the small hedge, crouching as low as she could by the side of the palace. The hilt of the knife she had stolen earlier that day pressed into her side, stuck into the belt around her waist.
The pale moon hung low in the sky, gleaming off the large pond to her right. Music sailed out on the evening air from the nearby ballroom. The golden light from the long windows reflected in the water.
Kara paused for a moment and rubbed her hands together against the slight chill in the air. The sky was clear, and against the million pinpricks of stars she could see several guards patrolling the walls on all sides. By the gatehouse several guards lounged around idly, sharing jokes and playing cards.
She had been dodging soldiers in town all day, using every thieving skill she possessed to stay unseen. Only when night had fallen had she been able to duck into the castle itself, taking advantage of the distraction caused by the large number of nobles arriving at the same time. She knew it was crazy to crawl like this into the midst of the lion’s den, but she still had one item of unfinished business.
Sir Reginald still had to pay for the death of her brother.
Kara waited in the bushes for what seemed like forever. Her legs began to burn with the pain of the continual crouch. She was just about to move on when two men came out of the ballroom and walked over to the patio railing. She caught her breath as she saw the face of one of them in the light from the windows.
It was her brother’s murderer.
“You look glum, my Lord. Surely all is well?” Sir Reginald stepped up next to Lord Bathsby with a greasy smile on his face.
“All is well,” said Bathsby tightly. He glanced over the patio railing, past the bushes that lay directly below them. “You look particularly smug tonight. Tortured another helpless animal to death, have you?”
Reginald grinned. “Please, my Lord, you wound me with your words.”
Bathsby grunted. “I’m sure.” He gave the empty patio behind them a furtive glance. “Is everything ready?”
Kara felt the cold handle of the knife against her palm. Now was her chance. She started to rise from her hiding place, but something stopped her. Above, the two men continued their conversation.
Sir Reginald took a drink from his glass of punch. “If the witch does her part. I can’t say I really trust her.”
“Of course not. I don’t trust her either. There’s no doubting her talents, though. She’ll get the job done.” Bathsby gave Reginald a sharp look. “And Whitmore?”
The nobleman took another sip of the punch, and smacked his lips. “Marched out this afternoon from the South Gate.”
Bathsby narrowed his eyes. “With the Royal Guard?”
Sir Reginald gave a weary nod. “Yes, yes. All the men who were on your list.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Poor fools. I actually pity them.”
Bathsby gathered up his cape. “Pity is for the weak-minded, Sir Reginald. All true progress requires sacrifice. By morning we’ll be running Llewyllan.”
The nobleman raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
Lord Bathsby gave him a wintry glare. His attention was quickly diverted by two chattering women who passed close by. He lowered his voice. “Just make sure the men are ready. There can be no mistakes tonight.”
Sir Reginald drained his glass. “There won’t be on my end.”
Lord Bathsby nodded, his eyes searched through the open patio doors into the ballroom. The orchestra had finished their piece and rested their instruments to one side. “Make sure there aren’t,” he said, “and by tomorrow you’ll be a general.”
Sir Reginald put his glass back down. “You can count on me, my lord.”
One side of Bathsby’s face curled up. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I’m sure I can. Until later, my good Sir Reginald.”
He flipped back his cape, walking back into the storm of conversation around the edge of the ballroom.
After a moment, Sir Reginald followed him.
Kara sank back into the
The pale moon hung low in the sky, gleaming off the large pond to her right. Music sailed out on the evening air from the nearby ballroom. The golden light from the long windows reflected in the water.
Kara paused for a moment and rubbed her hands together against the slight chill in the air. The sky was clear, and against the million pinpricks of stars she could see several guards patrolling the walls on all sides. By the gatehouse several guards lounged around idly, sharing jokes and playing cards.
She had been dodging soldiers in town all day, using every thieving skill she possessed to stay unseen. Only when night had fallen had she been able to duck into the castle itself, taking advantage of the distraction caused by the large number of nobles arriving at the same time. She knew it was crazy to crawl like this into the midst of the lion’s den, but she still had one item of unfinished business.
Sir Reginald still had to pay for the death of her brother.
Kara waited in the bushes for what seemed like forever. Her legs began to burn with the pain of the continual crouch. She was just about to move on when two men came out of the ballroom and walked over to the patio railing. She caught her breath as she saw the face of one of them in the light from the windows.
It was her brother’s murderer.
“You look glum, my Lord. Surely all is well?” Sir Reginald stepped up next to Lord Bathsby with a greasy smile on his face.
“All is well,” said Bathsby tightly. He glanced over the patio railing, past the bushes that lay directly below them. “You look particularly smug tonight. Tortured another helpless animal to death, have you?”
Reginald grinned. “Please, my Lord, you wound me with your words.”
Bathsby grunted. “I’m sure.” He gave the empty patio behind them a furtive glance. “Is everything ready?”
Kara felt the cold handle of the knife against her palm. Now was her chance. She started to rise from her hiding place, but something stopped her. Above, the two men continued their conversation.
Sir Reginald took a drink from his glass of punch. “If the witch does her part. I can’t say I really trust her.”
“Of course not. I don’t trust her either. There’s no doubting her talents, though. She’ll get the job done.” Bathsby gave Reginald a sharp look. “And Whitmore?”
The nobleman took another sip of the punch, and smacked his lips. “Marched out this afternoon from the South Gate.”
Bathsby narrowed his eyes. “With the Royal Guard?”
Sir Reginald gave a weary nod. “Yes, yes. All the men who were on your list.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Poor fools. I actually pity them.”
Bathsby gathered up his cape. “Pity is for the weak-minded, Sir Reginald. All true progress requires sacrifice. By morning we’ll be running Llewyllan.”
The nobleman raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
Lord Bathsby gave him a wintry glare. His attention was quickly diverted by two chattering women who passed close by. He lowered his voice. “Just make sure the men are ready. There can be no mistakes tonight.”
Sir Reginald drained his glass. “There won’t be on my end.”
Lord Bathsby nodded, his eyes searched through the open patio doors into the ballroom. The orchestra had finished their piece and rested their instruments to one side. “Make sure there aren’t,” he said, “and by tomorrow you’ll be a general.”
Sir Reginald put his glass back down. “You can count on me, my lord.”
One side of Bathsby’s face curled up. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I’m sure I can. Until later, my good Sir Reginald.”
He flipped back his cape, walking back into the storm of conversation around the edge of the ballroom.
After a moment, Sir Reginald followed him.
Kara sank back into the
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