The Crimson Campaign by Brian McClellan Page A

going to faint. Vetas had sent her on errands just yesterday, and the freedom of the sun on her face had felt so wonderful she’d almost left the city, forgetting Vetas and Jakob and all the terrible memories of the last few months.
    Her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of the bedroom door opening, but she forced herself not to react outwardly. It wasn’t Vetas. He came in from the hallway. Not from the door to the nursery, where Jakob played quietly with a small army of wooden horses and complained frequently about the warmth.
    “Nila,” a voice said. “You must get dressed.”
    Nila glanced at the dress laid out on her bed. One of Vetas’s goons had brought it up for her an hour ago. It was a long chemise dress of white muslin with a high waistline. The trim was crimson, giving it a flair of color at the hem and the bust, and the ends of the short sleeves. It looked incredibly comfortable, and much cooler than the evening dress he’d told her to wear during her errands yesterday.
    There was a silver chain on her bedside table with a single pearl the size of a musket ball, and in a box a pair of new black knee-high boots that she could tell with a glance would fit her perfectly. Three more outfits, each more expensive than the last, hung in the closet.
    Presents from Lord Vetas. She’d never owned such fine clothing. The dress was plain enough, nothing gaudy, but the lines were absolutely perfect. A glance inside the hem had shown her the initials D.H. – Madame Dellehart, the finest seamstress in Adopest. The dress cost more than any regular laundress would earn in a year.
    “Nila,” the voice insisted. “Get dressed.”
    The expensive clothes and the jewelry made Nila sick to her stomach. She might as well accept presents from a demon as from Lord Vetas. She knew they came with a price.
    “I’m not going to,” Nila said.
    Footsteps creaked across the floorboards. Faye knelt in front of Nila and took her hand.
    They’d been cooped up in this manor together for six days and Nila still didn’t know much about the woman. She knew that Faye’s son was being held as a prisoner in the basement, and that she had other children elsewhere, also prisoners of Lord Vetas. She also knew that Faye would kill Vetas, given the opportunity.
    At least, she’d try. Nila was beginning to wonder whether Vetas could be killed. He didn’t seem human; he barely ate, he didn’t sleep, and he didn’t get drunk no matter how much wine he consumed.
    Faye tugged at Nila’s hand. “Up,” she said. “Get dressed.”
    “You’re not my mother,” Nila said. The words came out as a snarl.
    “She’d tell you the same thing if she were here.”
    Nila leaned forward. “She’s dead. I never knew her, and neither did you. Maybe she’d tell me to break this window and cut my own wrists rather than give in to Vetas’s demands.”
    Faye stood up. The kindly entreaty written across her face seemed to disappear and her expression hardened. “Maybe,” she said. “If so, she was a fool.” Faye began to pace the room.
    Nila had guessed her to be a housewife of some middle-class merchant. She wondered what value Faye had to Lord Vetas. Faye hadn’t spoken of it. And only a few words here and there about her children. In fact, the woman was far too calm. Ever since her initial outburst the night she’d been brought in, Faye had been meek as a dormouse. Nila imagined that if she had children, she’d not rest until they were out of danger. Faye was either very patient – and a stronger woman than Nila gave her credit for – or something else. Perhaps a ruse by Vetas? A spy?
    That didn’t make sense. Nila wasn’t worth spying on. If Vetas wanted something from her, he was the type of man to torture it out.
    Either way, Nila didn’t trust Faye. She couldn’t trust anyone here in the Vetas’s lair.
    “If you don’t get dressed,” Faye said, “Vetas will take out his anger on you or the boy. Maybe both.”
    “I’m not