A Dance of Cloaks - By Dalglish, David Page 0,84

room opposite his own. There were no furnishings or portraits, just a single yellow curtain he pulled back so he could stare out at the city through the diamond-shaped window.

“Thren’s plan may be suicide, but there’s still a good chance of it succeeding. If we opposed him any longer, we’d never last another night. They burned us out of our last two safehouses. Did you see?”

She nodded. James shook his head, his hand curling as if he wished he had a drink to hold.

“We’ve lost so many. Our territory is almost non-existent. Even after this, we’ll still lose most of our members to other guilds unless we get lucky and hit a large haul somewhere. What would you have me do, Vel? Stand and fight him, fight the combined might of the thief guilds?”

“Other guilds must be getting nervous,” Veliana said. “Thren tried to recruit me to take your place. He feared others would abandon him if he tried to force anyone to his side.”

James laughed.

“He didn’t do any of this. He planted whispers, ideas, and let the rest of the guilds eat us alive. Those who were closest to the Spider Guild got the best territory…our best territory. He wanted you because it was easier. A quick coup, a few dead bodies, and then he’s got another puppet running another guild. Instead, he had to spill a bit more blood. It wasn’t hard. You know Kadish. His Hawks have wanted everything north of Iron Street for months. Now he’s got it. Five years we’ve fought that bastard’s war, five fucking years, and now because we don’t play along for once, we get thrown to the dogs.”

“And the shadows, hawks, and serpents,” Veliana said. “We have no friends. We never have.”

James gestured once more to her face.

“Who gave you that? Is that why you barged in here looking for me?”

Veliana turned away, suddenly self-conscious of the wound.

“That, no, Gileas did it, but he’s dead, I killed…James, Gileas sold information to one of Thren’s men less than two hours ago. He gloated over letting Felhorn know where we were hiding.”

“It means nothing,” insisted James. “It could be any number of things.”

“But he was so certain,” Veliana said. “He also claimed to have told the king’s men about Thren’s plans for the Kensgold.”

At this, James’ face darkened.

“Thren won’t believe you,” he said. “He’ll think we’re trying to find a new way to sabotage his plan, all while agreeing to it. Damn that little worm.”

Veliana knew she should have found that funny, but didn’t.

“We can’t go through with this,” she said. “We can’t throw our lives away with him.”

James wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “All that’s happened.”

Veliana told her tale, of being captured, left for Gileas, and her encounter with the faceless women. She hid nothing, not even her trip to Karak’s temple. When she finished, his face was the calm, angry stone she most often saw when he was contemplating death.

“So Victor betrayed you to the Spider Guild?” he said. “I knew he was gone, though I assumed he died in the ambush that had killed Walt, and presumably you. He must be laying low. We’ll find him in time and teach him the revenge of the Ash Guild.”

“What do we do?” Veliana asked. “We tried feeding the king misinformation, but Gileas fucked that up and told him the truth. Now we’re sworn to a promise that means death, yet can’t back off from it else we find death in a whole new way.”

James squeezed her shoulder.

“We’ll play along,” he said. “I plan to survive, and settle our score with Victor and Kadish. But come the Kensgold, we will not be the ones dying that night.”

“What do you mean?” Veliana asked. “Surely you don’t…”

“I do,” said James. “What night will Thren be more vulnerable? What night will his entire reputation hinge upon? The Kensgold is the key, Vel. We wreck him, and everything he’s built fractures. We’ll negotiate our own peace with the Trifect. Let the others fight the mercenaries. We’ll make ten times their coin from our whores alone.”

“I’ll trust you,” Veliana said, pulling out from his grip. “I’ll even help you, after I return to the faceless women. But first, you have to promise me something.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Leave his son, Aaron, to me.”

Not even a moment of hesitation.

“Done!”

Gerand Crold sat in his chair, feeling particularly vulnerable even though the thick stone of the castle’s walls surrounded him. He went over his

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