His Lordship Possessed
a
    noz over his mouth.
    “Poor Cousin Kit,” he said through the mask. “You
    and your lover might be impervious to magic, but you’re
    still obliged to breathe, now, aren’t you?”
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    LYNN VIEHL

Chapter Seven
    Th e next hour came to me in blurry fl ashes as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I glimpsed Dredmore’s body
    being dragged past me and dropped onto the dirty boards
    of a cart, and snow falling into my eyes. Th e cold roused
    me even as it chilled my limbs; the fl ashes grew closer
    together until they merge into a veil of snowy lace above
    my head. By the time my wits were restored they had
    moved us to another place and put me on a bed. Beside
    me Dredmore lay unmoving, but I shifted my arm to
    press against his side, and felt his ribs expanding and
    contracting.
    Lucien still breathed. Th ey hadn’t killed him.
    Men’s voices spoke in low, ugly tones all about
    us; I could hear Lord Walsh, his diseased son, and
    someone with a faint Talian accent. Th ey were arguing
    over something. Montrose spoke insistently, his father
    responded harshly, and the Talian seemed to be trying to
    placate both of them.
    Th e voices came closer, and I played dead. Th rough
    my lashes I could see Lord Walsh taking polished stones
    from a pouch, which he rolled in his hand like coins he
    was reluctant to part with, until he held them out and a
    black-gloved hand chose one. More words were spoken,
    none of which I understood, and the glove lowered a
    white stone to Dredmore’s face.
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    Disench anted & Co., Part 1
    I felt a movement of air over me, terrible and cold,
    which rushed at Dredmore. When I saw a wide, red
    streak of light shoot past my face, and felt Dredmore’s
    body jerk, I almost screamed. Although I held my tongue
    I must have moved, for someone grabbed my hair and
    lifted my head, giving it a shake.
    “She’s come to,” Montrose said, and my head dropped
    onto the pillow again. “Can I have her, Dad?”
    “No.” Th at was the Talian. “He took great trouble to
    protect her. She must know something of value to us.”
    “I’ll get it out of her,” Montrose off ered. “Come on,
    Dad. I did everything you asked. I haven’t had a fi ghter
    in ages.”
    “Shut up, Monty.” Walsh came to stand over me, his
    cologne fi lling my nostrils, and then he slapped me, hard.
    Th rough the ringing in my ears I heard him say, “Enough
    stage play, Miss Kittredge.”
    I surged up and drove my elbow into his diaphragm.
    As Walsh doubled over, I shoved him aside and ran. A
    short man with oily dark hair and a very sharp-looking
    dagger pointed at my belly brought me to a stop.
    “Dredmore,” I said, never taking my eyes off the blade,
    “Now would be a very good time to demonstrate your
    deathmage magic.”
    “I would be delighted, Charmian,” Dredmore’s voice
    rasped, “if you would fi rst remove this boulder from my
    brow.”
    “Can’t get to you just now.” I regarded the oily-headed
    one. “I don’t suppose you’d oblige him.”
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    LYNN VIEHL
    “No, miss,” he told me in a Talian-accented voice, and
    glanced down. “Master?”
    “Kill the stupid bitch, Celestino,” Walsh groaned
    from the fl oor.
    “We will let her choose.” Th e Talian gestured, and
    Montrose appeared with a length of rope. “I can do as his
    lordship wishes, miss, and cut your throat. Or you can sit
    down and hold out your wrists. How will it be?”
    I backed up against the bed. “Screaming and running
    away not an option? How disappointing.” As the villains
    converged on me, I jumped up on the bed, tumbling
    backward across Dredmore’s form and in the process
    knocking away the small white stone they had placed in
    the center of his forehead. Montrose uttered some vile
    words, while the Talian dove at the bed. Dredmore came
    out of his paralyzed state,

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