Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-five

Mertesse, Anetra

Had they been eager to reach the walled city of Mertesse, they might have made the journey from Dantrielle in less time. It was fifty leagues, and with the weather turning worse with each day that passed, progress didn’t come quickly, even on the well-traveled roads of Aneira’s Great Forest. Still, Dario and Cadel might have made it to Mertesse before the beginning of the new year.

Instead, they stopped frequently at inns along the road, playing music in exchange for meals and rooms. They never remained in one place for long, but neither did they hesitate to stop, even if they had paused at another inn only an hour or two before. Musicians in the Forelands rarely turned down opportunities to play, particularly if it meant free food, or, better yet, gold. To have done so as they made their way north would have been to risk raising the suspicions of the innkeepers at those establishments they bypassed. More than that, though, Cadel realized that they needed the practice.

Dario played the lute beautifully. Cadel actually preferred the pipes, finding their sound richer, more soothing. But he had to admit that his new partner coaxed a sound from his instrument that few of the lutemsts Cadel had encountered before could match. Despite his skill, however, and Cadel’s own talent as a singer, their musical tendencies were not compatible, at least not at first. Dario had been performing on his own for so long that he had little sense of how to match his cadence to someone else’s singing. Cadel had the impression whenever Dario took up his instrument that he would have preferred to play one of his own compositions rather than accompanying Cadel as he sang. He knew the notes to play for pieces like the Paean and “The Elegy for Shanae,” but he never played them the same way twice. Cadel could only hope that he was more disciplined as an assassin than he was as a musician.

For his part, Cadel was willing to admit that he could be uncompromising when it came to music. He and Jed sang together for seventeen years. They knew what to expect of each other. They performed most of these pieces so many times that their performances became as natural and constant as the rise and fall of the moons. Jedrek understood that when it came to music, and to killing, Cadel always strove for perfection.

The problems were apparent to both of them from the start, but, predictably, Dario was far less disturbed by them than was Cadel.

“They’re going to pay us anyway,” the younger man said one night, after their fourth or fifth failed attempt to practice “Tanith’s Threnody.”

They were in a small village at the time, near the mouth of the River Orvinti, just a few days’ journey from Solkara. The king had been dead for nearly half a turn and they were still thinking that they might stop in Solkara for Carden’s funeral and the investiture of the new king. Most of the land’s musicians would be there, Cadel knew, and there was a good chance the Qirsi man they had been hired to kill would be as well.

“Getting paid is beside the point,” Cadel had answered, not bothering to mask his exasperation. “Music isn’t just a source of gold, and it isn’t just something we do for amusement. It’s our disguise, it’s what allows us to move about the land without drawing attention to ourselves. To those who listen to us, it has to appear to be our passion as well as the source of our livelihood. If it appears to be anything less, it will raise their suspicions. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Dario said. “But I don’t see what’s wrong with them knowing that we’ve just started playing together. With all the festivals and revels in the Forelands, musicians are always moving around and finding new partners.”

We sound ragged, like tavern singers in some Caenssan farming village. Jedrek would have understood. And perhaps that was the point. Cadel hadn’t sung with anyone since Jedrek’s death; he had barely sung a note by himself. He wasn’t looking for a new partner, he realized. He was trying to replace Jedrek, which was unfair to Dario. When it came right down to it, the young man was right: musicians in the Forelands changed partners quite frequently. Though Cadel and Jedrek remained together for years, they performed with literally dozens of different singers and players. Indeed, they had been together so long, they might have risked drawing attention to themselves in that way.

Cadel was frustrated because of the way he and his new partner sounded, and because he worried that a man as young and blithe as Dario might get him killed when they turned from music to their more important trade.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cadel finally admitted. “We don’t have to sound perfect, at least not yet. But I still think it needs work.”

The young man shrugged, tuning one of the strings on his lute. “All right. It’s not like there’s anything else to do.”

As they continued northward, performing at inns and practicing well into the night, their playing improved. A few days after their conversation near Orvinti, as they came within sight of the royal city, word of the poisoning reached them. After a brief discussion, they decided to continue on toward Mertesse. After such an event, the guards in Solkara were likely to be more vigilant than ever. Even if the Qirsi man they sought was there, and even if he had survived the poisoning, they were unlikely to get close enough to him to earn their gold. Better to travel directly to Mertesse, where they were most likely to learn of the Qirsi’s fate. They would find regular work at a tavern in the city and wait for an opportunity to kill the Qirsi.

Cadel was so intent on improving the sound of their music that they spoke of little else throughout their travels. Only when they began to cross the narrow plain that lay between the Great Forest and Mertesse did he begin to wonder how Dario had come to his other, truer calling. Still, he didn’t ask at first. Their conversations tended to go much as did their practices, even when they weren’t speaking of music. Perhaps it was the difference in their ages. Perhaps it was Cadel’s fault for starting the partnership with his test of Dario’s fighting skill. Whatever the reason, nothing they did together came easily, and though neither of them had shown any sign of wanting to abandon their young partnership, there was, as of yet, no friendship between them.

It began to snow during their third day on the plain, fine white flakes dancing and whirling in the cold wind that blew from the west. A heavy blanket of snow already lay over the land north of the wood, so that it seemed the only colors left in the world were grey and white. Even the road they were on, no doubt a muddy brown every other time of year, was covered with a thick grey carpet of half-melted ice and snow that made for slow walking.

As the snowfall increased, Dario halted to check on his lute. He always kept it wrapped in a soft cloth when they traveled, and now he added a second layer of animal skin.

“The cold’s bad enough,” he muttered as he tucked the skin snugly around his instrument. “But this snow will damage the wood.”

“We won’t go much farther,” Cadel told him. “Just another league or two.”

The lutenist looked up. “We can make the gates tonight if we keep at it.”

Cadel hesitated. The truth was, he didn’t want to reach the city just yet. There were matters he and the younger man needed to discuss first. “Perhaps, but I’d rather not stay out in this cold for too long. I feel a bad throat coming on.” He grimaced. “If I can’t sing, we’ll have to pay for a room.” It was a lie, but under the circumstances a necessary one.

Dario eyed him a moment longer, then gave a small shrug, his answer whenever they disagreed.

There were few inns anywhere along the road between the Great Forest and Mertesse, and fewer still as one drew nearer the city. The two assassins journeyed farther that day than Cadel had intended, stopping at last at a small farmhouse just beside the road that looked too small to be an inn, but had a sign swinging in the wind out front. They couldn’t have been more than two or three leagues from Mertesse-Cadel thought he could just make out the walls of the castle looming above the plain in the distance, stark against Mertesse Forest, but shrouded in the swirling snow.

The innkeeper was an old woman, a widow, with rheumy eyes and yellow teeth. She had only one room for rent, which made it unlikely that she would give them their beds in exchange for a performance, but Cadel was determined to stop before they reached the city.

After haggling with them briefly, she agreed to six qinde for the room and their meals, provided they would play for her, and her daughter’s family, after supper. It seemed a fair price. Cadel paid her and she led them up a narrow stairway to the room. Their quarters were quite small, as were the straw beds, but the chamber was no worse than others they had stayed in since leaving Dantrielle.

The woman left them, saying that their meal would be ready before long. Dario sat on one of the beds and began carefully to unwrap his lute.

“What are you doing?” Cadel asked.

He didn’t even look up. His yellow hair fell over his brow, hiding his eyes and much of his face. But Cadel could imagine his expression as he said in a flat voice, “I assumed you’d want to practice. We’re to perform tonight, and you still don’t seem happy with how we sound.”

Cadel frowned. As difficult as he found the younger man, he had to admit that he had handled things poorly since they started traveling together.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he said, drawing the other man’s gaze. “I’d rather we talked for a bit.”

Dario looked uncertain, but he laid his lute gently on the bed. “All right.”

Faced now with the prospect of actually carrying on a conversation with Dario, Cadel found that he didn’t know how to begin. He started to say something, then stopped himself, realizing that he hadn’t the words. After doing this several times, he rubbed a hand over his brow, exhaling through his teeth.

“What’s this about?” Dario asked, narrowing his eyes. “Is there something else I’ve done wrong?” Almost immediately he shook his head. “Actually that couldn’t be it. You never have trouble telling me that.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Cadel told him, ignoring the gibe. “Before we reach the city, I… I feel that we should know more about each other. We want to convince people that we’re…”

“Friends?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Sure we have. It’s no different from what I said before about our performances not being perfect, and about musicians finding new partners. If we don’t know everything about each other nobody’s going to notice.”

Again, the lutenist had a point, but Cadel didn’t care. He’d had enough of the younger man challenging him at every turn. Cadel was the one who would be doing the killing. It was his reputation that had gotten them this job in the first place, just as it would get them every subsequent job they were likely to have. Dario would do as he said, or Cadel would find himself another partner.

He was ready to say as much, but then thought better of it. It might make him feel better to tell Dario how angry he was, but it certainly wouldn’t help matters. He was about to kill a Qirsi, and he needed a partner for that. Would he have preferred Jed? Of course. But Jed was gone, and for better or worse, he had chosen this man to take his place. Driving him away now would have been folly. Still, he did need to make Dario understand which of them was in command.

“Nobody else may notice,” he said, managing to keep his voice even.

“But I think we should talk anyway. We’re about to enter Mertesse. We’re not just musicians learning to play together anymore. We’re assassins, and we’re hunting a sorcerer. I expect you to guard my back, to keep me from getting killed or captured while I find this man and earn our gold.” He grinned. “I think I’d feel a bit more comfortable with that if I knew for certain that you wanted me to come out of this alive.”

Dario’s expression didn’t change. “So you do the killing? Always?”

“Most of the time. Certainly when we’ve been hired to kill a Qirsi. That’s the way I’ve always worked. When I find a partner who’s my equal with a blade, I may change my mind. But that hasn’t happened yet.”

The other man nodded and looked away.

“Depending on the job, we might be able to work differently,” Cadel said after a brief, awkward silence. “But not this time. This is our first job together, and as I said, we’re hunting a Qirsi.” He regarded the lutenist for a moment. “Have you ever killed a white-hair?”

Dario faced him again, seeming to search for some sign that Cadel was mocking him. “No,” he admitted. “Have you?”

“Seven times.”

“All right,” Dario said, turning away again. “I guess this one’s yours.”

“They’re all mine,” Cadel said pointedly, “unless I decide differently.”

Silence.

“Tell me how you became a blade.”

Dario shrugged. “It just happened. I needed gold, and I couldn’t wait for my apprenticeship to end.”

“Why did you need the gold?”

He gave a small laugh, looking at Cadel again. “All right,” he said. “If you really want to know, I needed the gold to take care of my sister and brother. I grew up on the Plain of Stallions, south of Tounstrel. People who live in the Great Forest think they have trouble with road thieves, but that’s nothing compared with what we used to face. The thieves down there roam in large groups, usually on horses they’ve broken themselves. Mounted raiders we call them.”

He picked up his lute and plucked two of the strings. “One day they attacked our village. It was early, the sun wasn’t even up yet. They attacked us in our homes-in our beds, really-stealing what they could, killing those who fought back, and burning our houses and barns. My family didn’t have much-a bit of gold, a silver ring my father had given my mother, and my father’s lute. When the raiders tried to take the ring, my father fought them. He was killed, as was my mother. One of them tried to cut off my mother’s finger to get the ring, and another grabbed the lute. Before I knew it, I’d grabbed a meat knife and killed them both. They hadn’t even noticed me.”

He played a few more notes, then put the lute down again, though he continued to stare at it. “With my parents dead, it fell to me to take care of my sister and brother. We had no money, and the raiders had also killed the smith to whom I’d been apprenticed. After the raid I knew I could handle a dagger, and killing the raiders hadn’t bothered me at all.” He looked up, meeting Grinsa’s gaze. “So here I am.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“And where are your sister and brother now?”

“They’re still on the plain, in a village just north of Tounstrel. When I’d made enough gold, I took them to live with my father’s sister. I go to see them sometimes, though it’s been a few years now.” He took a breath and smiled, though clearly it was forced. “Is this like singers’ night in a tavern? I’ve sung mine, now it’s your turn?”

Cadel rarely spoke of his past. He had told Jedrek a little bit, and a Qirsi woman in Thorald, the first person with the conspiracy to hire him, had somehow known a great deal. But having heard Dario’s story, he could hardly refuse to tell him anything.

“I come from a noble house,” he said quietly, “though not one of any importance. When I was still young, I fell in love with a girl. She preferred another, and in a rage I killed him. Rather than bringing disgrace to my house and my father, I feigned my own death and fled. Like you, I’d found that killing didn’t trouble me, and that I was good at it.”

“And how old were you?”

“I was just shy of my Fating.”

Dario raised an eyebrow. “Then we’ve that in common as well.”

“What?”

“Well, if you fled your village before your Fating, and you wanted your family to believe you were dead, I can’t imagine you would have risked having a Fating somewhere else.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

“Neither did I. I wonder what that means. Neither of us has faced the Qiran a second time. We’re men without fates, Cadel.”

Cadel shook his head. “If the Qiran really can reveal a man’s fate, I’ve no doubt as to what I would have seen at my second gleaning. I was destined for this life long before I killed that boy. I sense the same is true of you.”

“Maybe.”

Cadel heard a footfall on the steps below their room and he held up a hand to keep Dario silent.

“Your supper is ready,” the old woman called them. “It’s best hot, so don’t dawdle.”

“We’ll be down shortly,” Cadel answered. “Thank you.”

The woman mumbled something that he couldn’t hear before descending the steps once more.

He would have liked to continue his conversation with Dario, but the younger man had stood at the mention of food. Perhaps they had talked enough for now. Already Cadel felt better about their partnership. He wasn’t certain they would ever be friends, certainly not the way he and Jedrek had been. But he could work with Dario, he could trust the man to watch his back. He’d have to be satisfied with that. There was one matter, however, that could not wait.

Dario took a step toward the stairs, but Cadel held out a hand, stopping him.

“From now on, you’re to call me Corbin, even when we’re alone.”

Dario nodded. “I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.”

“What about you? Is there a name you’ve used before?”

“I’ve always just gone by Dario.”

“I referred to you as Dagon in the Red Boar.”

The man grinned. “I know. I didn’t like it.”

Cadel clicked his tongue. He would have preferred an alias, but if Dario hadn’t used one before, particularly if he had performed under his given name, changing it now would be dangerous.

“All right, Dario will have to do. You don’t give your family name, do you?”

“I never have.”

“Good,” Cadel said, nodding.

They found the innkeeper already seated at her table, eating the stew she had prepared.

“It’s probably half cold already,” she said, as the two men sat.

Cadel glanced at Dario, who grinned in return.

“I have no doubt that it still tastes wonderful, my lady,” Cadel said.

The woman paused with her spoon just in front of her mouth, peering at him from beneath wisps of white hair. “I never said it didn’t.”

He suppressed a laugh, and both men began to eat. The stew wasn’t bad, nor was the bread she had baked to serve with it, though Cadel expected that they would find better of both in the city. She had placed no wine on the table, but for six qinde he couldn’t bring himself to complain.

None of them spoke for some time. The woman seemed content to eat in silence, and Cadel saw no reason to risk unwanted questions by striking up a conversation. Eventually, though, the innkeeper finished her meal, and, with both men still eating, she remained at the table, eyeing them both.

“So, you’re musicians,” she said. “Are you any good? Or did I give up two qinde for nothing?”

The two men exchanged another look.

“We’re good,” Dario said. “With a bit more practice we should be good enough to play for the duke himself.”

The woman sniffed. “I don’t know that the duke cares for music. The older one did, his father. But this one…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Besides,” she went on a moment later, “he’s not even at the castle. I think he’s still in Solkara, though he could be on his way back by now. Word is he came through the poisoning all right.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cadel said.

“We had one of the queen’s messengers here not long ago,” the innkeeper said, as if she hadn’t heard. “And one of the duke’s ministers, too.”

Cadel cast a quick look at Dario. Whether the lutenist had intended it or not, his boast about playing for the duke might have been a stroke of genius. “A minister?” he repeated, trying not to sound too interested. “Then was the duke here as well?”

She frowned. “No. This was after the duke and his first minister had gone south. Though it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Rowan himself stopped here on the return.”

Cadel felt his interest growing by the moment. “If the duke had already passed by, why would another of his ministers be stopping here?”

“I don’t presume to guess at such things. But he was interested in the duke, and even more so in the duke’s first minister, when the messenger was here, telling us of the poisoning. Wouldn’t surprise me if he and that minister were a pair, if you know what I mean.”

“So he had already left the castle when he heard of the poisoning?” Dario asked, putting down his spoon.

She nodded. “Oh, yes. Seemed rather bothered by it, if you ask me. Because of the minister, in particular. Left in a hurry the next morning. I didn’t like him at first. I don’t take well to white-hairs. But he was kind enough, for one of them.”

“What did he look like?” Cadel asked. When she looked his way, eyeing him warily, he added, “I’ve sung in many of the taverns in Mertesse, including the Qirsi ones. I might be able to put a name to the face, tell you which minister had been here.”

She still appeared doubtful, but after a moment she gave a small shrug. “He looked to me like every other Qirsi. He was lean, thin-faced. I had the impression that he was a bit old for one of them, but other than that, there wasn’t much to distinguish him.”

“What about his accent?”

Her eyes widened slightly, but quickly narrowed again, as if the question had only heightened her doubts about him. “Now that you ask, he did speak a bit strangely. I couldn’t place the accent, but it seemed to me that he was trying too hard to sound Aneiran.” She paled. “You don’t suppose he was a spy.”

No, he was a traitor. Cadel was certain that this was the man he and Dario had been sent to kill. He could only hope that the Qirsi intended to return to the castle with the duke and Mertesse’s first minister. “No,” he said, making himself smile. “He wasn’t a spy. One of the duke’s ministers was born in Eibithar. But he serves Aneira now. No doubt this was the man who stayed here.”

“Well, gods be praised for that. A Qirsi is bad enough, but a Qirsi spy…” She shook her head. “I don’t need any brutes or lawbreakers coming to my inn.”

Cadel and Dario nodded their agreement and finished their meal. Cadel was eager to return to their room and discuss with the younger man what they had learned of the Qirsi. But almost before he had swallowed his last bite of stew, the innkeeper reminded them of their promise to sing for her and her family.

Dario retrieved his lute from their quarters, and the innkeeper went out the rear door of the house to fetch her daughter, leaving Cadel to ponder why the Qirsi would have left Mertesse Castle if it hadn’t been because of the poisoning. Perhaps he had gleaned what would happen in Solkara, and had only feigned his shock or surprise upon hearing the messenger’s tidings. Or maybe he had left Mertesse for some other purpose and had no intention of actually riding on to Solkara. If this was the case, their journey north had been in vain, and they had a long search ahead of them.

Dario came back down the stairs, glancing about quickly to see if the innkeeper had returned.

“You think it was the one we’re after?” he asked, seeing that she hadn’t.

“Yes. That was well done, mentioning the duke that way.”

The lutenist grinned. “I thought so. I wasn’t certain it would do us any good, but I saw no harm in trying.”

Cadel nodded. Dario might have been difficult, but he was clever as well. If Cadel was to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that Jedrek never would have thought to try such a thing.

Before they had time to talk more, the innkeeper stepped back into the house, followed by a man, a woman, and a small boy. They sat at the table, the older woman looking expectantly at Dario and Cadel.

“I’ve told them you want to play for the duke,” she said. “We’ll let you know if we think you’re good enough.”

“Mother!” the other woman said, looking appalled.

Once more, Cadel had to keep himself from laughing.

Though Cadel would have preferred to speak with Dario about the Qirsi, he could not help but be pleased with how they sounded almost as soon as they began their first piece. His voice felt good, and Dario’s playing was more controlled than he had ever heard it. They went through nearly their entire repertoire-the threnody, “Elegy for Shanae.”

“Ilias’s Lament” from The Paean to the Moons, and several folk songs, both Caerissan and Aneiran. They knew some old Eibithanan songs as well, but thought better of playing them in the Mertesse countryside.

By the time they were on their last piece, even the innkeeper was smiling and singing along, her voice surprisingly sweet. Their small audience applauded appreciatively and the innkeeper disappeared into her kitchen only to emerge a few moments later with a plate of sweet rolls, a jar of honey, and a flask of light wine.

“Music like that deserves a reward,” she said, grinning at Cadel.

“I take it,” he said, “that it was worth the two qinde.”

Her face reddened, but she merely raised her eyebrows and said, “I suppose.”

The two musicians could hardly refuse the wine and food, so they remained with the innkeeper and her family a while longer, until the rolls were gone and the flask nearly empty. Then they walked up the stairs to their room.

“If he’s not in Mertesse-” Dario began.

But Cadel raised a hand and shook his head, silencing him. He had noticed earlier in the day that the woman’s bedchamber was almost directly beneath theirs. They would have to wait until they were on the road once more to speak of the minister.

The next morning dawned fair and unusually warm. Before Cadel and Dario had finished their breakfast, they could already hear water dripping from the melting snow atop the roof. The innkeeper was eating with them again, humming one of the songs they had sung for her the night before.

They finished their meal quickly and, having already packed their satchels, started toward the door, offering their thanks to the old woman.

Before they could leave, however, she stopped them, hurrying into her kitchen and returning with a sack of food, which she held out to them.

Cadel took it from her, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

She blushed. “You asked me last night if your music was worth the two qinde I took off the price of your room. In fact, it was worth more.” She nodded toward the sack. “It’s not much really-some dried meat, a piece of cheese, some bread. But it should keep you full while you walk the rest of the way to Mertesse.”

“Thank you,” Cadel said. He took her hand and bent to kiss the back of it.

Her color deepened and she looked away, though she didn’t pull her hand from his. “Stop it,” she said, not quite managing to sound cross. “You better get moving before this weather changes its mind and turns to snow again.”

“You have our thanks, my lady. If anyone asks, we’ll have nothing but kind words to say about your inn.”

She dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. “You’ll just be making more work for me.” Then she smiled. “But if you’re ever coming this way again, I’d welcome another performance.”

Shouldering their satchels, the two men stepped out into the cool air and bright sun to resume their journey north. The road was already growing too soft with melting ice and snow; it promised to be slow going. On the other hand, with the day so fair, Cadel could clearly see the city walls and the great towers of the castle. They had even less distance to cover than he had thought.

The two men walked for some time without speaking. They saw few people on the road, though they did pass a small contingent of soldiers wearing the black-and-gold uniforms of Mertesse and bearing weapons that glittered in the sunlight. The guards stopped briefly to ask Cadel and Dario where they were headed and what business they had in Mertesse. But when Cadel told them they were musicians and Dario pulled out his lute, the men let them go on.

“We’ll get more of that now,” Dario said when they were walking again. “With the new queen in Solkara, and nobles looking for poison in every cup of wine they raise, we’ll be lucky if we get anywhere near the castle.”

“I’ve thought of that.”

“Do you have a plan in mind?”

“Not yet.”

Dario twisted his mouth, but gave a small nod. He didn’t remain silent for long, however. “Have you thought of what we’re to do if the old woman is right, and this Qirsi we’re after isn’t in Mertesse?”

“I expect she is right,” Cadel said. “The question isn’t whether he’s gone, but rather if he’s coming back. What concerns me most is the fact that he had already left Mertesse when he heard of the poisoning. That makes me think that he was leaving for some reason that had nothing at all to do with his duke.”

He didn’t say it, but Cadel could only assume that if he wasn’t serving Mertesse, he was acting on behalf of the conspiracy.

“If that’s the case, there’s no telling where he might have gone.”

“True. But I’m hoping that the poisoning changed his plans.” He gestured over his shoulder in the direction of the inn. “Our friend back there seemed to think that he was in love with the duke’s first minister. If she’s right, then I imagine he’ll be returning with Rowan. Provided the first minister didn’t die in Solkara.”

Dario regarded him a moment, then shook his head slowly. “You’re placing a good deal of faith in an old woman who may know nothing at all.”

“Not really,” Cadel said, smiling. “Though I suspect she knows more about people than you might think. Mostly I’m just acknowledging what we both know to be true. We’re going to be here for some time. If the Qirsi doesn’t come back, I have no idea where to begin looking for him. So our best hope is to wait for the duke’s return and hope that both ministers are with him.”

“And if the one we want isn’t with the duke?”

Cadel shrugged. “We’ll walk back to Solkara and start searching again, hoping that he really did go there after leaving our innkeeper.”

“Are all your jobs like this?” Dario asked.

“Like what?”

“So uncertain, so dependent on good fortune.”

Cadel shook his head, gazing toward Mertesse. The castle looked bigger than he remembered, more formidable.

“No,” he said at last. “This job is unlike any I’ve ever had before. I rarely agree to kill without out knowing the name of the one I’m hunting, and without being certain I know where to find him.” He hesitated, thinking suddenly of Brienne of Kentigern. “Or her.” He shivered, though the sun felt warm on his back and legs.

“You also rarely kill for so little money,” Dario said quietly. “You really were eager to strike back at the conspiracy, weren’t you?”

Cadel eyed him for a moment, but said nothing.

“Do you regret it now?”

“No. Not even a little.”

Dario nodded, but at least he had the sense not to say anything more. The truth was that while Cadel didn’t have any qualms about striking at the conspiracy, he wished that he had found a different way to do it. Usually he liked to have a job planned well in advance or, failing that, to have at least a few alternatives in mind. Right now, he had no sense of how he was going to kill this man, or even get close enough to him to try. He could almost hear Jedrek railing at him for being so rash as to take gold from the woman who had hired them. Never take a job when you feel anything for the one you’re supposed to kill, be it love, hate, anger, or pity. It was one of the first rules Cadel had taught Jedrek, and he here he was violating it. It seemed he had learned nothing at all in Kentigern.

“So what do we do when we get to Mertesse?”

Cadel took a breath, then squinted up at the sun. They’d be in the city before nightfall.

“We find work,” he said. “There’s no shortage of taverns in a city this large. One of them is bound to need musicians.”

“And then?”

“And then we hope that the gods are with us.”

But he could hear Jedrek again, asking the question he couldn’t answer. Are the gods ever with an assassin?