“Already done, milord.”

On every side, servants were coming and going, loading the wagons that would travel north with provisions and supplies. A hundred Gyre knights made their own last-minute preparations, checking their saddles, horses, and weapons. Servants who would be leaving their families said hurried goodbyes.

Duke Gyre turned to Logan, and just seeing his father in his mail brought tears of pride and fear to Logan’s eyes.

“Son, you’re twelve years old.”

“I can fight. Even Master Vorden admits that I handle a sword almost as well as the soldiers.”

“Logan, it isn’t because I don’t believe in your abilities that I’m making you stay. It’s because I do. The fact is, your mother needs you here more than I need you in the mountains.”

“But I want to go with you.”

“And I don’t want to leave at all. It doesn’t have anything to do with what we want.”

“Jasin said Niner is trying to embarrass you. He said it’s an insult for a duke to be given such a small command.” He didn’t mention the other things Jasin had said. Logan didn’t consider himself quick-tempered, but in the three months since King Davin had died and Aleine Gunder had assumed the title Aleine IX—known condescendingly as Niner—Logan had been in half a dozen fights.

“And what do you think, son?”

“I don’t think you’re afraid of anyone.”

“So Jasin said I was afraid, did he? Is that where you got the bruises on your knuckles?”

Logan grinned suddenly. He was as tall as his father, and if he didn’t have Regnus Gyre’s bulk yet, their guards master Ren Vorden said it was only a matter of time. When Logan fought other boys, he didn’t lose.

“Son, make no mistake. Commanding the garrison at Screaming Winds is a slight, but it’s better than exile or death. If I stay, the king will give me one or the other eventually. Each summer, you’ll come train with my men, but I need you here, too. For half the year you’ll be my eyes and ears in Cenaria. Your mother—” he broke off and looked past Logan.

“Thinks your father is a fool,” Catrinna Gyre said, coming up behind them suddenly. She had been born to another ducal family, the Graesins, and she had their green eyes, petite features, and temper. Despite the early hour, she was dressed in a beautiful green silk dress edged with ermine, her hair brushed glossy. “Regnus, if you get on that horse, I never want to see you come back.”

“Catrinna, we aren’t having this discussion again.”

“That jackal will hurl you against my family, you know that. Destroy you, destroy them—he wins no matter what.”

“This is your family, Catrinna. And I’ve made my decision.” Duke Gyre’s voice carried with a whip crack of command, an edge that made Logan want to shrink and not be noticed.

“Which of your harlots are you taking with you?”

“I’m not taking any of the maidservants, Catrinna, though some of them will be hard to replace. I’m leaving them here out of respect for your—”

“How stupid do you think I am? You’ll just find sluts there.”

“Catrinna. Go inside. Now!”

She obeyed and Duke Gyre watched her go. He spoke without turning toward Logan. “Your mother . . . there are things I’ll share with you when you’re older. For now, I expect you to honor her, but you will be Lord Gyre while I’m gone.”

Logan’s eyes went wide.

His father clapped him on the shoulder. “That doesn’t mean you get to skip your lessons. Wendel will teach you everything you need to know. I swear the man understands more about running our lands than I do. I’m only a four-day ride away. You have a fine mind, son, and that’s why you have to stay. This city is a vipers’ nest. There are those who would destroy us. Your mother has seen hints of that, and it’s been part of her troubles. I’m gambling with you, Logan. I wish I didn’t have to, but you’re the only piece I have left to play. Surprise them. Be smarter, better, braver, and faster than anyone expects. It’s not a fair burden for me to put on you, but I must. I’m counting on you. House Gyre is counting on you. All our retainers and vassals are counting on you, and maybe even the kingdom itself.”

Duke Gyre swung up onto his huge white destrier. “I love you, son. But don’t let me down.”

6

The darkness was as close and cold as the dead’s embrace. Azoth squatted against the alley wall, hoping the night wind covered the sound of thunder in his heart. The fifth big who’d joined him had stolen a shiv from Rat’s weapons cache, and Azoth clutched the thin metal so tightly his hand hurt.

There was still no motion in the alley. Azoth stuck the blade in the dirt of the alley and put his hands in his armpits to keep them warm. Nothing might happen for hours. It didn’t matter. He was running out of chances. He’d wasted too much time as it was.

Rat wasn’t stupid. He was cruel, but he had plans. Azoth didn’t. He’d been flailing in his fear for three months. Flailing when he could have been planning. The Fist had declared his intentions. That made it easy enough. Azoth knew some of what he was planning; all he had to do was piece together how. Now, as he thought, he could feel himself slipping into Rat’s skin all too easily, thinking Rat’s thoughts.

A purge isn’t good enough. A purge will give me safety for a couple of years. Other guild heads have killed to keep their power. Killing doesn’t make me different. Azoth worked on the idea. Rat didn’t have small ambitions. Rat had bottled up his hatred for three months. Why would he be willing to not even hit Azoth for three months?

Destruction. That’s what it came down to. Rat would destroy him in spectacular fashion. He would sate his own cruelty and advance his power. He would do something so awful that Azoth would become a story the guilds would tell. He might not even kill him, just leave him maimed in some horrific way so that everyone who met Azoth would fear Rat more.

There was a shuffling sound in the alley and Azoth tensed. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled out the shiv. The alley was tight, the buildings sagging so close a grown man could touch both walls at the same time. Azoth had chosen it for that reason. He wouldn’t let his quarry slip past him. But now the walls seemed malevolent, stretching hungry fingers toward each other, closing out the stars, grabbing for him. Wind muttered over the roofs, telling tales of murder.

Azoth heard the shuffle again and relaxed. A scarred old rat emerged from under a pile of moldering boards and sniffed. Azoth held still as the rat waddled forward. It sniffed at Azoth’s bare feet, nudged them with a wet nose, and sensing no danger, moved forward to feed.

Just as the rat moved to bite, Azoth buried the shiv behind its ear and into the ground beneath. It jerked but didn’t squeak. He withdrew the thin iron, satisfied with his stealth. He checked the alley again. Still nothing.

So where am I weak? What would I do to destroy me if I were Rat?

Something tickled his neck and he brushed it away. Curse the bugs.

Bugs? It’s freezing out here. His hand came down from his neck warm and sticky.

Azoth turned and lashed out, but the shiv went spinning from his hand as something struck his wrist.

Durzo Blint squatted on his heels not a foot away. He didn’t speak. He just stared, his eyes colder than the night.