“You will not—”
“Are you, Asti?”
“I’m not taking this blade off your neck.”
“Of course you aren’t, you aren’t an idiot. You need the assurance. I’d be disappointed if you did.”
Her calm, cold manner—always such a sight when he had worked with her—was infuriating. It took every ounce of will Asti had not to slit her throat right away. But she was right—he couldn’t do that and stop her from killing Verci. And he . . . he couldn’t survive without Verci. It was the only thing he truly had in this world.
“I’m not going to let you walk out of here,” Asti said.
“I came in here, Asti,” she said. “And I’ll walk out when I’m ready.” She tensed for a moment. “Skirt, ease it down.”
Asti let his gaze lower slightly, to see Helene bringing up her crossbow.
“You know what this would do if I—” Helene croaked out before Liora pushed down on her chest with her heel.
“I know you’re not. Slide the crossbow away. Gentle.”
Helen stared defiantly.
“Do it, Hel,” Asti said.
Helene pushed the crossbow away, so it was only a few feet from her.
“We have more people coming here,” Asti said.
“And they won’t do anything as long as I got Verci primed for his closest shave.”
“Most of them don’t like me,” Verci said.
“Doubt that. He’s the ideas, you’re the charm. I know how it works.”
“You know nothing, Liora,” Asti said. He could feel the anger creeping up his arm, but he wouldn’t let it make his hand tremor. Not right now. Verci’s life depended on his nerves holding still. On the beast staying on the leash.
“You should realize I’m not here to kill you,” Liora said. “Use your damn brain.”
“I wouldn’t trust you to—”
“I let you live at the house. I let you get away.”
“So you could follow me here.”
“You think that was easy?” she snarled.
“Because you’re playing at being Lady Henterman?” Verci asked.
“Worst assignment ever,” she said. “Worse than Gerrindack Bay.”
That job involved swimming through the septic system of a Kieran facility in Napoli, in the sweltering heat of the broiling tropical sun.
“That was just a month before you betrayed me,” Asti said.
Her eyes met his—cold, hard, and determined. “I was following orders.”
That was not the response he expected. “Sewage. When I got back—”
“They told you that I was, what, disavowed? In the wind?”
“You gave me up to the Poasians for a piece of rutting paper!”
“A list. A list of names that Central Office wanted, no matter the cost. They said to—”
“Trade me for it? I don’t believe it!”
“That’s why they asked me instead of you. Because you were always a little too . . . idealistic.”
“I’ve never heard anyone describe him that way,” Verci said.
“Shush, Verci,” Asti said.
“Yes,” she said, adding a hint of pressure on Verci’s throat. “Mommy and Daddy are talking now.”
Asti’s memory danced. He had played out the moments of her betrayal in waking dreams for months, even though it was a jumble. He and Liora had penetrated the Poasian facility—looking for some mystical weapon they were developing. The Adzafhat. And then she touched him with something, and he dropped down. Drugged. The rest was a blur. But he remembered her standing over him. Talking to the Poasian officers. Then she bent over and kissed him on the forehead.
“The—‘mumble’—thanks you for the sacrifice.”
He could never remember—never make his brain fill in—that missing word. Was it “The Service”? It might have been.
“Do you know what they did to me?” he snarled at her. He wanted to slash her neck open more than anything. No—he wanted to tear it open with his teeth.
A tear welled up in her eye. “I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to believe that . . . it was the mission.”
Asti couldn’t believe it. “Who ordered it? What protocol did they use to contact you? Verification numbers? Authorization method?”
She didn’t even blink. “Major Chellick. Dead drop in Linsilla Square, written in Tenori Cypher Three. Six-five-six-nine-one-two-nine. Authorization by Standing Order Nineteen.”
That all sounded fine, but it could be nonsense. He could recite the same legitimate-sounding terms off the top of his head as well, and make it sound believable. And Major Chellick was dead, so that could be an easy scapegoat. He told her as much.
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. The point is I’m glad you escaped. I’m glad you got back to Maradaine safe and sound—”
“I am not sound!” Asti shouted. “I am barely keeping myself—every day—from tipping over the edge of madness.”
She was silent for a moment, and her grip on Verci’s hair relaxed by just a breath. “I am sorry about that.”
Asti looked at Verci again, to make sure he was all right. He seemed calm, but his right eye was twitching.
Not twitching. Quiet code. Twitching a message to Asti.
Find out what she wants.
That pulled Asti back down to the ground. He still wanted her dead, but Verci was right. She wanted something else. That was the only reason she hadn’t killed the three of them, or at least tried.
She had said the words of an apology, so that gave him the opportunity to shift the conversation.
“So why did you come here?”
“Verci,” she said calmly. “With just your left hand, I want you to reach around my hips to the pocket on my other side. Very slowly pull out what’s in there.”
“Do it,” Asti said.
Verci did as instructed. “He really does have the hands,” Liora said. “I didn’t even feel that.”
Verci’s hand came back holding a card.
“What is that?” Asti asked.
“Show him,” Liora ordered.
Verci held it up, and Asti read the fine calligraphy. You are cordially invited to Lord and Lady Henterman’s Annual Saint Jontlen’s Day Gala and Feast.
“It’s very simple, Asti. I came to invite you to the party.”
Chapter 13
“I DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING,” Asti said. “You’ve intrigued me enough to not kill you right now.”
“So you’ll take the knife away?”
“You want me to trust you with this?” Asti said, looking her in the eye. “You move first. Let go of Verci, step off Helene, move over to the well spigot.”
Liora raised an eyebrow. “Why the spigot?”
“Because you’re bleeding pretty badly from that leg and you’re going to want to clean it properly.”
She glanced down. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.” Asti noticed that her hand was wrapped from where he had sliced it earlier. His own arm was bleeding, and while it wasn’t critical, he was going to need to take care of it in short order.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Helene said. The blood had dripped onto her chest and face.
Asti carefully took the invitation from Verci. “If you want me to take this seriously, then step away.”
Liora eased her blade from Verci’s neck, and then in a singular fluid motion, sprang away from them all to the spigot.
Asti held his knife out, ready to throw it to bury it in her heart if he had to. He still wanted to. But this idea of hers—even though it was clearly a trick or trap or some other derangement—it had his curiosity. She had no idea—probably had no idea—why he was infiltrating the Henterman household, so he could use that to his advantage.
“You two all
right?” he asked, eyes mostly on Verci.
“This is disgusting, and I’m going to go and clean myself properly,” Helene said. She gave Asti a look, and Asti wondered if it was some sort of cue for her to do something crazy with her crossbow to take out Liora. Asti gave a small shake of his head.
“Don’t you go anywhere, skirt,” Liora said. “No one leaves my sight until I leave.”
“You don’t make the rules here, Miss Rand,” Verci said, rubbing at his neck. Her blade had left a mark, a red indentation. That would pass in a few hours, long before Raych would ever see it. Asti didn’t need another thing for her to yell at him about.
“We’re negotiating at this point,” she said. Wincing, she pulled the dart out of her leg. “Not too deep, I don’t think.”
“I’m better with knives than with darts,” Asti said, still holding his blade, ready to throw. She knew what he could do.
“Yes, and you want to kill me dead,” she said in almost a mocking tone. “That can wait. We’ve got a more pressing problem.”
“The Saint Jontlen Gala,” Asti said. “You want me there as a guest.”
“Well, obviously not you as you. Or as this Mister Crile persona. I trust you can come up with something.”
“Why?” Asti asked.
“Because I need a partner on this mission, and I don’t have anyone else to trust.”
Asti laughed, an explosive, enormous laugh that flew out of his lungs. “You trust me?”
“I—no, obviously. Except . . .” She sighed while unfastening her pants. “Let me explain.”
“Why does explaining involve taking off your pants?” Helene asked.
“Explaining doesn’t,” she said. “Treating this wound does.” She grabbed a rag and wet it under the well spigot, tossing it over to Helene. “Wipe yourself off.”
“What is your mission?” Verci asked. “Why are you playing at being Lady Henterman?”
She hesitated for a moment, and then proceeded to strip off her trousers. Asti had to stop himself from admiring her fine, muscular legs. She was a horrible human being, but she was an incredibly attractive woman all the same, damn near perfection in skill and movement. She glanced back up at the three of them. “I really shouldn’t—”
“Because it’s classified?” Asti asked.
“It’s a Black Rat mission.”
Asti let out a low whistle. He knew that would be what it would have to be, but it was still a surprise to hear her say it.
“What’s that mean?” Helene asked.
Liora took another rag and wet it down. “You wanna tell them, Asti?”
Asti sighed. “A Black Rat mission means Druth Intelligence investigates someone in the nobility, Parliament, or other prominent position, for suspected foreign influence.”
Liora went rifling through the drawers. “So I had to get in close. Established credentials as a minor noblewoman, seduce him enough to get a bracelet, and then—find out what’s going on. Three months later, I have no idea.”
“So why is this my problem?” Asti asked.
“Because I need to get into Nathaniel’s private study. If there is evidence of him being influenced, it’s there, I’m sure.”
Asti hid any reaction from his face. She wanted to use him to break into exactly where he wanted to go. It was almost delicious. Also too easy, so he didn’t trust it in the slightest. He had to assume she was setting him up, but for what? How much could she know about his intentions?
“Why come to me?”
“You fell into my lap, Rynax.”
“Not good enough.”
She found a cloth in one of the drawers and started to wrap the leg. “Because I don’t trust anyone in headquarters. Information is filtering in a strange way. I think there are Black Rats throughout Intelligence.”
“I’m not still in Druth Intelligence. They drummed me out because of how the Poasians rutted up my skull.”
“Exactly,” she said. “So I can trust a few things about you. First, I know that you want me dead—”
“That’s the truth.”
“And that you aren’t a rat in the walls.”
“Convenient,” Asti said. “Your story is perfect. I can’t go to anyone to confirm it, because they might be compromised.”
“True. But if Henterman is compromised, doesn’t that need to come out? If I bring in someone from Headquarters to help me—it could scuttle the whole mission.”
“And I wouldn’t?”
“We know how we work, Asti,” she said. “Whatever else happened, we’ve got a silent understanding that we used in the field, a shorthand of signals and gestures.” She pointed between him and Verci. “Just like the two of you. I know you’ve been talking in code to each other all this time. I’ve got no one else who has that.”
“Except me,” Asti said, letting his bitterness drip from his voice. “Presuming I say yes, what’s my advantage?”
“I imagine I’ll be helping you get whatever you were casing Henterman Hall for,” she said. “I know you hadn’t tracked me there.”
“Really?”
“Please, Asti.” She finished dressing the wound and pulled her trousers back on. “You’re not the most guarded of men. You saw my face and nine different emotions played over yours. You had no idea you would find me. Else you would have had a better thing to kill me with than a hingelocker.”
Verci glanced back at Asti. “That is my tool, you know.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s a delicate tool and I lent those things to you—” Verci went on with his rant, while also sending another bit of Quiet Code with the eye that Liora couldn’t see. Play along. Keep her on the line.
Asti agreed with that.
“Fine, sorry,” he said to cut off Verci’s distraction over the tool. He looked to Liora. “We’re going to have to discuss this. Come back here tomorrow, and we’ll have an answer.”
“Or you might kill me,” she said with a smile.
“That’s the calculated risk you take.”
“Fine,” she said, securing her trousers and belting her knife. “It’s been lovely catching up with you, Asti. Verci, it’s been marvelous. You’re everything he said you were and more.”
“Forgive me if I don’t get up to see you to the door, Miss Rand,” Verci said coldly.
“I understand,” she said. “Skirt, until later.”
“Ma’am,” Helene said, making the word sound like a threat.
She walked past them all to the door, now every bit the noble Lady Henterman in her demeanor, despite her current outfit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Asti. And if you do decide to kill me, please do me the courtesy of a proper fight. These last two skirmishes were quite wanting.”
And she walked out the door.
Verci let out a deep breath. “Well, that was . . .” He froze, for once apparently at a loss for words. Finally he said, “I presume that was what the trouble was? Or is there something else?”
“Horrible,” Helene said. “Can I go to the roof and shoot her?”
“Not right now,” Asti said. “Now we really do need a new plan, and it’s going to involve going to that party.”
* * *
“Miss Bessie needs to be a presence now,” Missus Holt said. “She needs to be a force in North Seleth.”
Mila frowned, partly at the things Missus Holt was saying, but mostly at the outfit she was being dressed in. Missus Holt had given her a skirt and blouse that looked like it was sixty years old, with brass hooks instead of buttons, closing up all the way to her chin. If Mila had felt strangled in the service dress Asti had given her yesterday, this thing was going to choke the life out of her.
“This is absurd,” Mila said. “Are you dressing me in your clothes from when you were my age?”
Missus Holt smirked. “Slightly. Bu
t Miss Bessie is going public now—”
“Yeah, that wasn’t supposed to be a thing. Asti said—”
“I don’t care what Asti said right now.”
“My cover, both as me and as Miss Bessie, is to lay low. Not get noticed.”
“How did not getting noticed help your boys, hmm?” Missus Holt asked. “They came for them.”
“Even still, if Asti needs—”
“Asti can worry about Asti. What we need to do—what matters most—is keeping this neighborhood out of the hands of scum like Lesk and that other one.”
“You need to explain this egg game thing you sent the boys on,” Mila said.
“In time.” Missus Holt had a tone that made it sound like that conversation was over.
Mila bit her tongue. “This collar is choking me, you know.”
“That was the fashion. High, tight collars and no corsets. Which was a lot smarter than what the ladies wear today.”
“No one I know wears a corset, Missus Holt.”
“Not in these parts, no.”
“I still don’t get—”
“A style that defines the persona, Mila,” Missus Holt said, bringing a bright red hat over. “You dress like a standard street rat, you won’t be noticed. You dress like this, you’ll own the room you’re in.”
“And the hat?” Mila said, looking in the mirror. The hat was just as much of a throwback, but something about the bright color and sharp brim worked for her. Mila lowered one side so it went over her eye.
“That was mine, back in the day,” Missus Holt said. “I doubt anyone you’ll be dealing with will really know or remember, but . . . it sets a tone.”
“Of who still runs North Seleth?” Mila asked. She had to admit, between the red hat and the blue waistcoat, it was probably the brightest, cleanest thing she had ever worn. Also hot. When she got out in the sun, she’d be a swamp. “What else?”
Missus Holt put a wide leather belt on her, with a knife prominently at the hip. The other side of the belt had a hook, and Missus Holt handed her a coiled rope. “You prefer using that rope, don’t you?”
“I know how to use one, that’s for sure,” Mila said. One of the few decent remnants of her mother, of her horrible uncle she spent too much time with. Mila couldn’t remember what trade their family was, but they knew ropes, and Mila held onto that and used it in her years squatting the streets with her sister. A good rope could keep her alive. She hung it on the belt hook. “I’m not usually one to be so conspicuously armed.”
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