apprentice, the job you fucked up.” He took a flask of poppy spirits and drank. “I was going to go kill him, you know, just to piss off Blint’s ghost. A hundred crowns I wasted in bribes, and turns out he left the city. Whoa,” he rocked on his feet. “That one was potent. Help me sit down.”
Vi’s chest tightened. That was her answer. Kylar Stern was the Night Angel. He’d killed the Godking’s son. Killing Kylar was the only thing that might please the Godking enough for him to forgive for not killing Jarl. She grabbed Hu’s arm and guided him to his chair, making sure he avoided the razor-lined baby bonnet. “Where is he, master? Where did he go?”
“You know, you don’t come around enough. After all I’ve done for you, you bitch.” His face turned ugly and he pulled her roughly into his lap. The minutes before Hu passed out were dangerous: he might fumble weakly as a drunk, and then use the crushing strength of his Talent to compensate and hurt or kill her accidentally. So she fell into his arms, quiescent, making herself numb. Hu was distracted by her body. He tried to caress her, but fumbled his hand across the folds of her tunic instead.
“Where is Blint’s apprentice, master?” Vi asked. “Where did he go?”
“He moved to Caernarvon, gave up the way of shadows. Who’s the best now, huh?”
“You’re the best,” Vi said, easing off his lap. “You’ve always been the best.”
“Viridiana,” Hu said. She froze. He never called her by her full name. She turned warily, wondering if the mushrooms had been harmless, the poppy wine just water. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pretended intoxication to test her loyalty. But Hu’s eyes were half-lidded, his figure totally relaxed in his chair. “I love you,” Hu said. “These bitches got nothing . . .” his words trailed off and his breath took on the cadence of sleep.
Vi suddenly wanted to bathe. She grabbed her saddlebags and her sword. Then stopped.
Hu was unconscious. She was sure of it. She could draw her blade and bury it in his heart in less than a second. He deserved it a hundred times over. He deserved a hundred times worse. She took the hilt in her hand and drew the blade slowly, silently. She turned and looked at her master, thinking of a thousand humiliations he’d inflicted on her. A thousand defilements until he’d broken her. It was hard to breathe.
Vi turned on her heel, sheathed the sword, and flung the saddlebags over her shoulder. She got as far as the door, then paused. She walked back to the bedroom. The women were awake now, one blasted with a glassy-eyed stare, the other one buck-toothed and busty.
“Hu gets bored,” Vi said. “I give you a coin flip chance of living through every day you spend with him. If you want to leave, he’s asleep now.”
“You’re just jealous,” the buck-toothed one said. “You just want him for yourself.”
“Your funeral,” Vi said, and left.
15
Is the Sa’kagé at war, or not?” Brant asked.
Jarl shifted in his seat. Momma K said nothing. She was letting him lead, if he could.
The safe house had taken on the appearance of a war room, that was sure. Brant had brought maps. He was gathering data on Khalidoran troop strength, noting where each unit was stationed, where food and supplies were distributed, and constructing a chart of the Khalidoran military hierarchy, cross-referenced with where the Sa’kagé had informants, along with ratings of the informants’ reliability and access.
“That’s a more difficult question to answer than—” Jarl said.
“No,” Brant said. “It’s not.”
“I feel that we’re in a kind of war—”
“You feel? Are you a leader or a poet, sissy boy?”
“Sissy boy?” Jarl demanded. “What’s that mean?”
Momma K stood up.
“Sit down,” both men said.
They looked at each other, scowling. Momma K sniffed, and sat. After a moment, Jarl said, “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“Do you have a dick or do you just suck them?” Brant asked.
“Are you hoping to get lucky?” Jarl asked.
“Wrong answer,” Brant said, shaking his head. “A good leader is never snide—”
Jarl punched him in the face. The general collapsed. Jarl stood over him, and drew a sword. “That’s how I lead, Brant. My enemies underestimate me, and I hit them when they aren’t expecting it. I listen to you, but you serve me. The next time you make a dick comment, I’ll have yours fed to you.” His face was cool. He brought