The younger woman turned to her, her face puzzled. “What exactly do you propose?”
Charlotte shrugged, scorn dripping from her. “He is cheating on you. Perhaps you should show some interest in a mutual acquaintance he considers beneath him. Someone masculine.”
“Someone who may threaten his ego,” the other woman said.
“Indeed.”
“I know just the man.” Angelia smiled.
“What a beautiful smile.”
“You know, Charlotte, I believe we will get on quite well.”
“I surely hope so. Come now, before we are missed.”
*
CHARLOTTE stood on the balcony of her house. The sun had set, but the sky was still lit with the wake of its passing. The house faced a park, and the evening wind rustled in the branches. Tiny insects, luminescent with green and orange, chased each other through the leaves.
Two days had passed since she healed Angelia in the bathroom, followed by another three-hour session at her house. The poisoned tree should’ve borne fruit by now, and it was time for an update.
Somewhere out there, Richard waited, just as she did. Charlotte hugged herself.
She missed him. She missed the easy intimacy and the feeling of being held, not just physically, but emotionally. When they were together, she didn’t have to face things alone. She hadn’t realized until now how much she needed that closeness. In the worst time of her life, she had leaned on him, sometimes without realizing and sometimes consciously, and now he was gone. It felt like something had been ripped out of her.
Is that what love felt like? She had barely met him, but she felt like she knew him, intimately knew him better than she had known anyone in a long, long time.
She wondered if he missed her.
A bluebird landed on the rail of the balcony and held unnaturally still.
“Hello, George.”
“Good evening.” George’s voice emanated from a point somewhat higher than the bird’s head.
“I still don’t understand how you do this.”
“It’s a technique I learned in the Mire. One of Richard’s relatives is an accomplished necromancer, and Richard took me to see him.”
“Is he ready?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m in contact with Richard as well.” George paused. “He says hello.”
She wished they could meet, but meetings could be observed, and communication via magic devices could be intercepted. This was the only safe way.
“I attended Lord Caraway’s lunch,” George reported. “Lady A spent the entire time hanging on M’s arm and his every word.”
“Good.” Angelia was paying attention to Maedoc. Brennan would notice it, especially now that Richard had put the idea of Maedoc’s betrayal into his mind. With luck, he might view Angelia’s sudden interest in the retired general as a sign of her switching loyalty.
“Richard says that you are brilliant.”
“Please tell him thank you for me. How did the attack go?”
“Richard says that the attack went as planned, but B didn’t take the bait.”
Damn it. “He didn’t buy M’s betrayal?”
George paused. “No. Richard says that he underestimated B. B judged the attack as too obvious. He’s likely making inquiries into the rest of the players.”
Brennan didn’t trust anyone, even an ally who stood next to him in a sword fight. This was bad news. “Are we going to Step 2?”
“Yes. He sends his sincere apologies. He hoped to keep you from being involved.”
It was up to her to execute Step 2. In the planning stage, Richard had hoped that the attack alone would be enough to make Brennan suspect Maedoc. In the event it failed to do so, she had to provide a confirmation of Maedoc’s guilt to Brennan. Since Richard and she acted independently, Brennan had no reason to suspect a conspiracy.
Before they started the game, Richard had his brother plant a file in the records of the Military Archive. The image of Richard’s face was now tied to the fabricated identity of a veteran of the Adrianglian Army, who had served a number of years under Maedoc. The Five knew what the Hunter looked like, and now it was up to her to connect the dots between the Hunter and Maedoc, and present it to Brennan.
“No apologies necessary. I need some things. I didn’t have to infect A. She already carried Dock Rot. B isn’t faithful to her, just as Richard anticipated. I need to track down the prostitute he’s sleeping with.”
“Her name is Miranda,” George said. “She works out of the Palace of Delights on Griffon Avenue in the Lower Quarter.”
Sometimes Richard was frighteningly thorough. “Tell him thank you.”
“He says he misses you.”
“I miss him, too.”
“Please be careful.”
“You, too,” she murmured.
The bird spread its wings and shot into the air.
She missed Richard. If she closed her eyes, she could picture him, his eyes, his muscular body, the smile on his lips . . . Her memory conjured the feel of his skin against hers and even his scent. She missed him so much, it almost hurt. The sooner they destroyed Brennan, the faster they could be together. Assuming he still wanted her.
She’d sensed a certain distance between them before they left, as if he was consciously building a barrier between himself and her. Something had changed between them. She wasn’t sure what, but it troubled her.
Charlotte stepped inside. Sophie sat on the couch, her legs tucked under her, a book spread in front of her. The wolfripper hound sprawled on the floor next to her.
“I need your help,” Charlotte said. “We’re going to visit a dangerous part of town.
Sophie uncoiled from the couch. “I’ll get my sword. Can we bring the dog?”
“Of course.”
Half an hour later, wrapped in a hooded cloak, Charlotte dropped two gold doubloons on the counter of the Palace of Delights. “Miranda.”
The proprietress, an older woman in a crushed silk gown, didn’t even blink. “Second floor, blue door.”