by Peter McLean
“I see little here to entertain me, Tomas,” she said, her tone sounding bored and yet deliberately loud enough to be overheard. “The Earl Lan Klasskoff throws such wonderful balls that I fear I am completely spoiled for the provinces.”
That may or may not have been the case, but her mention of upper-level Dannsburg aristocracy had the effect she had no doubt intended. Heads turned in our direction, eyebrows rising at the thought that this Alarian woman had attended social functions that they quite obviously hadn’t been invited to.
“Perhaps we should retire to the Golden Chains,” I said.
I spoke the words she had given me in the carriage on the way from our house, which was all of ten minutes’ walk away, but I felt a fool doing so. My voice was like a clod of wet earth dumped among the fine crystal of those others’ there. I would never learn to sound like a noble, I knew that much.
“Tomas, where are your manners? I’m sure our lord governor has a most splendid evening’s entertainment planned for us,” Ailsa said, in a tone carefully crafted to mean the exact opposite.
I looked across the expanse of the ballroom and saw Governor Hauer glaring back at me with a murderous look on his face. He had a man standing at his right hand, a big scarred brute in a fine coat. I looked at that man, and I felt cold to my bones.
I caught the attention of a footman.
“The man standing with the governor,” I said. “Do you have his name?”
“The gentleman’s name is Klaus Vhent, sir,” the footman said.
The footman’s tone said he thought I should have known that, but I ignored him.
I knew that man by another name.
I knew him as Bloodhands.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was a real departure for me, and I had a lot of help for which I am eternally grateful.
I’d like to thank my wonderful agent, Jennie Goloboy of Red Sofa Literary, and my equally wonderful editor, Rebecca Brewer at Ace. I couldn’t have done it without you.
As always thanks are due to my long-suffering beta readers, Nila and Chris, who have helped birth every one of my books so far.
I’d also like to thank Lisa L. Spangenberg for her invaluable assistance with historical research and for putting up with my endless weird questions.
Thanks are also long overdue to Mark Williamson, who taught me everything I know about leadership—thank you, sir!
And always, of course, the biggest thanks are for Diane for putting up with me when I’m writing, and for everything else. Love you, hon.
Photo by Diane McLean
Peter McLean lives in the UK, where he grew up studying martial arts and magic before beginning a twenty-five-year career in corporate IT systems. He is also the author of the Burned Man urban fantasy series.
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