Damien had a point, she knew that, but Lane needed someone to be angry with and Damien was here. “So what now? Are you going to go kill the barons?”
“I suppose I could, but I’m curious about what the Bandit King offered them that would make them betray their country. Once I hear their answer I’ll decide whether to kill them for treason or not.”
“What about them?” Lane jerked a thumb toward the cocooned assassins.
“The bindings will hold them for a day or two. Once I understand what’s happening I can either leave them for the barons to deal with or execute them along with the traitors.”
Lane stared in horror at him. “Just like that?”
Damien nodded, seeming untroubled. “They’re murderers. As an agent of the king I’m well within my authority to execute them.”
She remembered what he said as they left Allentown, about the ability to kill without hesitation or regret. Lane had thought he meant in battle, but now she realized it extended beyond that. She couldn’t comprehend his way of thinking. Damien didn’t seem to take any pleasure in killing, but he wasn’t shy about it either. It seemed a part of his life, as ordinary as cleaning his teeth or shaving and as unworthy of comment.
The bound men floated off the top of the bed and flew under it, like bags being put under the bed for storage.
“Let’s go talk to the barons,” Damien said.
Lane couldn’t manage more than a mute nod.
Chapter 37
Damien left the bound men under his bed and turned to Lane. “I’ll turn us invisible. Stay close and keep quiet.”
“What about the guards?”
“They won’t be a problem.”
Lane favored him with that horrified look again. You’d think he’d said he was going to drown kittens or something. Was she really so worried about a bunch of killers? How many people had these bandits murdered over the years? Yet she was looking at him like he was the bad guy.
Damien scanned the hall outside and found the way clear. He wrapped them in invisibility and they slipped out into the hall. The barons’ chambers were in another section of the keep. With each step the hard soles of Lane’s boots clicked on the stone floor. No way they’d be able to sneak up on the guards at this rate.
He stopped and Lane asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Your boots are making too much noise.” He held out his hand. “Hang on.”
She gripped his hand and Damien conjured a floating disk under them. Lane stumbled, but he caught her. When she’d settled in Damien willed the disk down the hall. They made no more noise than a whisper of wind.
This late at night even the servants slept, allowing Damien to zoom along the halls at a good clip. Several twists and turns later found them at the end of a long hall that branched left and right. Ten doors lined the far wall and a guard stood in front of each one. They reminded Damien more of jailers than protectors.
He turned left and drifted to the last door. None of the guards reacted when they ghosted past. Damien studied the men in passing and soon realized they weren’t the same group he’d seen guarding the barons during the day. Those men were probably sleeping. That worked out well for Damien as none of the night guards were warlords.
Damien wrapped the last guard in an invisible binding. The unfortunate young man couldn’t even twitch without Damien’s permission. He looked a little stiff, but unless one of the others came to talk to him he should pass inspection.
With the guard bound and helpless, Damien conjured a screen between them and the remaining guards so they could work without fear of being spotted. Lane gave the door a tug and shook her head. Locked.
That was no problem. A dark blob of energy the size of his finger appeared in the air and slid into the keyhole. Damien concentrated, shaping the key to the lock then twisting it. The tumblers snapped into place and they slipped through the open door.
Inside, the baron’s room was pitch dark. Damien wrapped the room in a sound barrier then conjured a small light. Despite being in another section of the keep, the bedroom looked almost the same as Damien’s, though the bed was a little bigger and had four posters. There was also a small fireplace for really cold nights.
A snoring heap of blubber lay sprawled on the bed, thankfully wearing a silk sleeping robe. Damien crossed his arms and stared at the man. “Which one is this?”
Lane grimaced. “Baron Marris. I thought you were going to kill the guard.”
“Why?”
“You said—”
“I said the guards wouldn’t be a problem, you assumed the rest.”
She managed a weak smile. “I suppose I did. What now?”
“Now we wake the disloyal turd and see what he has to say for himself.”
Damien conjured a needle and stuck the baron in his giant ass. The man yelped and sat up. He spotted Damien and Lane and glowered. “How dare you enter my—”
Damien silenced him with a soul force gag. “Baron, we know about your deal with the Bandit King. You’re going to provide me with details then I’ll decide if I should kill you or not. What did he offer you that made you betray your country?”
Damien removed the invisible gag so the now-trembling man could answer.
“Please. We didn’t have a choice. They took our families, my wife, my son, and two daughters. He said if I did what they wanted everyone would be returned. I ne—”
The baron choked on whatever lie he was about to tell. The bit about his family, at least, was true. If the bandits had taken the barons’ families it explained a lot.
“Trasker told me they left their wives and children at home because of the tension with the kingdom,” Lane said. “And I bought it.”
“No reason you shouldn’t
