“Just him, or all his clients, too?” Jane blurted.The king gave her a slow smile. “You know Archer? I’m not surprised.” A taunt—a challenge.She just stared ahead, willing herself to calm, to breathe. “I used to. He’s an extraordinarily well-guarded man. I’ll need time to get past his defenses.” So carefully said, so casually phrased. What she really needed time for was to figure out how Archer had gotten tangled up in this mess—and whether the king was telling the truth. If Archer truly were a traitor and a rebel … well, she’d figure that out later.“Then you have one month,” the king said. “And if he’s not buried by then, perhaps I shall reconsider your position, girl.”She nodded, submissive, yielding, gracious. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” “When you have dispatched Archer, I will give you the next name on the list.” She had avoided the politics of the kingdoms—especially their rebel forces—for so many years, and now she was in the thick of it. Wonderful.“Be quick,” the king warne
There was nothing interesting about the elegant, green-roofed townhouse, and she hadn’t learned anything about who lived there, other than the client’s name —some Lady Balanchine. She had used the same trick she’d employed at the other two houses to gain that bit of information: she pretended to be a courier with a package for Lord So-and-So. And when the butler or housekeeper said that this was not Lord So-and-So’s house, she’d feigned embarrassment, asked whose house it was, chatted up the servant a bit, and then went on her way.Jane adjusted the position of her legs and rolled her neck. The sun had nearly set, the temperature dropping with each passing minute. Unless she could get into the houses themselves, she wasn’t going to learn much else. And given the likelihood that Vincent might actually be doing what he was paid to do, she was in no rush to go inside. Better to learn where he went, who he saw, and then take the next step.It had been so long since she’d done something l
She picked up another one of her documents, a map of the city that she’dmarked up with the locations of Vincent ’s clients. Most of them seemed to be in the posh district where the majority of Rifthold’s elite lived. Vincent ’s own townhouse was in that neighborhood, tucked into a quiet, respectable side street. She traced a nail along it, but paused when her eyes fell upon a street just a few blocks over.She knew that street—and knew the house that sat on its corner. Whenever she ventured into Rifthold, she took care to never pass too close to it. Today had been no different; she’d even gone a few blocks out of her way to avoid walking by.Not daring to look at Bolton, she asked, “Do you know who Rourke Farran is?”The name made her sick with long-suppressed rage and grief, but she managed to say it. Because even if she didn’t want the entire truth … there were some things she did need to know about her capture. Still needed to know, even after all this time.She felt Bolton’s atte
Jane awoke before dawn with a pounding headache. It took one look at the mostly melted candle on her nightstand to know that her encounter in the tomb hadn’t been some awful dream. Which meant that far beneath her room, there was a talking door knocker imbued with an ancient animation spell. And that Elena had yet again found a way to make her life infinitely more complicated.Jane groaned and buried her face in her pillow. She’d meant what she said last night. The world was beyond helping. Even if … even if she’d seen firsthand just how dangerous things could become—how much worse it could be. And that person in the hall …She flipped onto her back, and Fleetfoot poked her cheek with a wet nose. Idly stroking the dog’s head, Jane stared up at the ceiling and the pale gray light seeping through the curtains.She didn’t want to admit it, but Mort was right. She’d gone to the tomb just to have Elena deal with the creature in the hallway—to be reassured that she wouldn’t have to do an
“Oomph!” she cried, slamming into a broad, muscled shoulder. Benjamin even pulled her to him, a supporting hand on her back to keep her from toppling down the stairs. She looked up through her lashes, and then—A blink, two blinks.The exquisite face gaping at her broke into a grin. “Laena?”She’d planned to smile anyway, but when she heard his old pet name for her… “Archer!”She felt Benjamin stiffen slightly, but she didn’t bother to glance at him. It was hard to look away from Archer, who had been and still was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Not handsome—beautiful. His skin glowed golden even in the height of winter, and his green eyes …Gods above and Wyrd save me.His mouth was a work of art, too, all sensual lines and softness that begged to be explored.As if emerging from a daze, Archer suddenly shook his head. “We should get off the steps,” he said, extending a broad hand to gesture to the street below them. “Unless you and your companion have a reservation—”“Oh, w
Annie rested her cheek on her knee. “He’s ruined everything. And I don’t even know why. Why not just send me home instead?” Her voice had taken on a faraway quality that Jane recognized too well from her time in New York City . Once the memories and the pain and the fear took over, there would be no chance of talking to her.She asked quietly, “You were close to Mcanzie . Did you ever overhear anything about his plans?” A dangerous question, but if anyone might tell her, it would be Annie .But the girl was staring at nothing and didn’t reply.Jane stood. “Good luck.”Annie just shivered, tucking her hands under her arms.She should let Annie freeze to death for what she’d tried to do to her. She should walk out of the dungeons smiling, because for once the right person was locked away.“They encourage the crows to fly past here,” Annie murmured, more to herself than to Jane . “And my headaches are worse every day. Worse and worse, and full of all of those flapping wings.”Jane
Vincent shivered as he entered the kennels that afternoon, brushing snow from his red cloak. Beside him, Benjamin puffed air into his cupped hands, and the two young men hurried farther inside, the straw-coated floors crunching underfoot. Vincent hated winter—the intolerable cold and the way his boots never seemed completely dry.They had chosen to enter the castle through the kennels because it was the easiest way to avoid Hollin, Vincent ’s ten-year-old brother, who had returned from school that morning and was already shrieking demands at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. Hollin would never look for them here. He hated animals.They strode through the chorus of barking and whining, Vincent pausing every now and then to greet a favorite hound. He could have spent the rest of the day here—if only to avoid the court dinner in honor of Hollin. “I can’t believe my mother pulled him out of school,” he muttered.“She missed her son,” Benjamin said, still rubbing his hand
“Then she’d owe them. They want a puppet queen, not a true ruler.” Of course —of course they would want something like that. “Are they even from Terrasen?”“No. Davis’s family was, years ago, but he’s spent his whole life in Rifthold. If he claims loyalty to Terrasen, it’s only a half truth.”She ground her teeth. “Self-serving bastards.”Archer shrugged. “That may be true. But they’ve also rescued a good number of would-be victims from the king’s gallows, apparently. The night his friends burst into the house, it was because they’d managed to save one of their informants from being interrogated by the king. They smuggled him out of Rifthold before dawn broke the next day.”Did Benjamin know about this? Given how he’d reacted to killing Cain, she didn’t think torturing and hanging traitors were a part of his duties—or wereeven mentioned to him. Or Vincent, for that matter.But if Benjamin wasn’t in charge of interrogating possible traitors, then who was? Was this person the source