“Do you know who I am?” Thren asked.
“I do,” Gerand said, doing his best to sound brave. How many times had he belittled Thren to the other nobles, even the king? He took every word back. Gods damn it all, where were his guards?
“Do you know why I’m here?” Thren asked.
Again Gerand nodded.
“I do,” he said.
“Kayla, could you hand me his rapier, please?”
The woman retrieved the sword and handed it hilt-first to Thren.
“Thank you,” Thren said as he quickly inspected the blade. “Solid craftsmanship, if a bit on the self-indulgent side. I know many men and women who could live for a month on what this single ruby in the hilt would fetch them. I’ve known of you for some time, Crold. Your family line has been as decadent and pointless as the hilt of your rapier. Always aspiring to be boot lickers and ass kissers, never to be leaders.”
Thren drew one of his shortswords and held it in front of Gerand’s face.
“You see this?” he asked. “Plain, but well made. Nothing beyond the necessary. You have forgotten you are a tool, Gerand Crold, and nothing more. To pretend to be something else can lead to…dangerous circumstances. Tell me, my dear advisor to the king, which would you rather be pierced by: my shortsword, or your rapier?”
Gerand glanced between the two blades.
“My rapier,” he said.
“A good choice,” said Thren before stabbing Gerand in the chest with it. He made sure to hit nothing vital, just the meat near the shoulder. Gerand choked down his pain as blood spilled across the violet of his robes.
“People will always fear me over you,” said Thren. “That is why I am more powerful than you, more powerful than the Trifect, more powerful than even the king. I will not have you interfering in my affairs. You play games, I deal in blood, and my son is not one of your pieces!”
Son! thought Gerand. He’s here because of his son?
The blood drained from Gerand’s face. Suddenly there were multiple reasons for Thren to kill him. He hoped the torture would not last long.
“He looks like he’s going to pass out,” Kayla said.
Thren twisted the rapier, flaring pain in all directions throughout Gerand’s body.
“I should kill you,” Thren said. “But I won’t. You are too useful to me where you are. I want the Trifect humiliated. You are in a position to do that for me, Gerand. Your word is the king’s word in all stately matters. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Gerand nodded.
“I understand,” he said. “I hold no allegiance to the Trifect. I can do as you ask.”
Thren chuckled.
“You can, but will you? Once I’m gone, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“Hostages work wonders,” said Kayla, right on cue.
“You’re right, which is why I have already taken one.”
They both paused so Gerand could understand the meaning of their words. The advisor looked back and forth between them, the whole while his heart sinking.
“You have Martha,” he said.
“Give the man a prize,” said Kayla.
“She will be under my care for the next week,” Thren said as he pulled the rapier out of Gerand’s chest. He acted as if he were to sheath it, then instead pushed its bloodied tip against Gerand’s throat.
“You do as I say, or I’ll make sure every member of my guild has a turn with her,” said Thren, his voice dangerously cold. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear,” Gerand said in a voice suddenly grown raspy and weak.
“Your orders are simple,” Kayla said as Thren backed off and tossed the rapier atop the bed. “The flood of mercenaries for the Kensgold should be arriving any day now, if they haven’t already. Among them will be massive caravans of wine, food, and dancers. Tax them all. Heavily.”
“But the Trifect will be…”
Gerand stopped, realizing how stupid his complaint was. Kayla caught it and laughed.
“That’s the point,” she said. “Everyone they hire will demand more to compensate for the tax. Next, you will pass a law forbidding more than fifty mercenaries to be gathered together in any one area, event, or function.”
“Call it an attempt to secure peace,” Thren chipped in.
“Make it clear you’ll fine the mercenaries themselves,” Kayla said. “Keep them worried about their pockets.”
“I will do what I can,” Gerand insisted. “Though it won’t be easy.”
“Third,” said Kayla, “and most importantly, the Trifect has hundreds of merchants that have not paid their taxes. That money is instead going to the mercenaries, and for years you have turned a blind eye. That stops.”
“I’ll collect from them what I can,” Gerand said.
Thren shook his head.
“I don’t want them taxed. I want them arrested.”
“Arrested? What for?” When Thren reached for the rapier again, Gerand paled. “Very well. Tax evasion is a serious crime. Most will plead out and pay their fines within a day or two. Will that suffice?”
“That’ll do,” said Kayla. “When the Kensgold ends, we’ll send you back your wife, alive and unharmed, but only if you cooperate. Is that clear?”
It was.
Kayla slid open his door and looked out. When she saw no guards, she pulled her gray hood over her head and beckoned for Thren. Just before the guildmaster left, he knelt close and whispered into Gerand’s ear.
“I won’t kill you. I’ll chain you to the wall in a cell, your wife’s body in front of you. Once I cut off your eyelids, you’ll watch her rot until she’s nothing but bones. Pass the laws, and make sure you enforce them.”
Kayla dashed out the door, and Thren followed.
16
O nce Gran calmed down, she seemed open enough to listening to what Haern had to say. Of course, she had tried to smack him with another pan until he disarmed her and physically knocked her into a chair.
“Please listen,” he said once she quit shouting for help. Delysia stood at her side, stroking her hand and doing her best to reassure her.
“Steal into my house, kill a man, then hide from the guards, and after all that you expect me to sit and listen?” said Gran. “Even for a young pup, you’re a fool.”
“Gran,” whined Delysia.
“Oh alright. What is it, boy?”
“His name is Haern,” Delysia said.
“Fine. Haern. ” Gran spat the word out as if it was a curse. “What do you have to say?”
“Delysia is not safe in the city,” Haern said. He leaned against the pantry door. Pieces of dry leaves stuck to his outfit from when he had brushed a hanging tomato plant in the dark. He held one of the two candles Delysia had lit; Gran held the other.
“No one’s safe in the city anymore. Why is Delysia any different?”
“Thren Felhorn of the Spider Guild ordered her father dead,” Haern said. He kept his eyes on Gran, as if ashamed to look at the other girl but too proud to stare at the floor. “I was there when it happened.”
“You mean you were to take part,” Gran said. “I’m not daft. Look at the colors you’re wearing: thief guild colors. What were you, a spotter? Were you to watch for the guards, or just loot her poor father’s corpse after everyone was gone?”
Haern slammed a fist against the pantry door. The motion knocked one of the leaves free from his sleeve, and Delysia watched it fall to the floor.
“It doesn’t matter. The man I killed was sent to finish the job. With him dead, Thren will send another, and
