be ready for whatever came, even his own end.
Edward paused at the doors to the library, holding his breath. The moment he told the others what he knew, it would make the threat that much more real. At last, he squared his shoulders and opened the door. The tall windows of the library, now dark with nightfall, still glowed from the firelight. During the day, the stained glass would send patterns of brilliant colors upon the floor.
One of the five men in the room turned to greet him.“Evening, Shengoe.”
He nodded at the man who’d spoken. “Jackson.” The five men all stood to face him, each close to his own age, and all somber as he began to speak.
“In less than a week’s time, Thistlewood and his men will attempt to blow up the House of Lords while the king delivers his speech.”
“Tell me you’re joking,” one of the men said.
“I wish I was,” Edward sighed. “To make matters worse, I believe that I was markedthis evening.”
“Were you followed?” another asked.
“I could not tell, but it would be safe to assume I was. You are all at risk, and for that I’m sorry. You know now what’s at stake. You had best leave and find safety.”
The men exchanged looks. “If what you say is true, we are needed here. We won’t run.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” A man’s voice came from behind Edward, and his blood turned to ice. He knew that voice. Garland. “It will make what I must do much easier.”
The tension in the room was thick enough to smother Edward as he slowly turned to face Garland. The man held a pistol. Behind him stood more than half a dozen others. Beyond them, Bradberry’s still body lay on the ground, his blood staining the floor red.
Edward reached for his pistol, tucked in the back of his waistcoat, but Garland had already fired. The report deafened Edward as the pain surged through his shoulder.
The men of the Court of Shadows rushed into action. Edward stumbled out of the way and ducked as Jackson fired over his head. Garland dove to the side, and the bullet felled one of Garland’s men standing right behind him. Edward managed to pull out his pistol and leaned against the wall as he took aim at one of Garland’s men.
It was the end of the Court of Shadows, and Edward was glad Avery was not here. With luck, he would learn the truth in time and stop the fall of Whitehall.
Avery walked up the steps to the townhouse that he’d purchased through an agent in secret, which then had become a refuge for the spies under his command. While he’d kept their missions separate, the men all knew this was a safe spot, a haven to come to when needed.
So when Avery had received the urgent summons from Shengoe, he had known it had to be something terrible. Avery slipped inside the house without knocking and was surprised to find Bradberry wasn’t anywhere near the door. This fact alone instantly put him on guard.
The wall sconces had been doused, and all was quiet and dark. He peered at the darkened staircase that led to the bedchambers upstairs. He should have heard discussions coming from the library or the drawing room. At the very least he should have heard the muted whispers of maids working upstairs. Instead, there was only silence.
He started toward the stairs, but stopped and knelt by the banister at the base of the steps. There was something on the floor. He pressed a gloved fingertip to it, and the tip of his finger came away coated in blood.
A chill of dread crawled up his back. While it was always possible he was wrong, he was already certain of what had happened here. He walked toward the library and eased the door open.He thought he had prepared himself for what he would find, but he was wrong.
His best men, loyal and true, lay dead throughout the library. Brave Jackson was slumped against the leg of a nearby reading table, a pistol resting in his hand. Trevor hadcollapsed in a window seat, a knife plunged into his chest, though one of his attackers lay dead at his feet.
The rest of Avery’s friends were in similar positions. The destruction of the room made a blood-soaked tragedy play out in Avery’s mind. He looked toward the fireplace. Shengoe lay inches from it, a trail of blood showing clearly that he had dragged himself