Friar hadn’t wanted to tell them where the knife was. Rule had told him he might as well, because he was no longer necessary. He’d prefer not to endanger Cynna by involving her, but if Friar wouldn’t cooperate, they’d have to. From this close, Cynna could undoubtedly Find the knife.
That wasn’t true, of course. Cynna was a powerful Finder, but an artifact that could hide from a hellhound might be able to fool her Gift, even this close. But Rule had been convincing, and Friar had bought it.
They’d been right. Miriam was at Isen’s house with the knife.
Rule had decided to bring Friar with them most of the way so Friar could tell them if Miriam left the house with the knife. According to Friar she’d stayed put, so when they reached a certain steep-sided gully on the other side of the ridge they were crossing, Rule had deposited Friar in it. This didn’t violate their deal; he hadn’t been harmed, and the gully was no prison. Even if Friar’s knee was still as damaged as he claimed, he could make his way out. Slowly and painfully, perhaps, but Rule hadn’t sworn to make the bastard’s life easy.
It made Rule twitchy as hell to have his enemy behind him, but what lay ahead worried him more. Below him lay his father’s house . . . and at least fifteen Nokolai guards. Rule didn’t think that was a complete count, but at least fifteen superbly trained Nokolai awaited them, all of them certainly under compulsion. He had six Leidolf.
They wouldn’t be enough. Not enough to take Miriam down. Probably not enough to even get close. For all their care and the boon of the breeze, which carried their scent away from the house, they’d surely be spotted soon. He refused to think about how many might die tonight. But they were, he hoped, enough to distract Miriam. Enough, he prayed, to let Lily and Cullen arrive undetected.
One of the night’s ironies was that the plan Friar had fought so hard for—the one Rule had to admit made the most tactical sense—would never have worked. No sniper could take Miriam out if she stayed near the node. He’d known that from the moment they’d realized she meant to use the node behind Isen’s home . . . the one linked to the mantle, making this land Nokolai.
Isen’s house was tucked up against a rumpled fold of the mountains that sheltered this valley. It was impossible to come at the house unseen from the front or sides; Benedict had run enough tests of his security for Rule to be certain of that. The only possible approach was from the rear, where there was a lower deck, an upper deck, and this rough, rocky hill dotted with trees and low-growing brush.
The node was next to the house, beneath the lower deck—and the lower deck was roofed. That roof blocked any line of sight a sniper might have used, so shooting Miriam from a distance had never been an option.
Shooting others was. Gray and his rifle would still come in handy. He wouldn’t charge with the rest of them, but would wait above them and pick off as many guards as possible. Avoid head shots, Rule had told him, knowing Gray might have no choice but to put a bullet in the brain of one of Rule’s people. His other people.
He checked his watch. He could get a little closer before they stood and charged.
There was no way to reach the deck silently. The slope wasn’t bad here, but close to the house it varied between steep and perpendicular. They’d have to jump down the last fifteen feet or so—if they made it that far. No great distance, but it couldn’t be done silently, so the plan included stealth only up to a point. Then they’d be obvious as hell.
And then men he’d lived and played with, men he’d fought beside and loved for the kin they were, would try to kill him. Or so he had to assume. He’d told his men—his Leidolf clansmen—to avoid death wounds if possible, but they, too, might have to kill.
And all of that assumed that the cheap acrylic caps they wore worked as they were supposed to. So far they had. If that changed, they would all die tonight.
Not yet, he begged the Lady, for whatever luck her grace might bring. Don’t let me die yet. If he could live long enough to give Lily and Cullen a chance . . . and with them, his son, his father, his clan. And everyone and everything else.
There was only one way to reach the node behind Isen’s house . . . from the outside. But there was another way, of course. Through the house. Which could be reached through the tunnel that opened up in Isen’s study.
LILY sat on the cool dirt floor of the tunnel and checked her watch. Seven more minutes. She swallowed and told her heartbeat to settle down. It didn’t listen.
It was dim here, but not dark. A mage light bobbed up near the low ceiling. Cullen’s doing. He was pacing, moving cat-quiet but too restless to stop.
Cullen had many talents. Waiting wasn’t one of them. Lily, on the other hand, was normally pretty good at it. Cops got plenty of practice in the fine art of waiting.
Nothing was normal tonight. You’ve done this sort of thing before, she told her jittery heartbeat and checked her watch again. Her hand shook, a fine tremor that seemed to begin in her belly. Dammit, dammit, dammit . . . She’d gone into bad situations before, yeah. High-stakes situations, when she had no idea if her plan had any chance of working But she’d never imagined going into a fight not knowing if her plans were even hers. If her thoughts were her own.
She was immune to compulsion, but like Friar kept pointing out—damn him—not to persuasion or corruption. How could she trust the decisions she made tonight?
Lily sucked in a shaky breath and rubbed the toltoi with her thumb. Was it warmer than usual? She wanted that to be true, wanted to think it was protecting her. She wished like hell Drummond would show up and tell her if someone or something was influencing her. She thought his name as hard as she could.
Nothing.
Getting here had been simple enough. Nerve-wracking, but simple. This tunnel was larger and more elaborate than the one they were putting in at their place. It had three arms leading to three access points: one at a stand of trees only thirty yards from Isen’s house; one under the water tower; and one at the general store.
Lily and Cullen had driven up to the general store and walked in. Simple.
They hadn’t used the Mercedes. The clan kept an old truck near the gate. Supposedly it was there for the guards, but people borrowed it all the time. The old truck was such a familiar sight that Rule thought no one would pay any attention to it, but if someone had—if they’d been stopped—Lily would have pretended to be Cullen’s prisoner. Cullen would have pretended to be among the compelled, delivering Lily to Miriam.
It was Rule who’d seen that the problem with trying to figure out who was under compulsion went both ways. No doubt Miriam knew who she controlled, but those she’d compelled into obedience couldn’t know who was like them or what she’d told others. At worst, Cullen figured they’d confuse anyone who tried to detain them long enough for him to use a sleep charm.
As it turned out, they hadn’t needed to do anything but drive up and go inside. No one stopped them; as far as they could tell, no one saw them. The store was closed at this hour, but it was never locked. People went there after hours all the time and left a note about what they’d bought along with cash or an IOU. The entrance to the tunnel was in the floor of the storeroom in back. The storeroom was locked, but locks didn’t slow Cullen down. The trapdoor there was warded, but Cullen had created the ward, so he could take it down pretty quickly. That was one reason he was with her.