Thren.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, Thren Felhorn stepped inside the room and glanced about. Dimly she wondered how much time had passed.
“The Ash Guild is no more,” he said, sounding disinterested. He stepped about, seeing the dead Hawks and the young girl. “What is going on here, Kayla? Get off your knees. You aren’t some low-rent whore.”
“We lost too many,” Kayla said. She felt cold inside. Her skin tingled, and she felt certain death awaited her. “We failed you. We can spring no trap here.”
Thren tilted his head to one side. He cupped her chin in hand and forced her to look him in the eye.
“I planned for everything,” he said. “Even this. And you haven’t answered my question.”
She glanced at the two dead rogues.
“They disobeyed orders,” she said. “I made them pay for it.”
Thren smiled at her.
“Death for disobedience,” he said. “A woman after my own heart.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Come with me to the Kensgold. We have much to do. We have struck at Connington and Gemcroft, but the Keenans have so far gone unscathed. That changes now.”
Thren left the bedroom and headed deeper into the mansion.
As if lost in a nightmare, Kayla followed.
27
T he Naked Bells took almost half an hour to fully deserve their name. Gerand had returned from his duties halfway through their performance, and he watched the dancers with more than a casual interest. Ever since Thren had captured his wife, he’d been worried sick, but he’d also been left to his own devices to satisfy his carnal desires. The exotic women shifted and danced with professional expertise, every movement designed to flaunt a certain curve, emphasize the length of their legs, or bring attention to their lips, breasts, or waist.
Every passing minute saw one of them discard a piece of their silk. The king had watched the entire proceeding with rapt attention. No doubt he would claim two or three to come with him to his bedchambers. The king had no wife, and there were plenty unhappy with this fact, but he was still young enough that Gerand had managed to quell most grumblings. Besides, he figured if worst came to worst, there’d be a handful of bastards to choose from. He watched the naked women dance, the bells on their wrists and ankles jingling, and wondered if one might be the future mother of a king.
One in particular had caught Gerand’s eye. Her hair was a fiery red, just how he liked. Her breasts were smaller than the others, but he found that attractive as well. Most importantly, she had been the last to strip completely naked. Or perhaps it was the way the king’s eyes lingered on her the longest. Gerand consoled himself by remembering that they were hired to please the king, so please him they would.
No, Gerand thought. She’ll be mine, king or no. I may have a touch of gray in my hair, but I’m far more a man that that stupid brat.
The Naked Bells’ undulations increased in intensity. The bells, all different sizes and sounds, rose into a beautiful chaos of sound. The red-head swirled before King Vaelor, almost within his touch. Out of all of them, only she clutched the bells of her wrists in her hands to stop their ring. Gerand watched, curious as to why. With all the others focusing their noise in a final hurrah, why would she…
And then he saw her fingers twist at the bell, pulling something out from its clapper.
“Stop her!” Gerand shouted. From the corner a soldier lowered his crossbow and fired. The bolt struck the red-head in the neck. Her blood splashed across the king’s face. The sound of her skull striking the cold stone made Gerand’s stomach twist. A long, thin needle rolled from her dead fingers, its tip no doubt coated with poison. The rest of the Naked Bells stepped back, some crying, others staring coldly at the loss of one of their own.
“What is going on here?” the king shouted. Gerand retrieved the pin and held it up for the king to see.
“Someone paid her to kill you,” he said.
King Vaelor’s face turned a deep shade of red.
“Thren!” he shouted. “It’s that bastard Felhorn! I want him dead, do you hear me?”
“I have my plans already…”
“Do you know where he is?” the king asked, still shouting.
“Where he is to be, yes,” Gerand admitted.
“Send my soldiers,” the king said. “All of them, every man able to hold a sword. He dies tonight, do you understand?”
“Yes, milord,” Gerand said, bowing low.
King Vaelor pointed to two of the girls, then snapped his fingers.
“Remove their bells,” he said.
Guards neared and undid the leather straps of the bells on their wrists and ankles. The girls reluctantly followed the king into his bedchambers, soldiers following behind with their swords drawn. Once the door was shut, Gerand sighed and turned to the rest.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He left, not wanting to watch as the remaining guards cut them down and covered the throne room with their beautiful, beautiful corpses.
S enke walked through the halls of the Connington mansion feeling a bit let down. While the doors and windows were thick, the lawn had few traps, and the ones it did have were designed to alert, not kill. The inside was even emptier. By his count, ten soldiers had been left behind as guards. They had died quick and easy. Other than that, the mansion was vacant.
Oligart marched alongside Senke, his mood far more sour.
“No pasty rich people to smash,” he grumbled. “So stupid. I bet Gemcroft had men left. I should have gone there. Why Thren make me go here? I wanted head-smashing!”
“Shut up, Oligart,” Senke said. “You’ll still get your chance, remember?”
Oligart shrugged.
“Where’s Norris?” he asked.
“That I don’t know,” Senke said. “Him and his Serpents should be setting up the oil for the fires.”
The two leaders neared the rows of windows that viewed the front lawn.
“Windows won’t open, so we’ll focus on holding the doors,” Oligart said. He pointed outside the gates to the houses on the far side of the road. “We’ll have archers there. Once Maynard comes, we squash them in between.”
“Simple enough plan,” Senke said. “Should work, though. Did hardly a scratch to the manor, so there’s no reason for him to be alarmed.”
“He’ll be alarmed,” Oligart said, pointing further to the east. “Look. Smoke.”
Senke lowered his head a little and peered out. Sure enough, a thick plume of smoke rose high from the eastern district.
“That’s Connington’s place, alright,” Senke said. “Do you think they already set it aflame?”
“I look like a soothsayer?” Oligart asked. “Go run and ask if you want answers. I got none but my fists.”
“That might explain Thren’s delay,” Senke muttered.
“What’s that?” asked Oligart.
“Nothing. Nothing. Let me go check on my men. Stay here and watch for any early arrivals. Try to wait until they’re inside to attack. I wouldn’t be surprised if Maynard sends someone to check on his home once he sees the smoke from afar. Let them go if possible.”
“Not an idiot,” Oligart grumbled.
“Prove it,” Senke said as he hurried off. He glanced at the setting sun as he passed by another row of windows. Where was Thren? Why was he so late?
With so many treasures scattered throughout the mansion waiting to be looted, Senke went unnoticed as he walked. He’d already marked his way of escape once the chaos began. It was a slender door that led up to an attic. He’d checked it once, and in the back was a round, dusty window. From there he could reach the roof, and once
