Steel's Edge

place.”

Beautiful. Richard leaned forward. Brennan had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker. “Maedoc can’t run this operation. He knows it. Not only that, but the three of us wouldn’t stand for it.”

Brennan furrowed his eyebrows. “Please. Rene hates Adrianglia for holding him back. He doesn’t care who’s in charge as long as he’s permitted to profit from thrusting a stick into our realm’s gear. Angelia is a twisted creature; she will follow whoever hands her the biggest diamond and whispers sweet nothings in her ears while pouring coin into her purse. And you, well, you seek the money. You’re for sale, my friend. That’s how I got you in the first place. I’m too old for illusions—friendship and loyalty are fine qualities, but the voice of ethics grows weak in the face of riches.”

The plan hinged on throwing suspicion on the retired general. Both Rene and Angelia were too weak for Brennan to ever see them as a true threat. Of all of them, only Maedoc could pose a serious challenge to Brennan’s rule of the slaver trade, and Brennan had to view the threat as significant or it wouldn’t topple him off-balance.

“Maedoc was in charge of the security of the island,” Richard thought out loud.

Brennan gave him a sharp glance. Icy and calculating, that stare gripped Richard and for a second he felt the same calm that descended on him when he faced a fighter with a naked blade glaring at him from across three feet of open ground.

Inside Richard’s head, an alarm wailed. Careful. Careful, now. Don’t be too obvious.

“Do you know how the island was sacked?”

Yes or no? What was the right answer? “Not the particulars.”

“The bandits pretended to be slaves and commandeered our ship. Drayton, that moron, must’ve let them right on board. They sent all the right signals and were permitted to enter the harbor and dock in plain view of the fort. Witnesses say that a crew of slaves began to disembark. They slaughtered the slavers meeting them and spread through the island, hitting precise targets. One group attacked the fort, the next hit the barracks, the third opened the slave pens. Beautiful, isn’t it? Daring. Imaginative. Risky.”

Brennan paused, offering him an opportunity to make a contribution. It was a trap. It had to be a trap. He was watching him too closely. He needed a neutral answer. “It’s difficult to admire them knowing how much money we stand to lose.”

“Divorce yourself from finances for a moment. Think of the brazen elegance of it. This raid is everything Maedoc is not. Oh, he’s hailed as a brilliant tactician, but I’ve studied his military record. Maedoc is a bull, my friend. He sees the target and plows toward it. Deception and sleight of hand are quite beyond him. If he wanted to replace me, he would’ve attacked me directly. Not only that, but why would he identify himself as the Eagle? Why not simply make up a name? In fact, why give a name at all? Those were contract killers; their bargains are simple: money for a life, their quarry or their own.”

Brennan didn’t buy Maedoc’s treason. Richard’s disappointment was so sharp he could taste it. He buried it, in the same deep place he buried his guilt and memories. Nothing could show on his face. He had hoped to spare Charlotte from getting involved, but Brennan was too logical and too cautious. She would have to implement her part of the plan. Damn it.

Brennan took a deep gulp of the tea. “No, this matter is a lot more complicated. The mind that conceived the raid is likely the same mind that would cash in on the ripples it would cause. That person would seek to utilize my weakness to his or her advantage. We know that this person is deceitful and sly. This person would have considered the possibility of failure and would take precautions to point the finger at someone other than themselves. Therefore, the culprit can’t be Maedoc. It’s simply too obvious, even for him. No, it’s one of you—Rene, Angelia, or perhaps even you, my friend.”

Richard sat the glass down. “What are you implying?”

Brennan grinned, another charming smile. “Oh, relax, Casside. You’re at the very bottom of my suspect list. I don’t believe platitudes or assurances of loyalty, but I do believe that tremor in your hand. You simply don’t have the guts for it. You wouldn’t have put your own life in danger.”

“I’m inclined to take that as an insult.” Richard stood up from his chair.

Brennan sighed. “Oh, do sit down. You’re brave enough. I’m not impugning your courage. You can’t help the simple biological reaction of your body. The point is, we have a traitor in our midst. I intend to find them out.”

He smiled.

“This is so much fun, Casside. And here I was planning to be bored.”

“I will take boredom instead of this, thank you. Are you tired? You’re welcome to stay the night.”

Brennan waved his hand. “No. I need night, wind, life. A woman. Perhaps I’ll pay Angelia a visit although she really is too much trouble. She enjoys being coaxed, and I’m not inclined to bother. Do you ever go slumming?”

“No.”

“You should.” Brennan’s face took on a dreamy quality. “It’s good for the body and occasionally the soul. There is a wonderful place down in the Lower Quarter. They call it the Palace of Delights. Ask for Miranda.”

“Let my people take you home. Head wounds sometimes have hidden consequences. Robert, don’t gamble with your health. We don’t know how many of them there are. Perhaps there is another group . . .”

“Fine, fine.” Brennan waved his hand. “Ruin all my fun.”

Richard rose. “I’ll tell them to have the phaeton ready.”

“Casside?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t forget what you’ve done for me today,” Brennan said.

“What would you have me do?” Richard asked.

“Act normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’ll call on you when I’m ready. This promises to be a brilliant game, and I intend to enjoy every moment of it.”

FOURTEEN

CHARLOTTE sat across from Angelia Ermine and watched the other woman attempt to ignore the burning itching under her lacy Sud-style tunic. They sat on a verandah of Lady Olivia’s city house, at a delicate table carved out of a solid piece of crystal. The table bore a dozen desserts and three different teas, which the six other women present at the gathering seemed to be enjoying. What Angelia would’ve enjoyed most of all would be a good scratch, possibly with some fine-grade sandpaper. Unfortunately for her, Her Grace was telling a charming story from her past, and the half dozen other attendees hung on her every word. Excusing herself wasn’t an option.

“And then I told him that if he was going to stoop to that level of rudeness, I would be forced to retaliate . . .” Her Grace appeared completely engrossed in her anecdote, except for the occasional brief glance in Charlotte’s direction.

The itching must’ve reached torturous levels, because Angelia gave up on maintaining an attentive facade and locked her teeth. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her disease had reached its peak, and Charlotte had been quietly spurring it on. Any other woman would’ve sent her apologies and stayed home, but Angelia was too much of a social climber. She was a minor blueblood, her bloodline undistinguished, her achievements mediocre, and a tea with the Duchess of the Southern Provinces was a lure she couldn’t ignore.

Charlotte sipped tea from her cup. The refined taste, tinted with a drop of lemon and a hint of mint, was uniquely refreshing. She’d have to beg Lady Olivia for the recipe.

“And then I slapped him,” Her Grace announced.

The women around the table gasped, some genuinely surprised, some, like Charlotte, out of a sense of duty.

“Excuse me,” Angelia squeezed out. She jumped to her feet and ran from the table.

A shocked silence claimed the gathering.

“Well,” Lady Olivia said.

“With your permission, Your Grace, I should check on her,” Charlotte folded her napkin.

“Yes, of course, my dear.”