“They won’t find out, if we’re discreet,” Tayend said. Then he frowned and turned to glare at Dannyl. “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? More research!”
“Of course. Did you think I’d suddenly manifested a desire to be an Ambassador again, or live in Sachaka?”
Tayend rose and began to pace the room. “It makes sense now.” He stopped. “How long does the position go for?”
“Two years, but I can return early if necessary. And to visit home.”
Resuming his pacing, Tayend tapped his chin with one finger. Suddenly he scowled.
“Who is going to be your assistant?”
Dannyl smiled. “Lord Lorkin has expressed an interest.”
Tayend’s shoulders relaxed. “Well, that’s a relief. He won’t have seduced you into leaving me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Oh, Sonea’s son has quite a reputation among the ladies now – since that thing with that girl blew over. Probably highly exaggerated, as always. But there’s more than a few who’d like to find out for themselves.”
Dannyl felt a twinge of curiosity. “Really? So why haven’t they?”
“Apparently he’s choosy.”
Dannyl leaned back in his chair. “So will I have to keep an eye on him in Sachaka or not?”
A sly look stole over the scholar’s face. “I could watch over him. It would free you up to do your research.”
“No, Tayend.”
Anger and frustration crossed Tayend’s face, then he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a huff.
“You had better change your mind,” he said. “And you should also know that if you fail to change your mind I’ll...” He paused, then straightened his shoulders. “Then you might find I am no longer here, when you return to Kyralia in two years.”
Dannyl stared at his lover, suddenly unsure what to say. His heart had lurched at the threat, but something made him stay silent. Perhaps it was the fact that Tayend wasn’t trying to persuade him to stay. He only wanted the chance to go on another adventure.
The scholar gazed back at him, eyes wide. Then he shook his head, turned and strode out of the room.
Chapter 5
Preparations
Reaching out to touch the wall, Cery felt a wry affection. Once, the old outer city defences had been a symbol of the division between rich and poor – a barrier beyond which, after the Purge had driven all the homeless and the occupants of overcrowded safehouses out of the city and into the slums each winter, only Thieves and their friends could pass.
Now it was meaningless to Imardians except as a lingering reminder of the past. It formed part of the structure of one of Cery’s properties, this time a sprawling storehouse for importers to keep their wares, both legal and smuggled. There were still a few entrances to the underground network of passages known as the Thieves’ Road, but they were rarely used. He’d kept them only as possible escape routes, but these days a Thief using the Road was as likely to meet trouble as escape it.
Cery moved away from the wall and sat down. He had decided that the well-appointed apartment on the second floor of the storehouse was as good a place to settle as any. Returning to his old hideout was unthinkable. Even if it hadn’t contained painful memories, it clearly hadn’t been secure enough. Not that any of his other hideouts were better protected, but there was a chance, at least, that their location wasn’t known by his family’s killer.
But he had no intention of hiding away. As always, every time he ventured out into the city, whether in his own district or not, someone could attack him. Which made him wonder if he was wrong to assume he had been the killer’s true target.
No. Even though they waited until I was gone to kill my family, the true target was me. Selia and the boys had no enemies.
His chest constricted at the thought of them, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Somehow he took that suffocating grief and channelled it into something else: a deep, growing fury. If the killer or killers, or their employer, had intended to hurt Cery they had succeeded. And they were going to pay for it. Which meant it was more important to find out who had killed his family, and why, than how they’d managed to discover and break into his rooms.
He took a few long, deep breaths. Gol had suggested the Thief Hunter might have killed them, but Cery dismissed the idea. The legendary vigilante did not target the families of Thieves, or kill them to hurt Thieves. He only killed Thieves.
A faint chiming reached his ears in a pattern he recognised, so he rose and moved to a tube protruding from the wall, and placed his ear to it. The voice that echoed within was distorted, but recognisable. Cery moved around the room pulling levers and turning knobs until a section of wall swivelled open. Gol stepped inside.
“How did it go?” Cery asked, moving back to his chair. Gol took the seat opposite and rubbed his hands together.
“There are rumours about already. Don’t know if one of our lot let it slip or the knife’s been boasting.” Cery nodded. Some assassins liked to own up to their high-profile targets, as it demonstrated how clever they were. “I doubt Anyi would say anything,” Gol added.
“She might, if she had to. Did you do the usual rounds?”
Gol nodded.
“So how is business?”
Leaning back in the chair, Cery listened as his bodyguard and friend related where he’d been and who he’d spoken to since venturing out early that morning. It took an effort to keep his mind on the man’s words, but Cery forced himself to concentrate. To his relief, business in his district appeared to be continuing as it always did. Gol hadn’t found any evidence that someone was taking advantage of Cery’s distraction yet.
“So,” Gol said. “What are you going to do now?”
Cery shrugged. “Nothing. Obviously somebody wants me to react in some way. I’m not going to oblige them. I’ll continue business as usual.”
Gol frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. Cery managed a humourless smile.
“Oh, don’t think that I’m not fired about my family’s murder, Gol. I’ll have my revenge. But whoever broke into the hideout was clever and careful. Finding out who and why is going to take time.”
“Once we’ve got the knife we’ll find out who paid him,” Gol assured him.
“We’ll see. I’ve a hunch it will take more than that.”
Gol nodded, then frowned.
“Something else?” Cery asked.
The big man bit his lip, then sighed. “Well... you know how Neg thought that magic must have been used to break into your hideout?”
“Yes.” Cery frowned.
“Dern agrees with him. Said there was no sign of picking. That he’d put in some putty when he made the lock so he’d be able to tell.”
Dern was the lockmaker who had designed and installed the locking system on Cery’s hideout.
“Could it have been a very clever lock pick? Or even Dern himself?”
Gol shook his head. “He showed me a lever that would only turn if the lock was undone from the inside – inside the lock, that is – which could only be done with magic. I asked him why he bothered, and he said to protect himself. He won’t ever promise his locks are safe against magic, so he needs to prove that’s the cause if they’re ever broken into. I don’t know. It seems a bit far to go to. Could be he’s making it up to cover himself.”
Or maybe not. Cery felt his skin prickle. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps finding out how the killers had reached his family was important.