Mr. Devlin eased himself into a more comfortable position in the office chair. “Hence a small army of our own employ. Poor Wyman is going to be disappointed.”
Mrs. Devlin barked a laugh. “I’m sure Empress Emily will find a way to console Wyman.”
“Well, if you are sure…”
“You know what your problem is, my darling heart?”
“I have the strangest feeling, my very dearest, that you are about to elucidate the matter further.”
“You know me so well, Mr. Devlin.”
“Indeed I have that honor, Mrs. Devlin.”
“You,” she said, pointing a finger at his face, “worry too much.”
Mr. Devlin laughed, then pushed himself off the chair, his hand dragging the bottle of brandy off the desk with him. He swigged from it, then offered it to his wife. She looked at it and grimaced, practically recoiling in horror.
“Without ice, in this humidity? You are an animal, Mr. Devlin.”
Her husband shrugged and took another sip. “You know what they say, my dear.”
“No, what do they say, my dear?”
“When in Karnaca…” He swirled the liquid in the bottle, regarding its movement.
Mrs. Devlin suppressed a shudder. “The sooner we are away from this frightful city, the better. I will need to soak in a bath of milk and honey for a week, my dear.”
“I do so hope you will have a vacancy for a back scrubber.”
She smiled and took a fresh cigarillo from the pouch on the desk. As she lit it, she said, “So, are you ready?”
Mr. Devlin raised the half-empty bottle of King Street. “I believe I am.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Devlin. “Time to light the blue touch paper and retire ourselves to a safe distance.”
With that, the pair left the office. The main doors opened onto a small intersection, a large boulevard crossing with a smaller street. Mrs. Devlin helped her husband limp through the door, then she gave a nod.
The men loitering in the intersection peeled out of doorways and lifted themselves from stoops, twenty elite mercenaries, late of the Royal Morley Constabulary, dressed in civilian clothes, all here illegally—all employed by the Devlins themselves.
The men filed into the building as Mr. and Mrs. Devlin made a hasty departure.
27
PROTECTORS’ LEAGUE SAFE HOUSE, AVENTA DISTRICT, KARNACA
23rd Day, Month of Harvest, 1852
“The greatest victories may be won with the smallest numbers.”
—A BETTER WAY TO DIE
Surviving fragment of an assassin’s treatise, author unknown
“I don’t understand,” said Daud. “Consequences? What are you talking about? And how do you know, anyway?”
Billie held up a hand. “No questions. Not yet, anyway. First I have to get you out of danger. Then we can talk.”
“Danger?”
“That couple,” said Billie. “The Devlins. They didn’t track you across the Isles to help you. They tracked you to kill you.”
Daud hissed between his teeth. “I’d like to see them try,” he said.
“They’re not the ones you need to worry about.”
Billie moved to the door. She placed her ear against it, listening.
Daud joined her, watching her every move, watchingthe pulse in her neck as she strained to hear what was going on in the corridor.
How many years had it been? Fifteen? She had been his protégé among the Whalers, his most promising student, and he had handled her training himself, watching her rise rapidly through the ranks of his mercenary band of killers. In Billie, Daud had seen his successor, seeing the potential that was so tightly wound within her right from that first night, when he had allowed her to follow him back to the Whalers’ hideout, offering her a choice—to die, or to join him. And even, years later, when she betrayed him to Delilah, he had spared her life, sending her into exile.
As he had been, by Corvo Attano.
Fifteen years. Daud had changed in that time. He had become someone else entirely, and deliberately. But even without that self-determined quest to escape his past, the years had softened him.
Perhaps Billie would be no different. She was older, certainly. And, physically, had changed more than he had… Daud still didn’t know what her glowing red eye was, or her magical arm.
Or how she had appeared in the empty room in the first place—
“They’re here,” she said.
Daud broke from his reverie as Billie turned from the door, motioning him to stand back.
“Who’s here?”
Billie stepped toward him. “Listen, and listen good. Once we’re out of this, I’ll explain everything, but right now, I need you to follow my lead.” She glanced back to the door. “I’ve seen this. If this is like last time, those two out there have run to save their own necks.”
Daud frowned. “Like last time? What does that mean—”
“No, Daud, you listen to me. Right now, there are people out there who think you are the biggest threat to the stability of the Empire and that you must be eliminated at any cost. Behind that door is a small army. They’re here to kill you in order to assure the safety of Emily… of the Empress.”
Daud ran his fingers through his hair as he regarded Billie. She was more poised than before, changed, but she was still Billie. He knew she was telling the truth. Questions could wait—including the question of how she knew what was going on. In the meantime—
Billie pointed to the other side of the room. “Stay here,” she said. “Let me handle this. I’ll get you when it’s safe.”
“You might have been my best,” said Daud, “but I don’t need you to fight for me.”
“No, this time you do. Trust me. I’ve seen it more times than I care to remember.”
Daud was perplexed but… well, despite everything, despite their past—he had faith in her. He had no idea where she had come from—but clearly Billie knew what had to be done.
She waited until Daud had backed away, then Billie nodded—perhaps more to herself than him—and opened the door, slipping out into the sickly yellow light beyond.
* * *
The corridor was empty
