should change her title, but crude amusement kept him from doing so. She was a pretty thing with cream-colored skin, red hair tied in a long pony tail, and dazzling violet eyes. Several daggers were clipped to her belt, her skill with them almost legendary for her age, and she was rumored to have a bit of magic in her, as well. A few had murmured about how the little girl of eighteen had slept her way to James’ side, but they were all hogwash. Her mind was as sharp as her dagger, frightening in its deadliness.
“His plan is suicide,” James said, pacing within the warmly lit study. They were holed up in a safehouse deep within the slums of Veldaren. Hundreds of families provided ample cover for their coming and going, and a bit of well-placed coin and occasional bread did wonders to ensure their discretion. A few hanging bodies had helped, as well.
“Perhaps such a risk must be taken to end this,” Veliana said. “He writes that we are the last hold-out; all the other guildmasters have signed on.”
“That’s because he’s killed everyone who disagreed,” James said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “And the rest he cowed with a few subtle threats dripping with poison. He’s grown desperate and delusional. Surely you can agree with me on that?”
Veliana smiled at him, a practiced smile that hid any of her true emotions. The lady watched her guildmaster pace. He was pushing forty, and his gray hair did little to hide that fact. His face had begun to wrinkle, and he constantly rubbed his large nose while he walked. The rest of his hand curled against his chin and pressed against his lips. The Ash Guild was the smallest of all the thieves’ guilds, but it was certainly not the weakest. With small size came added secrecy and stealth. They did not need to pad their numbers with riffraff and lowborn drunkards who couldn’t steal a diaper from a suckling babe.
“I’m not sure I agree,” she said, not revealing whether she meant Thren or James. “But we’ve entered the fifth year. We’ve tried hurting their wealth, and the gods know we have, but it’s like bailing water out of a river. It all just runs back. We steal from the Trifect, and then our men spend it on wine, room, clothes, and petty trinkets, and who do you think supplies every one of those?”
“But all of us?” James asked. “He really thinks with the guilds combined that someone won’t leak word to the Trifect? His plan requires an almost impossible level of secrecy. One errant word and we’re all hanging from nooses…if we’re lucky.”
“If he’s only contacted the guildmasters,” Veliana said, “it is possible to keep silence, at least as long as necessary.”
“And those guildmasters will tell advisors or close friends, and then they will tell their close friends, and then one of them will leak word to a turncoat for Connington or Keenan, and then we’re all fucked.”
Veliana laughed.
“Then tell him no,” she said. “Stop asking for delays.”
“Do that and I become just another body at Thren’s feet,” James said. He sounded tired. “I didn’t live this long, clawing and climbing my way past friends and enemies, just to watch it all vanish in smoke and ash.”
“Ash is what we are,” Veliana said, tossing the note from Thren Felhorn into the fireplace and watching it be consumed. “And Ash is what Veldaren will be soon. Do what you think is best, regardless of whether I agree or not, but at least make sure you do something. Waiting for Thren or the Trifect to act will get us killed.”
“You’re right,” James said after a length. “Either we aid him, or stop him. He is either friend or enemy. The question is, can we afford Thren as anything other than a friend?”
“That,” Veliana said, “is a very dangerous question.”
A t least she had a blanket. For that, Alyssa was grateful. The cells underneath the Gemcroft estate weren’t built with comfort in mind, and in the deep stone underground the warmth of the sun was a forgotten notion. While growing up, she had heard one of her father’s men brag about how the stone walls had been cut just the right way to always ensure a draft blew to every corner of the room.
Soaked in moisture that dripped from the ceiling and unable to avoid the constant, chilling blow of air, many prisoners had broken down in desperate clamoring for warmth. While the deep cold of snow and ice eventually numbed the skin, the Gemcroft cells chilled relentlessly.
The draft in mind, her father’s head guardsman had given her a thick blanket. Still, no matter how tight she wrapped it around her body, she always felt a draft sneaking up her leg or down the small of her back. She trembled, remembering tales of men who had been thrown into their cell naked and without any source of light. Growing up as a girl, she thought it an uncomfortable situation. Given just a taste, she now understood its potential for torture.
And that wasn’t even counting the actual torture that went on either, something she was most obviously spared.
Alyssa wasn’t sure how long she’d been in her cell, though judging by her meals it had only been two days. The first day she had shouted and threatened and demanded her release. When she finally crumpled into a corner huddled underneath her blanket, most of her anger had subsided. A deep core remained in her breast, but she did her best to keep it contained. She had more important things to deal with.
There was only one thing that could have rankled Maynard so, and that was her mention of the Kulls. They certainly held no love of her father. Through whispers and traders, they had convinced nearly every man and woman outside of Veldaren that the Trifect had grown soft and stupid. While Alyssa did not believe it all, she knew mistakes had been made, and a menace like the thief guilds should have been eradicated years before.
He’ll come for me, she thought. Her father would have to. He just wanted to show her how serious he took her words. Perhaps when the door opened, and he appeared holding a torch in one hand and another blanket in the other, she’d forgive his punishment. She’d wrap her arms around him, kiss his cheek, and willingly tell him everything about the Kulls. They had no sinister plans. They had no ulterior motives. How much time had she spent with Yoren? The Kull family felt that if the Trifect fell, then they would be the next in line for the hungry maw of the guilds to feast upon.
“You know how you stop a raging bull?” Yoren had asked her. “Kill it before it starts running. It has already gored the Trifect. It needs to die before it turns its horns to us.”
Maynard did not come that second day.
On the third morning, he appeared with two guards. One held another blanket, while the other carried her food. Maynard stood between them, his arms crossed. He wore no cloak or vest, as if the sweeping chill meant nothing to him.
“Believe me, my daughter, when I say I have no ill will toward you for this foolishness,” he said. Alyssa fought down an urge to stand and fling her arms around him. “But you must tell me what the Kulls are planning. They are liars, girl, liars and thieves and conniving men, so tell me what it is they want.”
She shook her head. Her anger lashed out, temporarily uncontrolled.
“They’re mad at your incompetence, same as I,” she said. “And if they plan a move against you, it is your own doing, but I swear I know nothing.”
Maynard Gemcroft nodded, and the sides of his mouth drooped a little.
“A shame,” he said. He turned to one of the guards. “Take her blanket.”
She felt panic bubble up her throat as she watched the second blanket leave, and she felt even worse when her first blanket was ripped from her arms. She clawed at it frantically, screaming that it was hers, hers, they couldn’t take it. But they did, and she was cold now, very cold, and it was only day three, and she still knew nothing.
On the fourth night, she was cold, miserable, and suddenly not alone.
“Do not be frightened,” a voice whispered into the cell. Alyssa jumped like a startled rabbit. Her lips were blue, and her skin a sickly pale color, wrinkled from the moisture that hung thick in the air and clung to the stone walls. She felt wet and disgusting, and her mind leapt to the darkest conclusions of why someone might come calling in the deep of night.
“My father will find out,” she said from her crouched position on the far side from the cell bars. “He’ll punish you if he…”
Unless her father had sent the stranger. She choked the thought down. Her voice caught in her throat, for there was no one at her cell. Again she heard the voice, echoing from wall to wall like a magician’s trick. This time she clearly realized that a woman was doing the whispering, a fact that should have calmed her but strangely did not.
“We are Karak’s outcast children,” said the whisper. “We are his most fervent, his most faithful, for we have
