Baron of Hearts (Master of Monsters Book 2)

by Hadley, Stephen L.

  And then, when Brigit collapsed into a panting heap, he slowly released her and withdrew his damp, sticky finger. For a few seconds, she lay there, motionless except for her breathing. Then, all at once, she sat upright in alarm.

  “Master!” Brigit exclaimed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry! This was supposed to be about you! I didn’t mean to—”

  “Hush,” Leo repeated. Leaning forward, he pulled Brigit into his arms with his clean hand and kissed the side of her head. “Don’t you go apologizing. I’m the one who decided to reward you.”

  “But—!”

  He silenced her with a finger to her lips. Then, replacing it with his thumb, he pressed down until Brigit’s mouth opened. She accepted the digit without question, sucking gently and teasing the tip with her tongue.

  “But if you really wanted to return the favor,” he continued. “I might have a few ideas.”

  Brigit grinned at him, mostly with her eyes since her lips were otherwise occupied.

  “Ideath, mathter?” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Despite the frenetic energy that had gripped him earlier in the day, Leo was calm and steady when the hour arrived at last. He stood in the foyer, his back to the door, and faced the ensemble that comprised the core of his household.

  “It’s time,” he announced. “Most of you have done this before, when we dealt with Baron Hammond. But, as a friend recently pointed out to me, this isn’t a game. We’re not going to be able to luck our way into besting Terras. We need to be prepared for anything.”

  Glancing from face to face, Leo settled on his drakonid.

  “Sann, you will be responsible for protecting this place while I’m gone. If anyone— anyone —comes here with ill-intent, I want you to tear them apart. I don’t care if they’re Terras’ men, Wyden’s, or even the fucking Duke himself. If they try and harm anyone, you slaughter them. Understood?”

  Sann grinned toothily and curtseyed. Without a dress to wear, the gesture had to be modified somewhat, but she approximated it well with a flare of her wings.

  “Of c-c-courssse, Massster,” she hissed.

  “Karran?” Leo said, turning to the ambrosian. “You’ll do much the same. Get the kobolds in the tunnel and have them guard the entrance at the old estate. I still don’t think anyone knows about it, but we’re not taking any chances. If anything goes wrong and we need to retreat for some reason, you’re responsible for getting everyone through it safely.”

  Karran nodded and tapped her brow in acknowledgement, just below one of her horns. She did not smile, no doubt displeased at being asked to remain behind. But in spite of her disapproval, she did not attempt to argue.

  “Nyssa, Mihal,” he continued, eyeing the trow. “You two will accompany me. Keep your hoods up; we’re not looking to cause a scene ahead of time. Other than that, just stay close and make sure Terras doesn’t get a chance to kill me.”

  His joke fell flat. Rather than any sort of laughter, his words brought only nervous fidgeting and shared looks from those before him.

  Sighing, Leo turned to Brigit and Delia. “As for you two, just keep things under control here. I’m sure the servants suspect something is going on, but do your best to keep them calm and working like normal. At the first sign of trouble, I want you to take them to the tunnel and keep them safe. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

  “Understood, Master,” Brigit said curtly. She slipped her arm around Delia’s as if to keep the younger woman from fleeing. “Will that be all?”

  Leo nodded and laid a steady hand on the hilt of his tightly buckled rapier. Then, as the servants and slaves began to disperse to their assigned tasks and the trow approached, he smiled.

  “Let’s go finish this,” he said.

  ***

  The streets were tense, quiet, and mostly empty, as if somehow cognizant of the trouble to come. Leo was grateful for the lack of distraction; it allowed him space to think as he walked.

  The sun was low in the sky, hovering a few inches above the highest rooftops. That was good. By the time blades were drawn, he wouldn’t have to worry about having it in his eyes. Of course, if he even got to that point, it would probably mean something had gone wrong. With luck, he wouldn’t need to go further than drawing his rapier.

  To his surprise, he spotted the crowd before he heard them. Unlike Nicolo’s previous rallies, there was no chanting or shouting, only the buzzing hum of pleasant conversation. The man had occupied a broad avenue only a few streets away from the Ministry of Justice, just inside the ward’s outer edge. The entire street had been converted into a makeshift banquet hall, complete with covered tables, sitting rooms, and long, dangling strings of overhead decorations. So large was the affair that it had spilled out of the street and into two nearby parks that lay half a block in either direction.

  Hundreds of revelers, perhaps as many as a thousand, roamed the space between the parks. The men drank and smoked and laughed, many doing so right alongside their equally liberal wives and sweethearts. Dozens of children ran about as well, shrieking with amusement as they played and climbed across the newly arrived obstacles.

  But Leo had no eyes for the attendees themselves. His gaze roamed through the crowds, seeking far more relevant details. And then, after a few seconds searching, he found precisely what he’d hoped for.

  “Excellent,” he murmured, prompting Mihal and Nyssa to draw near to him.

  Here and there, throughout the crowd of partygoers, strode dozens of proud, uniformed servants in the grey-on-black of hired help. Leo thought he recognized a few of the men as Nicolo’s, but dismissed the notion as soon as it came to him. It didn’t matter who the men were. What mattered was what they carried.

  “Wine, my lord?” asked one of the men as Leo approached.

  “How much?” Leo asked, feigning ignorance.

  “How much would you like?” the man joked. Smiling, he offered the serving platter with its many cups. “There is no charge, my lord. All food and drink has been paid for by the honorable Candidate Nicolo.”

  “Has it now?” Leo murmured. As expected, the man did not pick up on the significance of his words—if he even heard them. Selecting a cup of wine, Leo waited until the servant bowed and moved on before turning to his escorts. “The honorable Candidate Nicolo,” he echoed. “What do you think of that?”

  “Honorable, my ass,” Mihal grumbled back. “The man’s a slave-trading bastard.”

  “—without whom,” Nyssa added, shooting a glance at her anathki , “We would not have met Master Leo.”

  Chuckling, Leo sipped his wine. He had some inkling that it was higher quality stuff than what was usually served in local taverns and brothels. But truthfully, he was not such a connoisseur as to be able to tell much of a difference. With a shrug, he abandoned the cup on a nearby table.

  “You’re both correct,” he said. Then, in a quiet voice, he added, “And I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told the others. Someday, when we no longer need him, Nicolo will pay for what he’s done. But, until then, let’s go congratulate him.”

  Both trow nodded, and Leo was glad to see the trust in their eyes. While far from displaying the outward ferocity and thirst for revenge he’d seen in Karran, he hadn’t been certain how completely their loyalty to him eclipsed their justifiable hatred of Nicolo. He’d used them to contact the man, of course, but ignoring and tolerating were very different things.

  “Let’s go,” he repeated, climbing atop a chair to examine the crowd once more.

  It took him several minutes of surveying to locate the man. His attention had naturally been drawn to the low platform at the center-rear of the intersection, but Nicolo was not on it. Nor was he seated at the high table directly in front of the stage. Instead, Leo finally spotted him some thirty yards to the right of it, surrounded by a crowd of supporters.

  Carefully pushing his way through the crowd, Leo eventually reached the man. Even before he reached him, however, Nicolo’s loud, aucti
on-trained voice boomed audibly above the din.

  “—at all! Not at all!” Nicolo laughed. “I assure you, goodfellows, I had no idea the alderman would withdraw! If I had, I guarantee this little event would have been far more modest. And no, before you ask, I will not be this... generous with your taxes."

  Slipping nimbly between a pair of burly, guffawing men, Leo managed to reach his side. Nicolo spotted him at once, his wine-reddened face breaking out into an even broader grin.

  “Leo!” Nicolo exclaimed. Slipping an arm around Leo’s shoulders, he turned him to face the crowd. “Goodfellows, allow me to introduce Baron Leo VanOrden! Don’t worry, he’s one of the good ones. In fact, it was a conversation with this very man that inspired me to seek election!” He paused, cocking his head and stroking his mustache dramatically. “Or was it the wine I drank beforehand? In any case, we owe this man a debt of gratitude!”

  Releasing Leo’s shoulder, Nicolo began to applaud. It took a few seconds before the crowd followed suit, but soon there were hundreds of men, women, and even children clapping enthusiastically. So many joined in that it was obvious most of them did not even know the reason for their applause.

  But, as much as he wanted to enjoy the moment, Leo could not. Nicolo’s antics, whether authentically drunken or not, sent a burst of adrenaline through him. Already, several members of the crowd had noticed the hooded forms of Mihal and Nicolo standing close beside and had begun to whisper and murmur amongst themselves.

  Leo reached over, grabbed the man’s elbow, and pulled him close enough to be heard over the cacophony.

  “We need to talk,” he growled.

  Nicolo’s grin did not fade, though his demeanor did change subtly in an instant. He nodded, pulling free of Leo’s hand and addressing the crowd once more.

  “Goodfellows, I believe the next course of roast pheasant is about to be served,” he announced. “Enjoy the food. Enjoy the party. And please, if you have any political issues you’d like to discuss… wait until after the election!”

  The crowd laughed at that. Then, much to Leo’s relief, they began to disperse back amongst the tables and wine-bearing servants.

  “What is it?” Nicolo asked once they were relatively alone. “Is something wrong?”

  “It almost was!” Leo snapped. “What the hell was that? No one can know that I funded your campaign! If word gets out, the fact that Terras forced Olden to withdraw will be meaningless. We have to make him out to be an unreliable tyrant. Otherwise, they’ll cling to him even tighter from fear!”

  “Relax,” Nicolo replied calmly. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “I find that hard to believe!”

  “Then work harder,” Nicolo said, frowning despite his smile. “Anyone with means already knows that you and I are connected. You buy your slaves from me and I’ve visited your house. What matters is the public perception of that relationship. Claiming no affiliation will only breed suspicion. That we’re merely friends and occasional business partners is believable, at least.”

  Leo grumbled and shut his eyes. He wanted to continue arguing, but Nicolo had a point. Besides, whatever damage had been done was already finished. He’d gain nothing from feuding over it.

  “Fine,” he said. “Have you seen Terras yet? I didn’t spot him on my way in.”

  “Not yet,” Nicolo said. “Are you certain he’s coming? We are… foes, after all.”

  “Wyden said he’d convince him.” At Nicolo’s raised brows, Leo frowned and added, “What?”

  “Nothing,” Nicolo said. “Just be careful. Also, wait until after my speech to start your little duel, if you can. You paid a lot of sovereigns for this; I’d like to get my money’s worth.”

  Nodding, Leo watched the man saunter off to rejoin the crowd. His supporters welcomed him with open arms and shouts of appreciation. The reception was so earnest and forthright that Leo couldn’t quite suppress a pang of jealousy.

  He was a nobleman. Almost anywhere he went in Ansiri, people treated him with respect, deference, or even outright fear. But Nicolo was greeted like a son returning home. And the man had accomplished it in barely a week.

  It was purchased love, of course, scarcely better than a whore’s open arms. But then, how was that any different from having the spare coin to buy a title?

  “Master,” Mihal whispered in Leo’s ear, startling him. “He’s here.”

  Leo stiffened immediately, all thoughts of jealousy and titles forgotten. Allowing the trow to angle him, he followed Mihal’s gaze until he spotted his target.

  Terras stood across the crowd, lingering near the same spot that Leo had entered from. The count wore an expression that could almost have been boredom, had it not been for the rigidity of his spine. His clothes, too, spoke of a certain resentment. Rather than the fine-yet-simple suit and cloak Leo wore, Terras had donned an extravagant outfit of silk and lace, festooned with his sash of office. He made no attempt to disguise his rank or identity, but rather flaunted it. And accordingly, all but the most intoxicated of the partygoers shied away from him.

  Though, even if they had not, it was unlikely anyone would have had the chance to offend. Surrounding the count stood four guards, clad in the colors of Terras’ house. The men were armored as well and made no attempts to conceal the hilted swords at each man’s hip.

  “Well shit ,” Leo muttered.

  He’d expected Terras to arrive with escorts, naturally, but not to such a provocative extreme. Even if he managed to provoke the man as planned, there was no guarantee the count himself would be the one to respond with violence. And Leo did not doubt that Terras would gladly sacrifice his men to the noose if it meant protecting his interests.

  At this rate, the only way to get to Terras might be an actual riot. But, given the warning he’d received from Wyden, Leo was not about to risk one.

  “Master?” Nyssa prompted. “What is your command?”

  Leo didn’t even turn to look at her. “Can you take all four?” he asked.

  “Not at once,” Mihal said. From the corner of his eye, Leo could see him share a look with his anathki . “If it was just the two of us, I expect we could manage. But we can’t protect you at the same time.”

  “I understand,” Leo said. He studied Terras for a moment longer, hands balling into fists at his sides. The prospect of giving up was unthinkable—almost as unthinkable as what might be required to secure victory. “What if you had a distraction?”

  “Master?” Mihal asked warily. “What sort of—”

  The trow’s words faded in Leo’s ears as Terras met his eye. He wasn’t sure that the count had seen him, initially, but the smirk that filled the man’s features after a moment dismissed that notion. Subtly, casually, Terras shrugged.

  Well? the gesture said. Here I am.

  “We’re doing this,” Leo growled. Resting a hand on the hilt of his rapier, he made his way toward the crowd. “Get ready.”

  “Master!” Mihal exclaimed. “Wait! What sort of distraction?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Ignoring the protests of both trow, Leo began to pick his way through the crowd. He soon lost sight of Terras amid the tightly packed bodies but harbored no reservations about where he would find him. The man was far too proud to back down from a fight.

  As, it seemed, was Leo.

  He had covered nearly half the distance to the count when a hooded figure seated at one of the tables snagged him by the wrist. Leo stumbled, nearly tripped, and landed hard on the bench beside them.

  “What the hell?” he growled. “Who the—”

  “Shut up and listen,” interrupted a familiar voice.

  Frowning, Leo leaned forward to peer beneath the hood. The face he saw made him freeze. Only for a moment, of course, as he turned to wave off Mihal and Nyssa before they could come to his aid.

  “Davin?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Warning you,” came the woman’s urgent reply. She turned slightly, gla
ring at him from beneath her hood. “I told you Leo! I told you to leave Olden alone! The Low Crown doesn’t take kindly to interference in its affairs.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying,” Davin hissed, “that you need to leave. Right fucking now!”

  “Why?”

  “Would you just fucking—” Davin practically snarled. Seizing his arm, she squeezed painfully hard and leaned in toward him. “In about two minutes, muscle from the all over Ansiri will be here to send a message. Unless you leave— now —you’ll be lucky to make it out of here with only a few broken bones!”

  “What about Nic—”

  “He knows! I already told him!” Throwing back her hood, Davin stared at him. Her eyes were wide, her face anguished. “Leo, please ! Just this once, do as I say! Leave!”

  At this latest exclamation, more than a few of those nearby turned to look. Leo felt their stares acutely but couldn’t bring himself to meet any but Davin’s.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  Davin laughed. “Because we’re friends,” she said. “And I prefer living friends to dead ones.”

  More than ever before, Leo craved a chance to think. He could easily have sat there for hours, pouring over the intricacies of Davin’s warning and how he might use it to his advantage. But the urgency in the woman’s voice could not be ignored.

  And so, cursing inwardly, he stood.

  “Fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Go!”

  Pushing his way through the crowd, Leo moved with renewed vigor. Davin’s words rang in his ears, spurring him on with less and less regard for those in his path. Behind him, Nyssa and Mihal followed after with equal speed. They had doubtless heard her warning as well and he wanted to stop to consult them, but he knew better than to pause.