dealings with Icaraeus, and wanted incriminating evidence.
Caina counted to ninety. No one came. She got to her feet and started towards the bedroom door.
The handle started to move.
Not again.
Caina bounded across the room, yanked open the wardrobe door, and jumped inside. A fortune’s worth of gowns and dresses brushed against her. A moment later the bedroom door burst open, and two people stumbled inside. Caina left the wardrobe door open a crack so she could see.
Lady Agria, her clothes disheveled, her hair in disarray, had her arms around one of her guards. The muscular young guard’s face was slack, his eyes dull, his movements leaden. As they passed the wardrobe, Caina felt a sudden sharp tingle, her skin crawling.
Both Agria and the guard crackled with sorcery.
Caina’s lip curled in disgust. Agria had laid a spell over the guard. Probably some sort of compulsion or mind-controlling spell. It seemed pointless. Agria was attractive, and Caina doubted that many guards would refuse an invitation to their widowed lady’s bedchamber. Why bother with a spell, if she desired male company? Ducas and a dozen other rakes would be happy to warm her bed.
Perhaps Agria enjoyed the control, enjoyed turning people into puppets.
Caina’s mother had enjoyed that as well.
“You,” gasped Agria, pulling away.
“Yes, mistress?” said the guard, his voice slurred.
“Remove your clothes,” said Agria. She began to tug out of her gown. “And lie on the bed.”
“Yes, mistress,” said the guard. He pulled off his armor and clothes, his movements jerky. He lay down on the bed, and a moment later Agria threw off the last of her garments and climbed atop him.
Her back was to the wardrobe, and her body blocked the guard’s view. Caina slipped out of the wardrobe. Whether through mind-altering sorcery or maddened lust, neither Agria nor the guard had noticed anything.
In fact, they hadn’t even bothered to close the bedroom door.
Caina crept past the bed, Agria’s wild grunts and moans filling her ears. Agria had thrown her head back, and she was gazing at herself in the ceiling mirror, her expression an ugly mix of lust and gloating satisfaction.
Caina left as fast as she dared.
Chapter 8 - Calculations
Caina climbed the rope to Radast’s windows. Like the doors, the shutters had locks intricate beyond anything she had ever seen. Fortunately, Radast had left them open. Caina gripped the sill, heaved herself up, and rolled into the workshop.
Radast sat at a nearby table, writing by candlelight. Next to his papers rested a crossbow, a bolt loaded and ready. No doubt Radast had calculated the precise angle to kill any unwanted guests coming through his window.
“Ah,” said Radast. “Anna Callenius. You have returned. Just as I calculated.” He glanced at a mechanical clock standing upon a nearby table. “Though two thousand three hundred and forty seven seconds earlier than I anticipated.”
“Punctuality is ever a virtue,” said Caina.
“Close the shutters, please,” said Radast. “The draft is disturbing my papers.”
Caina closed the shutters. They settled into place with a heavy click. “Where are the others?”
“Jiri and Basil went to the cellar. They wanted wine while we waited.” Radast glanced at the clock again. “They should return in another four to five hundred seconds. Ducas and Arlann watch the street for your return, in case you were followed.”
“They must not have seen me, then,” said Caina. She drew back the cowl and removed her mask, running a gloved hand through her sweaty hair.
Radast smirked. “Ducas will be wroth. He prides himself upon his vigilance. Though he overestimates his abilities by at least a fifth, possibly a third.”
“He can blame Basil. He trained me in stealth, after all.”
Radast resumed writing, his lank hair falling over his face. Caina looked at his papers. Endless strings of numbers and symbols in
Caina counted to ninety. No one came. She got to her feet and started towards the bedroom door.
The handle started to move.
Not again.
Caina bounded across the room, yanked open the wardrobe door, and jumped inside. A fortune’s worth of gowns and dresses brushed against her. A moment later the bedroom door burst open, and two people stumbled inside. Caina left the wardrobe door open a crack so she could see.
Lady Agria, her clothes disheveled, her hair in disarray, had her arms around one of her guards. The muscular young guard’s face was slack, his eyes dull, his movements leaden. As they passed the wardrobe, Caina felt a sudden sharp tingle, her skin crawling.
Both Agria and the guard crackled with sorcery.
Caina’s lip curled in disgust. Agria had laid a spell over the guard. Probably some sort of compulsion or mind-controlling spell. It seemed pointless. Agria was attractive, and Caina doubted that many guards would refuse an invitation to their widowed lady’s bedchamber. Why bother with a spell, if she desired male company? Ducas and a dozen other rakes would be happy to warm her bed.
Perhaps Agria enjoyed the control, enjoyed turning people into puppets.
Caina’s mother had enjoyed that as well.
“You,” gasped Agria, pulling away.
“Yes, mistress?” said the guard, his voice slurred.
“Remove your clothes,” said Agria. She began to tug out of her gown. “And lie on the bed.”
“Yes, mistress,” said the guard. He pulled off his armor and clothes, his movements jerky. He lay down on the bed, and a moment later Agria threw off the last of her garments and climbed atop him.
Her back was to the wardrobe, and her body blocked the guard’s view. Caina slipped out of the wardrobe. Whether through mind-altering sorcery or maddened lust, neither Agria nor the guard had noticed anything.
In fact, they hadn’t even bothered to close the bedroom door.
Caina crept past the bed, Agria’s wild grunts and moans filling her ears. Agria had thrown her head back, and she was gazing at herself in the ceiling mirror, her expression an ugly mix of lust and gloating satisfaction.
Caina left as fast as she dared.
Chapter 8 - Calculations
Caina climbed the rope to Radast’s windows. Like the doors, the shutters had locks intricate beyond anything she had ever seen. Fortunately, Radast had left them open. Caina gripped the sill, heaved herself up, and rolled into the workshop.
Radast sat at a nearby table, writing by candlelight. Next to his papers rested a crossbow, a bolt loaded and ready. No doubt Radast had calculated the precise angle to kill any unwanted guests coming through his window.
“Ah,” said Radast. “Anna Callenius. You have returned. Just as I calculated.” He glanced at a mechanical clock standing upon a nearby table. “Though two thousand three hundred and forty seven seconds earlier than I anticipated.”
“Punctuality is ever a virtue,” said Caina.
“Close the shutters, please,” said Radast. “The draft is disturbing my papers.”
Caina closed the shutters. They settled into place with a heavy click. “Where are the others?”
“Jiri and Basil went to the cellar. They wanted wine while we waited.” Radast glanced at the clock again. “They should return in another four to five hundred seconds. Ducas and Arlann watch the street for your return, in case you were followed.”
“They must not have seen me, then,” said Caina. She drew back the cowl and removed her mask, running a gloved hand through her sweaty hair.
Radast smirked. “Ducas will be wroth. He prides himself upon his vigilance. Though he overestimates his abilities by at least a fifth, possibly a third.”
“He can blame Basil. He trained me in stealth, after all.”
Radast resumed writing, his lank hair falling over his face. Caina looked at his papers. Endless strings of numbers and symbols in
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