Cursors's Fury

and Bernard and gave Rook an apologetic glance. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask them to leave their arms here.”

“Absolutely not,” Rook said. “His Grace charged me with the particular protection of these slaves until such time as he permits liberties with them.”

Orus frowned. “I understand. Then I will be pleased to assign a pair of my own guardsmen to you for such a duty.”

Amara struggled to remain in her drowsy, languidly sensual stance. It was difficult, given that she was quite certain that Aldrick had just shuffled his feet slightly in order to have them already in position for when he drew steel.

“Are they eunuchs?” Rook asked, her tone dry.

Orus blinked. “No, Mistress.”

“Then I’m afraid they don’t qualify, centurion.” Rook dropped the mildest emphasis on the pronunciation of the rank. “I’ll be sure to clear this with Count Eraegus at once, but for the time being I have my orders. Here are yours. Remain at your post.”

The young centurion looked more than a little relieved. He saluted her with perfect precision and stepped back to his post.

“You,” she snapped, looking at Aldrick. “This way.”

The guards stood aside as Amara’s group calmly walked in through the citadel’s front door.

“Quickly,” Rook said quietly, once they were past the guards and in the small courtyard on the other side. “Until we reach the upper levels, there’s too much chance someone might see me and start asking questions.”

“Someone just did,” Bernard murmured.

“Someone with a mind,” Rook clarified. “Kalarus controls the Immortals completely, but the collars have damaged their ability to ask questions or take the initiative in exchange for providing perfect obedience. The Immortals won’t question me or act against me unless ordered to-but Kalarus’s staff and officers might. They’re the ones we have to avoid.” She picked up the pace to a more brisk walk, led them down a side hallway, then to a wide, spiraling staircase that wound up through the heart of the tower.

Amara counted one hundred and eighteen stairs before they heard a footstep ahead of them, and an overweight, sallow man in overly fine livery stained with wine appeared four steps above them. His jowls were pocked with scars, his hair thick and uncombed, his face unshaven. He drew up to a halt and squinted at them.

“Rook?” he said.

Amara saw Rook’s spine tighten with tension, but she gave no other sign of nervousness. She bowed her head, and murmured, “Milord Eraegus. Good morrow.”

Eraegus grunted, and eyed the other women. His mouth spread into an appreciative leer. “Bringing in some fresh toys for us?”

“Yes,” Rook said.

“Pretty bunch,” Eraegus said. “When did you get in?”

“Late last night.”

“Didn’t expect you back this soon,” he said.

Amara could see the curve of Rook’s cheek as she gave Eraegus a disarming smile. “We were fortunate on the road.”

Eraegus grunted. “Not what I meant. There were reports that you might have been capt-”

He broke off and stared, just for an instant. His eyes flicked from Rook to Aldrick, and then down to the big man’s sword, and everyone there froze. For an agonizing second, Eraegus’s eyes darted around, then he licked his lips and took a sudden, deep breath.

The stiffened edge of Rook’s hand slammed into his throat before he could cry out an alarm. Eraegus shoved at her with vicious strength that could only have been the result of furycraft, and turned to go.

Before he could move, Aldrick was on his back, knife in hand.

“Stop!” Rook hissed. “Wait!”

Before she’d finished the first word, Aldrick had opened Eraegus’s throat with his knife. The pockmarked man twitched and twisted, and managed to slam Aldrick’s back against the stone wall beside the staircase. But the mercenary rode out the blow, and within seconds Eraegus collapsed, and Aldrick let his corpse fall to the stairs.

“Idiot!” snarled Rook in a furious whisper.

“He would have sounded an alarm,” Aldrick growled.

“You should have broken his crowbegotten neck” Rook snarled. “We could have put him in his office, splashed some wine on him, and no one would notice anything unusual until he started to bloat.” She slashed a hand at the bloodstains. “The next sweep will be through here in no more than a quarter hour. They’ll see this. And the bloody alarm will go up anyway.”

Aldrick frowned at Rook, then gave Odiana a glance. “She can clean it up.”

“And sound the alarm,” Rook said, furious. “Were you even listening when I told you about the security measures? Anyone in the tower who uses any furies Kalarus hasn’t permitted rouses the gargoyles. I’ve seen the bodies of twenty-three different morons who did so despite being warned not to.”

“Then you do it,” Aldrick said. “You’re a watercrafter, and one of Kalarus’s own. Surely you have been cleared. “

Rook’s eyes narrowed. “Kalarus is arrogant, sir, but not so arrogant that he trusts his assassins with full access to their crafting in his own home.” Rook paused, then added, heavy with vitriol, “Obviously.”

“Obviously?” Aldrick asked, his voice rising in anger. “Then it should be equally obvious that our friend there was using earthcrafted strength. I physically couldn’t have broken his neck, but he’d have broken mine if I hadn’t put him down at once.”

Amara stepped forward between them. “Silence, both of you,” she said. They did. She nodded at them, and said, “We don’t have much time. And none to waste on argument and blame.” She nodded at Rook. “So move.”

Rook nodded once and half ran up the stairs, boots laboring noisily on the stone. She stepped out into a hallway and across it to an open door. She went inside, and Amara followed her into a small office.

“EraйguVs office,” Rook said, voice terse. She started raking her eyes over the papers on his desk. “Help me out. There should be a record here of where they’re keeping your Citizens. Look for anything that might indicate their location.”

Amara joined her, swiftly going over page after page of reports, accounting statements, and other records of all kinds. “Here,” Amara said. “What’s this, about sending blankets to the aviary?”

Rook hissed. “It’s at the top of the tower. An iron cage on the roof. We’ll have to reach it through Kalarus’s personal chambers. Come.”

They hurried back to the stairs and started up them, following Rook to the top of the tower, passing the occasional window slit in the wall.

“Wait,” Bernard growled. “Quiet.”

Everyone there froze in place. Amara closed her eyes and heard a distant sound, though the tiny openings that passed for windows obscured most of what she could only describe as distant tones of some kind.

“What’s that?” Bernard wondered aloud.

Rook’s face suddenly went bloodless. “Oh,” she said, and the young woman’s voice was thready with panic. “Oh, oh crows and bloody furies. Hurry.”

“Why?” Amara demanded, following hard on Rook’s heels. “What is that?”

“It’s the fanfare,” Rook stammered, terrified. “High Lord Kalarus has just returned to the citadel.”

“Bloody crows,” Amara snarled.

And then there was a cry from somewhere far below on the staircase, and the alarm bells of the citadel of Kalare began to ring.

Chapter 44

“Guards,” Amara snapped.