The Pirate's Lady

Chapter Fifteen



Van Gast was thrust into a fetid cell in a jangle of bells and blood where he hit the floor face-first. It had taken four guards to get him here, though with his hands cuffed behind his back there was little he could do except make their lives as difficult as possible. And hope this was all part of the plan Josie hadn’t quite got round to explaining. He’d hidden the key by sliding it into his breeches and wiggling until it fell into his boot.

Which was a problem, because a rough hand dragged him up and began slicing off his clothes with a knife. “Hey, that’s my best shirt!”

“Not anymore.”

The shirt ripped along the cuts and dropped to the floor, followed by the corset, which was a relief at least. One of the guards picked the shirt up and rifled through it. The two knives he quickly pocketed for himself before he squinted at the little square of cloth in the dim light, ripped it into quarters and threw it on the floor. Van Gast kept his gaze sharp, looking to see where they fell. Almost all he had. Except the glass wedding dagger. The one the guard was lifting up to the faint moonlight from a tiny light-well in the corner, which was all that lit the cell.

The guard snorted in disgust. “Bah, only one, that’s no good. And it’s not got the oil in. Sodding worthless.” With a casual flick of his wrist, the dagger shattered against the wall, and shattered Van Gast’s hope too. The cloth and the dagger, all he had, the only tangible things to show that he had a chance with Josie. The only things that actually meant anything to him, apart from maybe his bells. They could have taken the rest, burned it all, he wouldn’t have cared. But now his hope lay in tiny shattered specks on the floor.

He didn’t struggle as they wrenched off his boots, shook out the daggers, the key, and took them, patted down his breeches and found only his set of bones, which they left. There wasn’t much point in struggling. Violence would do him no good right now, what he needed was smarts. What he needed was Josie.

As a final gesture they moved the cuffs so that his hands were in front of him, and threw his bells back at him through the grill when they’d banged the door closed. “If you’re lucky, Forn will drown you before Rillen gets his way.”

They set off back down the corridor, laughing at their joke and rattling the bars of the other cells as they passed.

What the f*ck had Josie’s plan been? She must have realized they might take the key. Was the plan still on, or not? Van Gast hadn’t liked the way her face had paled when Rillen knew him, the almost-missed twitch. She hadn’t expected it, he was sure. Maybe she’d thought they wouldn’t search Mr. Ibsen. But her plan had been to get him in the cells. Why?

Think man, think.

He scuffled among the dank straw, trying to find what was left of the cloth. Stupid, really, but that piece of cloth, that glass dagger had been his focus for long enough now, they were part of him. All he found were a few bits of glass, not even big enough to make a handy weapon.

She needed him in the cells. He wasn’t here so she could get the bounty, she hadn’t turned him in. Yet. He had to believe that or go crazy. She had a reason, a plan, even if it’d gone a bit tits-up. Plans always tended to. Still a chance to salvage it, if he could work out what it was.

Damn you, Josie, why do you always have to play so close to your—admittedly very fine—chest.

Because it was more fun that way. Good point, although Van Gast wasn’t seeing much fun right now. So, she wanted him down in the Yelen dungeons, where rumor said some men had spent decades not quite dying. She’d given him a key, which they’d taken off him, naturally. What was down here? Revenge and money, that was what she was after. Money, he and Josie were always after money, always the forefront of any plan, the harder to get, the twistier they had to be, the better the fun, the bigger the thrill. The Yelen had plenty of money…

Where was the safest place to keep it?

Kyr’s mercy. It hit him like a boulder in the back. He generally paid little heed to rumors—too outlandish for the most part, embellished in the retelling, again and again. Rumors were worth nothing against actually seeing the damn money. But there was one rumor about Yelen treasure that always stayed mostly the same—they kept their money in the dungeons. No one really believed it, of course, because it was just too far-fetched. Besides, no one ever came out of the Yelen dungeons. Alive, anyway. So who started the rumor, who knew what was in there?

Thing was, the Yelen palace hadn’t started off as a bastion of trade. Less than a hundred years ago, it had been a merchant’s house. Looked good, not really safe as such, because merchants were all about appearances, and kept most of their money at the counting house in any case. One or two secure places, but not enough for the wealth of a council who couldn’t afford to—or just didn’t—trust the merchants and moneylenders they made their money from. Hence the tightly controlled area around it, and only the most influential traders allowed inside.

From the little Van Gast had seen, the palace was a building full of gaps—open archways, deep-set windows with no glass to let in the breeze, hardly a door anywhere. Until you got to this part, the part they’d added later, using slaves to dig down into the sandstone. Burying most of them there too, in damp darkness, in the little pools of water that seeped from the river through the stone and even now were making Van Gast’s body one whole, soggy ache. He tried not to think of the state of the water from the Est River, and what might be in it.

All this led to one conclusion—Josie had worked out that the rumor was true. The Yelen kept their wealth and it wasn’t in the opulence above. No, the money was down here, somewhere, and everyone knew there was only one way into the Yelen dungeons—get arrested. Of course, everyone knew there was only one way out too—get executed. If you were lucky.

So what the f*ck was she planning?

It didn’t take long to find out. The sound of heavy doors bounced along the dark corridor, and a lantern sent flickers of light through the grille. A familiar voice boomed along with the bang of the door, and Van Gast had never been so glad to be sworn at.

“So where is the little bastard?” Skrymir said. “I want him strung up by the balls for what he did to my wife.”

Van Gast peered through the grille. Skrymir was shouldering his way along the corridor, all bluster and offended sensibility. Van Gast was quite impressed—he’d always taken Skrymir for just another bull in breeches. Handy to have at your back, but no finesse. Josie had been teaching him, obviously, because he was quite convincing. There she was too, walking a step behind, all prim and demure, except she was having a hard time keeping her grin to herself.

She caught Van Gast’s eye and tipped him a sly wink, one that loosened the tight feeling round his heart, before she straightened her face, held a kerchief to her nose and spoke to Rillen. “You keep your dungeons full. And dirty.”

“And the Gan don’t?” Rillen said. “These cells are kept for the enemies of the Yelen. An attempted assassin here,” he waved a hand at a grille, “a dishonest trader trying to rob us there.” Another offhand wave.

He seemed normal enough, this Rillen. Van Gast had met a thousand men like him. Officious, pompous and vicious in the name of the law. Nothing new—except the itch, the burn, the scream in his chest that was telling him to run, run now, anywhere, just away from him. Possibly it was just his allergy to Oku’s justice, but he thought it was more than that this time.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Rillen was saying. Van Gast was sure he could spot a smirk in the gloom.

Skrymir shrugged, almost knocking his shoulders against the walls. “Wise? It’s not a matter of wisdom, but of justice. You know that the Gan revere Oku above all?”

“Of course, justice, oaths and vengeance. I understand that. But—”

“Then you’ll understand that I want to beat seven shades of shit out of this Van Gast. Then I want you to hang him, the worst death for a Gan. No honor.”

“As you say.” Rillen reached for something in his tunic, and Van Gast almost couldn’t bear it—the itch in his head, the desperate need to run, grab Josie, get the f*ck out of port while they still could. Only he couldn’t—locked up, cuffed. No doubt a dozen guards or more between him and the way out. He had to wait, see what Josie was planning.

Rillen moved—and so did both Josie and Skrymir. Josie’s gun was in her hand from the gods knew where before Van Gast could even register it. Skrymir’s sword was halfway to Rillen’s throat.

The staggered clicking, as of multiple pistols being cocked, followed by a flash of flame and a bang that almost deafened Van Gast in the narrow corridor, stopped them both. Skrymir jerked backward and slammed into a wall with a surprised look. His tunic had a jagged hole in the chest, black and leaking blood, the mail beneath a mangle of rings.

Either side of Van Gast, cell doors opened and gunmen, Yelen guardsmen, came out. Every pistol pointed at Josie.

She never even blinked. One shot blasted into a guard and sent him flying into the man behind, then she threw the pistol at another and dragged out a long knife from a pocket cunningly hidden in her skirts. Before anyone else had moved, she was at Rillen’s throat with it.

Even now, Van Gast couldn’t help but notice the smooth grace of her, the muscles, a dancer’s not a fighter’s, but just as deadly. Quick was her thing. She couldn’t often beat a man with strength, but she could gut him so quick he never knew about it. She’d do it too. Dangerous as a snake-pit, his Josie, and about as predictable.

The guards hesitated, a fraction of a heartbeat, as the knife slid along Rillen’s neck and drew a thin slice of blood after it. Josie didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to. It was all in her lopsided grin as she moved behind Rillen. Rob, kill or delight, that grin said. Van Gast was pretty sure delight wasn’t an option today, not for Rillen.

“It’s no use, Josienne,” Rillen said. “I’ve known who you are all along. You and your little game. It would never have worked, anyway.”

Josie’s hand twitched at the use of her true name, brought another flow of blood from Rillen’s throat, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“The key to Van’s cell,” she whispered in his ear.

The guards were moving, slowly, subtly. Regrouping, checking pistols. One of them came too close to Van’s grille. He slid his cuffed hands through, looped the chain over the man’s head and yanked him back hard into the door. The guard’s pistol went off, wild, and the bullet pinged off the ceiling before it embedded itself in the door by Josie’s ear.

“For f*ck’s sake, Van. You’re supposed to be shooting them, not me.” Her grin was hard, bright, her words as sharp as steel.

“Get me out of this cell, I’ll shoot anyone you like.”

Rillen smirked at Van Gast. He didn’t like the look of that smirk, or the way his little-magics felt as if he’d swallowed a bucket of hot coals. Rillen had known who Josie was, hadn’t been fooled for an instant. There was more, somewhere. More guards, more guns, more something. He could feel it in his bones, vibrating in his head.

“Josie, you’ve got to run. Right now.”

“I—” She cocked her head, considering, but hesitated only a fraction. “F*ck that. The key, Rillen.”

Rillen made a move for his pocket, but it wasn’t for the key, Van Gast knew it by the claw in his chest even as the hand dipped in. Not only that—Josie’s little-magics didn’t run the same way as Van Gast’s. She couldn’t feel it, or know when it was time to run.

Van Gast did. “Josie! Now, run now!”

His shout made the knife move, just a finger’s breadth. Enough. Rillen barged backward into her at the same time as he pulled something out of his pocket. Josie’s knife flashed, caught him on the arm, but it was too late.

Rillen’s elbow got her under the ribs and sent her breath whooshing out in an angry hiss. He was quick, the son of the council, Van Gast had to give him that. Almost as quick as Josie and stronger with it. Two of the guards went to help him, and despite his strength he needed it.

Josie squirmed like an octopus under him, caught him a crack on the head with the hilt of her knife. The guard in front of Van Gast tried to wriggle free, but Van Gast yanked on the chain and kept him out of it.

In the end, it wasn’t the extra strength or weight that let Rillen win, that rendered Josie still as death. It was what he took out of his pocket. A little pouch, harmless seeming, except for the blind silver worm poking from the opening. A bond, a mage-bond.

Sly f*cker. Rillen knew the one thing Josie was afraid of, though she’d doubtless never admit it. She lay under his weight and watched with wary terror as he held it over her.

“That’s better,” Rillen said as he stood up. Josie scooted back, but a guard at either side caught her. Rillen’s face took on a breathless, exalted look, as though he were communing with gods. “Oh, this is much better. Van Gast the uncatchable is in my cells and Joshing Josie, who’s afraid of no one and nothing, cowers in terror at my feet.”

He leaned forward, proffering the pouch, careful not to let his fingers get too close to the silver bond that seemed to snuffle the air. Seeking new flesh to bond, new minds to enslave. Too close—Josie lashed out with a boot and a snarl, but the guardsmen held her tight.

“Not to worry. I won’t, not yet at least. I’ve got a little something for you and Van Gast to do for me.”

“Well, you can piss off and forget it then, can’t you?”

Her foot snaked out again and caught him on the thigh. Rillen moved back half a step, just tantalizingly out of her reach.

“No, I don’t think so. Because I have it on good authority there’s one thing that will make you. One thing you’re afraid of.”

Her mouth twisted into her lopsided smile, devilish and taunting. “Not you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get these goons off me and give me a knife, and I’ll have your bollocks for earrings. I’ll bond you, you little f*cker.”

Rillen laughed, a chill little chuckle that made icy footprints run up Van Gast’s spine. At Rillen’s glance, the two guards picked Josie up, still spitting and cursing as they checked her for more weapons. By the time they’d done, one had a bloody nose and the other would be walking carefully for a while, but Josie was weapon-free.

Rillen looked Van Gast’s way, and Van Gast wished he hadn’t. A shark, he’d thought the man, and he’d been right. A wide toothy smile, flat, dark eyes with no feeling behind them. He was biding his time, ignoring the fish and waiting for a fat seal to sink those teeth into. Van Gast had the worst feeling that he and Josie were either the bait or the seal. Neither of those appealed.

“Let him go,” Rillen said to Van Gast. “Let him go and I won’t bond anyone. Just yet, anyway.”

Van Gast stopped pulling on the guard’s neck, let the man thud to the flagstones and sit there, his breath labored and loud. A guard prodded Van Gast away from the grille with his sword long enough for them to open the door, thrust a still-swearing Josie inside and slam it again. The key ground the lock shut and disappeared into Rillen’s pocket.

The guards dragged Skrymir off into another cell. His face was white as wave-tops, and the stone beneath him was dark with blood.

Rillen wiped at the blood on his throat and clamped a hand on his bleeding arm before he came up to the grille, his face out of Van’s reach. His voice was low, conspiratorial, just between the two of them.

“I’ll give Skrymir his chance. Maybe he’ll live, and maybe he won’t. It doesn’t matter, I don’t need him. But you, ah, Van Gast, I have so much to pay you back for. An account you’ll pay, one way or another. The uncatchable Van Gast, scourge of the western coast, in my cells. And his lover too. No rack would dare go against the man who caught the pair of you, especially once I’m head of the Yelen. A little bonus payment from you, for my brother. I’m sure you remember him, in Bilsen? For him, I’ll be back soon. With this bond, for one of you. Not yet, not now. But soon. And when I come back, one of you gets bonded. Your choice as to who, Van Gast. Enjoy yourselves in the meantime. You might as well. I think I can guarantee it will be the last time you do.”

With a flashing grin that might have looked quite at home on Van Gast, Rillen strolled away up the corridor.

* * *

Holden steered a protesting Tallia by the elbow through the buffeting crowds. Both of them were cloaked despite the night heat, hooded away from prying eyes.

“Holden, please, it wasn’t—”

He steeled himself against the look in her eyes. “Enough. Come on, which way?”

“Why are—ow!”

Holden loosened his grip a touch, but he still had firm hold of her. “Right at the Herald’s Trumpet?”

“Holden, stop a moment. Think.”

He came to an abrupt halt and turned her to face him, her face shadowed by the flickering torches and the hood. “Think about what? Van Gast and Josie are in trouble. Skrymir, too, and he was for a long time my only friend. I have to help them, and you’re going to help me.”

He tried to get her moving again, but she dug in her heels, her mouth set in a stubborn pout. “But Holden—”

“I trust them, not you. I have to. See what mistrust got Van Gast—a hole in his side you could fit your fist in, and not much else except losing Josie. I’m not making the same mistake.”

“Fine, come on.”

She didn’t take him the way he’d expected. He’d been in the licensed docks many times, in his former life as a respectable Remorian commander. The entrance was by Kyr’s Palace, and that was where he’d thought they’d try to get in. He’d thought maybe he could try a lie.

Tallia led him a different way and wouldn’t elaborate why when he asked. She seemed very grim now, no shred of her infectious grin, no bounce of her step. Holden wished he could take it back, all that he’d said and done, so that she’d look that way again. Make him feel that way again, but that brought on another wash of guilt.

The roads Tallia led him down grew narrower as they left behind the more reputable parts of the city. Houses huddled together, leaning over the lanes as though gossiping about them. Doors stood open, and there the people did gossip, followed their progress with sly eyes and whispers behind hands. A scruffy dog sat and watched them pass, as intent as any of the people. Holden’s bells sounded odd and out of place here, forlorn and alone.

He was glad when they passed out of the warren of alleys and moved toward a nondescript gap between two houses, with two elderly men sitting at its head, playing a game of bones. Holden recognized it—Find the Lady. The men watched them covertly as they approached but made no move except to play their game. Holden paused as the older one stopped his deft juggle of the cups. The other pointed to the left-hand cup.

“No,” Holden said, though he wasn’t sure why. “The center cup.”

The older man cackled and lifted the center cup—there sat the Lady. “That’s twenty coppers you owe me,” he said to the other, and then nodded at Tallia and Holden, as though allowing them passage.

“How did you know?”

“Van Gast taught me the trick. It’s easy once you see it.”

“No, how did you know to say—never mind.” Tallia gave him a sideways glance but shook her head and carried on, down into the gap. The walls were blank, no windows or doors, but Holden had the feeling they were being watched nonetheless.

“What is this place?”

Tallia stopped in a narrow twist of the gap. “Don’t you ever wonder where the guards live?”

“I—no, can’t say I ever have.”

“Well, this is it. The watchmen who patrol the city don’t live in the palace, or the licensed area, or not all of them. No families allowed in there, so a lot live outside. Not many people want a guard for a neighbor though, eh? Not a man whose job it might be to take your hand tomorrow for stealing, whether you stole anything or not. So they tend to live in little huddles like this one, and it’s almost as hard to get in here as it is the main gate, just more…subtle. The people don’t like us as neighbors, perhaps—but we don’t like them any better.”

“We?”

Her smile was strained. “My father was a watchman before he died. I can get us in. Perhaps. All the older men, the retired guards, they keep this place separate from the rest of the city. Gives them something to do, and they know all the tricks. Those two men playing bones? Lookouts. Play it wrong and one whistle would have forty guards on you, quick as spit. Try coming down here without their leave—no exits, see? Trapped between them and what’s up ahead, which is a lot more guards. Pick you off with pistols and arrows from the roof. The guards protect their families as much or more than they do the Yelen.”

“But you can get in?”

“Perhaps. Rillen owns the guards, body and soul, if not mind. They do what he says, or else they’ll be dressed as a rack and hung on Oku’s wall with the rest. I’m a familiar face, so they’ll give me some leeway for my father’s sake, but we’ll still need to be crafty.”

Tallia stopped at a locked gate at the entrance to a small square. She motioned for Holden to wait in the shadows. At the far end of the square a dark hole opened, flanked by two vague men in Yelen guard uniforms. More shadowy figures lurked on the rooftops. No one seemed to be guarding the gate they stood at, until Tallia said something in a low voice. More guards, hard-faced and suspicious until they saw her. One nodded recognition and she spoke a few more words, ones that Holden couldn’t catch. Finally, Tallia waved him forward.

The guards looked him up and down, noted the fading bond-scar at his wrist and conferred for long minutes. Eventually one went off and returned with another, some sort of sergeant by the insignia. He crossed his arms over his not inconsiderable chest.

“Well then. I know you,” he nodded at Tallia, “and yet my orders are quite clear. I got no orders about this one though. A Remorian too. He doesn’t look mad, but then, it’s hard to tell.”

“Rillen wants Van Gast, doesn’t he? Well, this is Van Gast’s first mate. Ready to turn him over, for a share in ten thousand sharks. You going to deny Rillen that?”

The sergeant wiped a thoughtful finger over his top lip. “Now, as a rule, I wouldn’t want to cross Rillen, that’s true, and true again he’s after Van Gast something fierce. But there’s a big party on up at the palace. Big party, ambassadors and all sorts, and there’s already been one to-do. Haven’t heard the details yet, but there’s one man who won’t be seeing the outside of a cell again. Or not for long anyway.”

He chuckled at Holden’s puzzled look, then mimed a noose yanking at his neck. “They see the sun for about a minute before they don’t see anything ever again. Unless they get the nail. Then they see more sun than they want. Like I said, don’t know the details, but the name Van Gast has filtered down, oh yes. Of course—that’s news, that is, Van Gast getting himself caught. Over a piece of tail too, if rumor’s right. So now, if Rillen has him nice and trussed up in the cells, him and that Joshing Josie, why does he need you or Van Gast’s first mate?”

Tallia opened her mouth but couldn’t seem to find anything to say. Holden stepped in, the thought of Van Gast caught, and Josie now too, in the Yelen cells waiting a noose making his brain fizz with dread. The lie, when it came, was smooth as silk on his tongue. “Because I know where Van keeps all his money.”

“And you don’t want to keep it?” The sergeant raised a grizzled eyebrow. “Seems to me you got it made. You don’t need to turn him over, you got everything of Van Gast’s.”

Holden’s heart thudded furiously, pounding in his ears as he tried to come up with something glib. The burn of his blood was painful, terrifying—and glorious. Every nerve ending was alive, every drop of sweat tingled on his skin, every muted color in the courtyard suddenly vibrant. He felt so alive, he wanted to kiss the world. Is this how Van feels all the time?

The idea came, and was out of his mouth before he had the chance to think it through properly. “I’m part of his crew for one reason only, a scam. Josie. Van stole her from me and cut off my hand while he was at it.” He waved his scarred stump at them. “I want her back, and Rillen can take everything of Van’s. A share of ten thousand is more than that anyway. I just want to screw Van Gast as hard as I can, and I’d not taint myself with anything of his. It’s worth more than you’re offering. A lot more. Maybe I can watch him swing too. Worth more than money to me.” He marveled about how easy the lie came and tried not to think how little of a lie it really was.

The sergeant nodded, the sage movement of a man who’s seen a lot and has little left to surprise him when it came to people. “Women, eh? Always take the bastard over the real man. Doesn’t surprise me. All right. I dare say Rillen might want to hear you out at least. Never know what goes through that snake’s mind. Four guards with you though, and don’t try anything stupid. They’re all good shots. You leave your pistol and sword here. I’ll take good care of them.”

Holden opened his mouth to say more, but Tallia gripped his wrist and shook her head. He shut up—subterfuge and subtlety were new to him. As a Remorian commander he’d just asked for what he wanted, grabbed it and not worried overmuch about anything else, any repercussions. There had been few enough with the will or nerve to complain to the Master. Now repercussions seemed to lay about at every turn, ready to trip him, traps he needed to beware of. Traps that Tallia, betrayer or not, liar or not, doubtless knew better than he did.

The guards led them down the dark tunnel, lit only by lanterns at long intervals. Every few hundred paces, another gate blocked the way, flanked by more guards. Finally the tunnel began to go up and, after a final gate with guards in smarter uniform—palace guards, Tallia whispered, rather than watchmen—the roof opened out into a larger chamber. Some sort of barracks-cum-guardroom, from the ranks of beds coupled with racks of swords and pistols. Men lay on their bunks, others were smartening up their uniforms, more came in, flushed from heat and effort. One man seemed in charge, a bossy sergeant type with a large, officious-looking moustache who stood shouting red-faced orders.

One of their guards went to speak with him and he came over, looking Holden over thoughtfully. “Rillen is busy.”

Tallia shuffled under his gimlet gaze. “I’ve got something for him. Please, we’ll wait.”

With a snort of disdain, the man nodded at their guards. “Take them to Rillen’s office. They can wait there. You wait with them.”

The guards ushered them out into a wide corridor where their footsteps echoed on marble floors. The sound of many people enjoying themselves drifted toward them—the tinkle of glasses, genteel laughter, a general murmur of voices. A wide doorway to their left seemed their destination. As they approached, two figures came round a far corner. Rillen, dressed in a blue silk tunic, his eyes on his companion as he kissed her hand.

Holden’s stomach felt as though it dropped to his feet. The fine dress in pale green silk, the sweep of chestnut hair, the wide eyes looking up at Rillen as she flirted with him.

“Ilsa?”

* * *

Van Gast helped Josie off the floor, a bit wary because she was angry enough to burst. She muttered under her breath, curses and threats against Rillen, against whoever had betrayed her, them. Finally she took a deep breath and looked up at Van Gast with a rueful twist of her lips.

“Josie love, I know I’m irresistible, but this is a heck of a way to get some time alone.”

There, she did it again, went from spitting-blood angry to laughing in the space of a heartbeat. Vicious, capricious and never quite in his grasp. Softer now as her laugh faded, the softness only he saw and with it, underneath, a raw dread that ached his heart.

He wanted to reach out, kiss it all away, lose himself in her and let her lose herself in him. Slowly, slowly. Mind, at least she can’t get away from you in here. There was always a bright side if you looked hard enough. He moved closer, so they almost touched and he could feel her breath on him.

He edged still closer, a hand on her neck, soft as clouds. She didn’t pull away. A long kiss, to steal her breath, steal her heart if he could. Van Gast wasn’t much for planning, or twisting, but he could steal like a god.

He pulled away at last. “If it’s dying you’re after, I can think of a couple of ways we could try. Be a good way to go, too. First we need to be naked though.”

She laughed again, less forced, less brittle. More his secret Josienne. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“On you? No, never. You have my word as a lying, thieving, conniving bastard of a rack.”

Her hand snaked down his bare back, trailed goose bumps behind it. “If you caught me, you’d be bored.”

It was Van Gast’s turn to laugh. “No, love. No one could be bored with you. Especially when you’re giving me heart attacks or trying to get me killed. Now, much as I am greatly enjoying the view your dress is giving me, how do we get it off?”

“Van, shouldn’t we be—”

He stopped her with another kiss, not slow this time. Hungry, insistent. He’d waited too long, in too much doubt. “Sod should,” he said at last, when he got his breath back. “Less talking, more being naked.”

She didn’t say anything else but stepped back a pace and reached behind her. Slowly, button by button, she undid the dress, let it slide first over one shoulder, then the other. She was a shape in the dim light, all soft curves and taut muscles. Moonlight made tempting shadows across her shoulders, delving between her breasts as the dress slid farther.

He didn’t, couldn’t, wait any longer. She was here, and with him, laughing up at him, kissing him as though her heart would burst with it, her hands tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. Butterfly Josie, just waiting to be pinned. She fell back against the wall, her lips on his throat, and he followed, pinned her there. He wanted to say it all then, but she left him no breath for words, no breath for anything but this, no room in his head for anything but her.

They never made it as far as the floor.

* * *

Rillen stopped to kiss Ilsa’s hand. His lovely Lady Laceflower. It was all so perfect. Van Gast and Josie in the cells ready for his little plan, and they would play their part. He had the threat of the bond to make sure, in case they tried anything, like a real escape. The look on Van Gast’s face, the way Josie had scrambled from it in terror—he thought it would be enough.

By midnight the Yelen would be his to control. Estovan would be his, and so would a lot of illicit money. All these traders, all these merchanters, each had paid a consideration just to be here, not to mention at least three deals he’d seen struck tonight. The money was even now winging its way down to the strong room next to the dungeon. Guarded by rock, and Yelen guards and dungeons of a fearsome reputation so no rack would ever try to get in. Several of the richer traders, not trusting the counting house, used the strong room to hold their wealth, their gold and more precious items, the safest place within a hundred leagues. Supposedly. By midnight, the worth of the city would be in that room.

Not for long—by dawn it would be out of the palace and his. Oh, so sorry. Those racks, tried to escape, took the money. Here, I have one to hang to show you. The other got away. No, we didn’t recover your money.

Only the other rack would be floating facedown in the Est River, one body among many the city produced in the night. Estovan would be chaotic for a time, but one man would lead. One man was the natural successor to the sadly “shot by the racks during their escape” Yelen councilors. One man who already had control of the guards, and therefore the palace, the licensed docks, the area around them, the place where all the real money was made.

Ilsa blushed as his lips brushed the back of her hand.

“Perfect,” he said. “All so perfect, thanks to you.”

Her sly smile broadened, so at odds with the naïve look of her. Such a shame she was so obviously a Remorian. But maybe—yes, maybe even that wouldn’t be a problem. For him, for the Yelen as would be, nothing would be a problem.

“How long?” she asked, and he knew what she meant.

“Josie will be dead within hours. Suitably tormented first. Either she’ll take the bond, or Van Gast will. You never did say why it was you hated her so much.”

A single gasped word stopped her dead. “Ilsa?”

Her smooth copper-bronze skin turned pale, her eyes widened so far that Rillen could see white around the dark irises, and her mouth quivered with unsaid words. He turned on whoever it was that had upset his lady.

Some of his guards, but it wasn’t them. Not Tallia, the little witch, though he knew her of old, but her companion. A Remorian, that much was obvious. The copper-bronze skin, the hair that until recently had been shorn just growing out now. The bond scar not quite covered by the garish rack shirt he was wearing.

A rack? Even a Remorian rack, come to the palace willingly? Is this another part of Josie’s plan? That twisty bitch is capable of anything.

Rillen pulled out his pistol, cocked it and pointed. He was half a heartbeat away from shooting the man in the head for the temerity of not only being here, but upsetting his lady, when Ilsa’s tremulous voice stopped him. “No! Please, Rillen.”

He looked away, a quick glance at her stricken face, and that was too long. A gun went off, but it wasn’t his. Heat flashed past his face and the bullet splintered a statue behind him. Tallia grappled with one of the guards. The now-useless one-shot pistol clattered to the tiles. Another guard went for Tallia’s back, but the Remorian stood like stone, his one hand raised as though to take Ilsa’s hand.

“Ilsa? What—”

Rillen raised the pistol again. Whoever this Remorian was, he was trouble. Rillen couldn’t let himself be distracted, not now. Not even by Ilsa.

Tallia fell with a wail under one of the guards, shouted something at the Remorian that Rillen didn’t catch. Still he didn’t move. Rillen pulled the trigger.