“Have you had any word from … her?”
Luther shook his head. “Not since I gave her safe passage out of the city. I gave her contacts in four cities. She could be in any one of them. Or, by now, somewhere else entirely. She might even be dead. Hers is not the safest of careers.”
Amaury felt disappointed, then concerned. He assured himself that she was a master of her trade, making it unlikely she’d be killed doing it. Sending her out of the country after she’d killed the old king had made the assassination a more costly venture than expected—and personally disappointing as well. He missed her. Not an emotion he was familiar with. Could he have protected her if she had stayed and the job had gone wrong? Probably not. Making her leave was the right choice. The only one. Thankfully, there had never been any suspicion that the old king died of anything other than natural causes. She had done her job perfectly, and could safely return to the city whenever she wished, if only he could get word to her. That was a problem for another time, however.
“Two, then,” Amaury said. “The thief needs to be discreet and competent. The muscle needs to be as good a blade as you can find.”
Amaury had thought of requesting one of the big-name bravos, a man with a reputation that turned bowels to water, who had a list of kills longer than the six-volume Decline and Fall of the Saludorian Empire. However, that might draw attention. The big names were best used when you wanted to make a statement, and that was surplus to requirement. He just needed the Cup. For now.
“Just how handy is this fella?” Luther said.
“Very, but all a bravo needs to do is give the light fingers time to lift the object and get away.”
Luther grimaced. “There’ll be a premium if there’s a chance of serious injury.”
Amaury cast him a sharp look. “I wasn’t aware you were in the habit of engaging delicate flowers these days, Luther.”
Luther shrugged. “It’s a different world we live in now. Lots of wars, lots of work. Lads can pick and choose.”
“Fine, but if they make a mess of it, no premium will cover what I will do to them.”
“I’ll need to know who you want to rob—eh, relieve of the item.”
Amaury supposed he was going to have to reveal it eventually, so why not now. He was committed to this plan. “Guillot dal Villerauvais.”
Luther stared into the distance and chewed his lip.
“You’ve heard of him, then,” Amaury said.
“You were right in saying he’s handy. Just wondering what the best approach is.”
“It’s something of a pressing matter.”
“I’ll have something for you tomorrow.”
Amaury stood. “I’ll call on you here at eleven bells.”
“Eleven bells,” Luther said.
Pharadon’s eyes blinked open with the urgency of a great shock. His huge heart gave a thump, then another, and another, the time between beats shortening until it achieved a regular rhythm. He took a long breath and let it out. His body was cold and stiff, and he knew he had slept for a long time. He had always been prone to long slumbers, but this one was different. The air sizzled with magic, and it had been an age since he had last felt that. It would have taken many years—centuries even—for the power to have returned to such strength. The thought of having slept for so long didn’t bother him—enlightened dragons often hibernated to speed their passage through the years, heading toward whatever it was that awaited all living things at the end of days.
He stood up, his legs shaky at first. His body was covered with dirt and grime. Bats had taken up residence in his cave at some point since he’d fallen asleep; the smell of them was all too evident. Still, it was nothing that couldn’t be solved by a quick dunk in a lake and a jet or two of purifying flame. He walked to his cave’s entrance and looked out. The inner lid of his eye snapped shut to protect him from the bright sunlight, the muscles protesting at abrupt action after long disuse. The beauty before him was a feast for his eyes: snowcapped mountains, lush forested valleys, rivers, lakes, evidence of abundant game. Then he remembered the wars and his mood soured.
Pharadon had come to this remote peak to distance himself from the conflict. He had found a mountain that no man could reach, and left his foolish brethren and the upstart bipeds to their squabbles. He had lived among mankind for a time, and it saddened him that war had come. There was decency in them, and it disappointed him that his kind couldn’t find common ground with them. Humans had some problem individuals, just as his own kind did. Such was the way of free will. Perhaps if dragonkind had made more of an effort to control the unenlightened, rather than leaving them to their chaotic ways, conflict could have been avoided. Humankind were quick to blame all for the actions of the few, a precarious thing to do considering the actions of members of their own race.
Still, regret was a waste of time. Nothing could be done about the mistakes of the past. There was more than enough world for all living things, and to his mind, there was no patch of ground worth killing for. It was an irony that he had always thought that way, given that he had been considered one of the finest fighters of his kind. Perhaps that was the reason. When you genuinely knew there were few, if any, who could best you, the need to constantly prove it seemed inane. As he looked out across a world he had not laid eyes upon in centuries, he hoped all of that was long forgotten. Hope and joy rose in him at the thought of exploring it all once more.
He looked about for a lake that would be large enough to bathe in, then tested his wings with a stretch. The first flight after a hibernation was always a dangerous thing, a mix of the joy of soaring through the air and terror at the possibility of plunging to the ground and a very messy death. It would be a ridiculous way for an enlightened to die, although he had seen it happen to one or two of his base brethren. There was only one way to find out if everything still worked—a leap of faith. He took a deep breath, allowed himself an ironic smile, and plunged from the side of the mountain.
CHAPTER 6
As the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, it wasn’t difficult for Ysabeau to slip away unnoticed. The main staircase to the house’s upper levels was impossible to ascend without being spotted, but she managed to find a servants’ stairwell hidden behind a panel door. She watched the progress of servants in and out, making regular trips back to the kitchens and cellars, and timed her move perfectly, disappearing from the crowded lounge under a blur of magic, heading up the stairs while the servants were all elsewhere.
She reached the first floor and opened the door a crack. It was likewise concealed in the panel walls—good servants were ever-present but rarely noticed—and checked to make sure there was no one about. The hall she looked out onto was deserted, quiet and dark, though she could dimly see and hear the light and noise drifting up the main stairway from the party below. The dark suited Ysabeau. In it, she could be almost invisible, while her magic would allow her to see perfectly. She shut her eyes and focussed her thoughts, and when she lifted her lids, the corridor was bathed in pale blue light that flickered over every surface.