"Yes, your uncle." Ilanna leaned against the wall. "Tell me about Lord Damuria."
The nobleman's eyes narrowed. "You will get nothing from me, other than the promise that my uncle will hunt you to the ends of Einan to extract vengeance."
Ilanna grinned. "He's welcome to try. Tell him he's welcome in Praamis any time." She motioned to Errik. "I've a special welcome party prepared for him."
Torath gave a harsh chuckle. "Oh, he'll never come in person. He will not deign to visit your filthy, backwater city. He'll simply hire every assassin and killer south of the Chasm of the Lost."
"Seems like a waste of good coin," Ilanna said. "Especially considering you're nothing more than a bastard son of his sister."
Torath's face darkened. "Better a bastard than a c—"
Ilanna drove her boot into his gut, cutting off his insult. The nobleman doubled over, sagging to the muck-covered floor of the privy, where he lay groaning.
Ilanna crouched over him. "Let me make things perfectly clear for you, my lord." She spat the last two words. "I'd love nothing more than to kill you right now. Given what you did to those innocent girls, Watcher knows you deserve it."
"Innocent girls?" Lord Torath's laughter surprised her. It was a cold, cruel sound, the same sort of laughter she'd heard from Sabat's mouth as he shattered her bones. The refuse caking his face made it seem somehow more horrible, twisted. "Is that what this is all about?"
Ilanna stood, folding her arms.
Lord Torath sat up and fixed her with a glare. "If you think the Bloody Hand had it out for you before, you've just made it a thousand times worse. My uncle will keep sending them after you until you're dead." He laughed again. "And all over a few hundred pathetic whores!"
Ilanna wanted nothing more than to ram her dagger deep into the nobleman's mouth, to carve out his vile tongue. But she needed to know more about the Bloody Hand's operations if she was to cut off the flesh trade to Praamis entirely.
"Give me the names of the men in Praamis, Voramis, and every other city around Einan that buy the girls," she demanded.
Lord Torath raised an eyebrow. "Is that all? Perhaps you'd like the name of our Bonedust supplier as well."
"Of course." Ilanna nodded.
"And why don't I also tell you where to find the Five Fingers of the Bloody Hand?"
Ilanna's face hardened. "Pretend your life depends on the information you provide me."
"Information?" Torath laughed. "You'll get nothing from me, bitch. I've survived on the streets of Voramis, endured more than you could possibly imagine. I've had men threaten, torture, and abuse me to within an inch of my life, yet I still live and they lie rotting in some nameless grave."
Ilanna fought back a wave of disgust—not at the smell in the privy, but at the man before her.
Lord Torath's face hardened to a sneer. "I sought out the Bloody Hand, asked for the privilege of running the trade for my uncle. I will reclaim the glory of my House and my place as a noble of Voramis, whatever it takes. There are no prices too high, no lives I will not condemn." His voice rose to a shout. "No one will ever grind me into the dust again. The House of Torath will once again—"
Fury raged within Ilanna. She seized his hair and shoved his face into the garderobe once more. His shoulders twitched and his hands strained against their bonds. She'd tied the knots well. No matter how he struggled, he could not break free.
"Ilanna!" Errik's voice came from behind her. His hand gripped her shoulder. "We need information from—"
She whirled on him, baring her teeth in a feral snarl. He retreated.
The nobleman's struggles grew frantic, desperate. His uninjured leg kicked out feebly. A low growl built in the back of Ilanna's throat as she shoved his head deeper, deeper. She knelt atop his back, pushing down with all her weight.
Slowly, his movements grew weak, jerky. He gave one last twitch, then moved no more.
Ilanna remained kneeling atop him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The fires of rage burned in her chest. She wanted to bring him back to life so she could kill him again.
Suddenly, horror roiled within her. The antidote! In her fury, she'd forgotten to demand the Bonedust counter-agent from him.
A strong hand gripped her shoulder. "Ilanna," Errik said in a quiet voice. "It's done."
Ilanna looked up into his somber face. Beside him, Athar stared at her with horror in his wide eyes.
With frantic movements, Ilanna fumbled in Lord Torath's pockets. The corpse made no protest. Something clinked against the coins in his purse. Ilanna held her breath and tore at the purse so hard it ripped the drawstring.
There, resting against a small fortune in silver drakes and golden imperials, lay a glass phial containing a sea-green liquid.
Hope surged within her. She wasn't certain that it was the antidote, and she couldn't confirm it with Lord Torath now. But it had to be. She couldn't have come all this way to leave empty-handed. She couldn't fail the girls who clung so stubbornly to life against all odds, despite everything that had happened to them. It had to be the Bonedust antidote.
With a snarl, she released the nobleman's hair and climbed off his back.
"Dump him in," she instructed. "He deserves no less for what he's done to so many others."
She opened the privy door and strode toward the staircase that led up to their room.
* * *
"Guild Master?"
Athar's timid voice snapped her from her reverie. She blinked and looked up at him.
"Er…Master Serpent thought you'd want to know about Laken," the Serpent said.
Ilanna didn't understand, but she nodded. Athar retreated through the window and back into their upper-floor room.
She didn't know how long she'd sat on the roof of The Sour Mash Inn, staring across the city of Voramis with unseeing eyes. She'd relived Lord Torath's final moments over and over, felt the same surging fury burning within her chest. She knew she'd acted rashly, out of anger, but it didn't matter. Einan was better off without him.
Her joints protested as she stood. She glanced up and was surprised to see the sun hanging high in the sky. Had she really been there that long?
Errik and Sys nodded as she clambered through the window. Keltor hovered over the shoulder of the white-robed woman who sat beside Laken. The Hound was pale-faced, his eyes sunken.
"How is he?" she asked.
The Ministrant turned to regard her. Ilanna flinched; the woman's face and head was a thick mass of burns.
"The wound is grave," the white-robed woman said. "But the Bright Lady will have mercy on him."
Relief washed over Ilanna like a soothing balm. "Is he fit to travel?"
The Ministrant frowned, then gave a hesitant nod. "I'd advise against it. He's weak from loss of blood." She pointed to the gash in his thigh. "The artery was nicked, but by the grace of the Bright Lady, not fully severed. Only the quick intervention of your man here"—she indicated Keltor with a thrust of her chin—"saved his life. Had I arrived even ten minutes later, the patient would have exsanguinated."
Ilanna's gut clenched, and a burden of guilt settled on her shoulders. She had led Laken and the others to Voramis, put them in danger. Her actions had led to his injury. He would live, but to hear that it had been a close thing…
"However," the Ministrant continued, "I can provide you with the necessary bandages, poultices, and remedies to care for him, if you must travel. As long as the sutures hold, all that remains is for him to rest. He should regain use of his leg. Mostly."
Ilanna produced a heavy purse and held it out to the woman. "Thank you, Ministrant…?"
The priestess reached for an odd-looking metal crutch, slipped it under her right arm, and stood. "Fern," she replied, taking the pouch with her left hand. Her right was bent at an awkward angle, as was her left leg. "If your man will accompany me back to The Sanctuary, I will see that he has the necessary supplies."
She hobbled toward the door, then stopped and turned back
. "It should go without saying, but do not let him ride a horse. Best you hire a carriage or coach, keep him on his back."
"You hear that?" Errik asked the Hound. "You're going to spend the trip home lying about like the lazy bastard you are."
Laken gave a weak smile, but couldn't manage a reply.
"Of course, Ministrant." Ilanna bowed.
The white-robed woman opened the door and limped out, Sys a step behind.
When the door clicked shut, Ilanna turned to find Errik staring at her. Worry filled his eyes, just as it had the time she'd murdered a priest of the Apprentice in front of him, or when she'd killed Allon for betraying them all to the Bloody Hand.
"We got what we needed from him," Ilanna said. "He told us that he was the one running things, but it's Lord Damuria that's the real power behind the operation."
Errik's mouth tightened, but he nodded without a word.
"What?" she demanded. "Whatever you're going to say, spit it out already."
Errik hesitated a moment before speaking. "We can't do it. Not now."
Ilanna raised an eyebrow.
"You saw how well-guarded that mansion of his was, and that was before we assaulted him and murdered his bastard nephew." Errik folded his arms. "House Serpent is good, Ilanna, but I wouldn’t send any of my Journeymen to do this job."
Ilanna scowled and opened her mouth to argue.
"There's also the little matter of the Bloody Hand," Errik plowed on. "They know you're here, they know what you look like now, and they're royally pissed. I wouldn't be surprised to find them breaking down our door at any moment."
"What are you suggesting?" Ilanna asked through gritted teeth.
"We return home." Errik's voice was quiet, yet firm. "We get out of Voramis before the Bloody Hand finds us."
"And Lord Damuria?" Ilanna demanded. "After all we've done to shut down the flesh trade, we can't simply walk away now!"
Errik shook his head. "We have Lord Stonecroft, his contact in Praamis. We've closed their warehouses and cut off their supply of Bonedust. Without Lord Torath, he's going to have to find someone else to start things up again. That will take time."
Ilanna's anger returned. "And during that time, how many more girls will be stolen from their homes and sold into slavery?"
"I don't know, but is it really worth getting yourself killed over?"
Ilanna's eyebrows shot up, and she prepared to unleash her fury on him.
"I know you want to help them," Errik said before she could speak. "It's why I agreed to come along. I know you can make a difference, can save them, just like you saved the girls back in Praamis. But I'm not going to let you get killed over it." He crossed his arms. "Ria gave me an order to bring you home safe. That's one order I intend to keep, even if I have to tie and gag you to do it."
Athar gave a little gasp behind Errik.
Errik's lips twitched. "We'll make a nice bed for you beside Laken, somewhere comfortable, somewhere I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't do anything foolish."
Ilanna hated that he was right. They'd had their chance at Lord Damuria and failed. The Steel Company mercenaries would be on high alert. Did she dare risk any more of the Guild going after the nobleman?
"Fine," she growled. "We'll go home." The thought of leaving Voramis rankled. She couldn't sit by and do nothing, not while so many suffered.
Errik snapped his fingers, and Athar leapt to pack their bags. Almost as if he'd given the Serpent a command to be ready before they ever spoke.
She glared. Errik knew her too well.
"But that doesn't mean I'm done with Lord Damuria." She spoke in a cold voice. "I intend to see him dealt with once and for all."
Errik nodded. "On that, we can agree."
Ilanna began to pace, her mind setting to work on the problem. "We'll head back to Praamis, gather reinforcements, then return to—"
"No." The single word was spoken with more force than she'd ever heard from Errik. His expression grew as hard as granite. "This isn't a problem we can handle."
Ilanna clenched her fists. "And if I command you to do it?"
Errik crossed his arms over his chest. "As Master of House Serpent, it is within my rights to refuse a direct order from my Guild Master if I deem it is in the best interest of the Journeymen and apprentices under my command."
Ilanna's jaw dropped. Errik had never done more than disagree with her, but this was downright mutiny.
"Damn you, Errik!" she snarled. "I never thought you were—"
"However," he said, cutting her off, "I have another idea. Specifically, I've an idea of someone we can use—someone who will guarantee the death of Lord Damuria."
Ilanna narrowed her eyes. "Who?"
Errik sighed. "The last person I'd ever think of under any other circumstance. Call it professional pride, if you will." He shook his head. "Worse, he's not going to come cheap."
"Whatever the cost," Ilanna snapped, "It's worth it. I will pay for it personally if the Guild will not." Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "No matter what, Lord Damuria must die."
Part Two: Assassin of Voramis
Chapter One
"Lord Damuria must die."
Despite the nobleman's attempt to sound confident, there was an unmistakable quaver to his voice. His slim, angular face revealed the depths of his unease, and perspiration trickled down his aristocratic forehead. The smell of fear and flop sweat soured his unique scent—a mixture of rose oil, old alcohol, and silk—drowning out the odor of mold and dust hanging thick in the cramped Room Four of The Rusted Dangle Inn.
The Hunter hid a cruel grin. He relished the man's nervousness—he'd spent a fortune instigating rumors of his brutality, his inhuman abilities. Terrified clients were far less likely to seek vengeance on him in the future.
"Er…did you, er, hear me?" the nobleman asked. "Lord Damuria has inter—"
"I heard." The Hunter spoke in a low, deep growl, a voice he adopted for the sheer joy of watching men squirm. With his face hidden beneath his hood and his form concealed in the room's shadows, the terrifying effect of the façade was complete. His hyper-sensitive nostrils detected a hint of urine mingling with the man's perfume. "You have the gold?"
The nobleman drew a purse from within his cloak and held it out to the Hunter with a shaking hand. "Your usual fees, from what I gather. Paid in full."
The Hunter snatched the purse, a sudden movement that set the nobleman flinching, and hefted it in a pretense of judging its contents. He let the silence drag on, eliciting a fresh wave of fear from the slim man before him. Finally, he nodded. "It will suffice." He tucked the purse into his cloak. "Are there any...special requests?"
"S-Special requests?" the man stammered.
The Hunter stepped toward the man and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. "Do you wish for his death to send a message to his family, or to a rival?" He raised a clenched fist before the man's eyes. "Do you wish for him to suffer unimaginable pain before I send him to the embrace of the Long Keeper?"
The nobleman paled. "Er, no. He…" He swallowed and shook his head. "He must die, that is all."
The Hunter raised an eyebrow at the hesitation in the man's voice. He'd had many dealings with intermediaries before and recognized the familiar uncertainty. This man was not the real client, simply an underling trying to carry out his master's bidding despite his fear.
"So be it," the Hunter said in his low growl. "Lord Damuria will be eliminated. But first, you have the other item?"
"Other…item?" the nobleman asked, his voice rising in panic. "Surely the coin is—"
The Hunter cut him off with a slash of his hand. "A token."
The nobleman flinched. "I, er, I…" He cleared his throat. "I could not procure it. Lord Damuria has proven notoriously difficult to contact as of late."
The Hunter narrowed his eyes. "You seek to hire my services yet come unprepared to meet my price?" he growled.
"I tried!" the man whined. He shuffled ner
vously from foot to foot, and once actually wiped sweat from his forehead. "But it proved impossible to even get an audience with him. Surely with the coin, it is enough."
"If you cannot produce a token of Lord Damuria's," the Hunter snarled, "then I will take one from you!"
The man actually yelped and stepped back as the Hunter held out a hand. When the Hunter made no other move, the lordling recovered enough to reach into his breast pocket and draw out a silk handkerchief. "W-Will this suffice?" His voice trembled, as if expecting the Hunter to demand a finger or ear.
The Hunter took the square of cloth. "It will do." He always demanded a token from his clients. After being cheated by one money-grubbing noble, he'd adopted the practice. Having something of theirs made it easy to track them down and extract payment—either in gold or flesh.
To be fair, since Lord Eddarus, there hasn't been much call for it. The sight of his dead, mangled corpse had sent a clear message to anyone thinking of cheating the Hunter.
"Return to your master," the Hunter said, "and tell them it shall be done."
The nobleman's eyes widened and he caught his breath, but no words came out.
Without a sound, the Hunter ducked back into the open secret passage and slid it shut behind him. An abrupt exit always left his clients shaken and added to the myth of his supernatural abilities. Instead of descending the stairs to The Rusted Dangle's common room one floor below, he climbed the ladder that led to a rooftop hatch. He slid down the sloping tiles and crouched behind the chimney. A few minutes later, the nobleman staggered out of the ramshackle inn and, with a nervous glance behind him, hurried up the street.
The Hunter smiled. He enjoyed the fear his reputation bred in those seeking his services—it provided safety, of a sort. No one knew where he lived or, thanks to Graeme's alchemical masks, what he looked like. Anonymity had proven as effective a shield as a reputation for ruthlessness.
I wonder why a Praamian nobleman wants Lord Damuria dead.
Queen of Thieves Box Set Page 128