
“You know, Charlotte, I believe we will get on quite well.”
“I surely hope so. Come now, before we are missed.”
* * *
CHARLOTTE stood on the balcony of her house. The sun had set, but the sky was still lit with the wake of its passing. The house faced a park, and the evening wind rustled in the branches. Tiny insects, luminescent with green and orange, chased each other through the leaves.
Two days had passed since she healed Angelia in the bathroom, followed by another three-hour session at her house. The poisoned tree should’ve borne fruit by now, and it was time for an update.
Somewhere out there, Richard waited, just as she did. Charlotte hugged herself.
She missed him. She missed the easy intimacy and the feeling of being held, not just physically, but emotionally. When they were together, she didn’t have to face things alone. She hadn’t realized until now how much she needed that closeness. In the worst time of her life, she had leaned on him, sometimes without realizing and sometimes consciously, and now he was gone. It felt like something had been ripped out of her.
Is that what love felt like? She had barely met him, but she felt like she knew him, intimately knew him better than she had known anyone in a long, long time.
She wondered if he missed her.
A bluebird landed on the rail of the balcony and held unnaturally still.
“Hello, George.”
“Good evening.” George’s voice emanated from a point somewhat higher than the bird’s head.
“I still don’t understand how you do this.”
“It’s a technique I learned in the Mire. One of Richard’s relatives is an accomplished necromancer, and Richard took me to see him.”
“Is he ready?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m in contact with Richard as well.” George paused. “He says hello.”
She wished they could meet, but meetings could be observed, and communication via magic devices could be intercepted. This was the only safe way.
“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 killing, Sophie?”