“So the huntress returns,” Raine said.
Nyx took half a moment to loosen up her suddenly rigid body. She turned and showed her crimson teeth.
Raine stood near the main door with three of his crew. On a good day, he had a dozen veterans and half as many irregulars.
She saw Raine around the Cage a lot and more around the local pubs, but—not being half a fool—he avoided her personally. He usually sent out his veterans to harass her. She had sent the last one back without an ear.
“I see you’ve gotten better at eavesdropping on our com,” Nyx said.
“Taite’s security is terrible,” Raine said. “I taught him everything I know.”
“Which must not have been much,” Nyx said.
“There is much more I could teach you, Nyxnissa, if you could set aside your arrogance.”
“You’re the one who thinks he’s some fucking prophet ’cause he had a shitty time at the front. I heard you got arrested during a protest in Sahlah. I’m surprised nobody’s put you in prison yet for blasphemy. Why hasn’t your mother gutted you, the way she did the council?”
“I know faith and belief are concepts you have a difficult time understanding, Nyxnissa, but some of us have an interest in righting wrongs, not perpetuating them.”
“I believe in myself. That’s enough.”
“For you? And your crew?”
“Why don’t you go off and get married and settle down like a good little war vet, huh? I’m sure you could find some dumb bitch to put you up.”
“We’re a sorry pair of veterans, aren’t we? I think you have as much interest in becoming a kept thing as I do.”
“Hey, hunters!” Shajin said. “You take your personal business outside.”
“I’ve got a file,” Nyx said.
“I have mine,” Raine said. He clapped his hands. His three regulars headed for the door.
“Watch yourself,” Raine said. He put his back to her and walked out.
“Watch your regulars,” Nyx said. “I may find a use for them.”
She wasn’t the only one Raine was stirring the pot with these days. It wasn’t just the protests in small cities like Sahlah. Rhys had word of Raine at rallies in Mushtallah and boys’ rights gatherings in Amtullah. Those were bad places to be seen protesting anything that had to do with God or the queen or the bel dames. It was like he was presenting himself to a butcher and asking them to chop something else off. But he had taught her how to drive, how to use a sword, and how to patch a bakkie—this old man with the dead eyes and bizarre family history who couldn’t leave the war alone.
She supposed there must be something redeemable about him.
Khos spit on the floor next to Nyx.
“Those three were ours,” Anneke said. “Honest, boss, I had them.”
“Well, you don’t have them now, do you?” Nyx said, too sharply. She turned back to the desk.
Juon handed Shajin the file.
“Says here you get thirty for a live catch,” Shajin said, “and twenty fora dead. Too bad.” She filled out the pay receipt. “You know the routine.”
Nyx handed the receipt to Anneke, who followed Khos through the throng to the body drop-off and cashier.
Juon leaned over and whispered into Shajin’s ear.
“What’s that? Ah, yes. You have a note,” Shajin said.
Juon went to the sorting cabinet behind Shajin and plucked out a red letter.
Nyx’s heart skipped. The old bullet wound in her hip throbbed.
Red letters were straight from the desk of the queen. The queen only sent red letters to nobles, ambassadors… and bel dames.
Juon handed the letter to Shajin.
Shajin handed it to Nyx.
Nyx’s fingers trembled. She took the letter and tucked it carefully into the top of her dhoti. A pardon from the Queen? Back to bel dame work? Back to prison? Had she fucked anything up recently?
“Thanks,” she said. “They’ve been giving them out to the top hunters,” Shajin said. “Must be somebody pretty important.”
“Oh,” Nyx said. Not a pardon, then. “If it’s that important, they’d give it to the bel dames, not the hunters.”
Shajin shrugged. “I don’t make policy. Come now, you’re holding up the line, my woman.”
Nyx pushed away from the counter. She waited for Anneke and Khos, and when they returned with the bounty money, she tucked that, too, into her dhoti and told Khos to drive.
Nyx rode shotgun. She pulled out the red letter. Khos looked at her as he started the bakkie.
It took a long time to read the letter. If she went too fast she got the characters backward. By the time they reached the keg, she’d read it twice.
The letter read:
Someone had written in, at the bottom, using the same pen stroke as the queen’s signature:
The second part was a lot easier to read, and much more Nyx’s style. It made her wonder how much of her file they’d read before sending the summons.
Back at the keg, Nyx handed Rhys the red letter.
“This for real?” she asked.
He ran his hands over it. “It appears genuine,” he said.
“Best you can tell, right?” she said.
He grimaced. “You pay me for an acceptable level of talent. You get what you pay for.”
“I want you to go with me,” she said.
His dark eyes widened—pretty eyes with long lashes. There were days when she couldn’t get enough of them, and days she wanted to cut them out for the same reason.
“The Nasheenian court? Palace Hill? You must be joking,” he said.
“Listen. I take Anneke or Khos with me, they don’t speak very good, all right? I take Taite, and you know he gets sick when he’s nervous. I want you there.”
“Nyx, I—”
“Thanks,” she said. “Just don’t worry about it.” She turned away from him before he said any more. She needed Rhys, her mediocre magician. There were other things he was good at: well-read, well-spoken, well- mannered. He was Chenjan, sure, but she didn’t know anybody else around with his manners. He never missed a prayer; he talked about God all the time and drank tea instead of whiskey. He made her look good. He made the whole team look good.
