Read Online The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) by Patrick Weekes - Free Book Online Page B

chopping weapon, which meant that she had either extremely powerful magic or someone else who did have a very large chopping weapon, and both of those options meant that Fendril should run like Byn-kodar himself was after him.
    He darted back, and the Imperial woman hissed and grabbed for him. He stumbled, knocked the door open with his backside, leaped back as she launched a circling kick at his head, and came out into the alley.
    Fendril turned to run . . . and a crushing pain slammed him to the ground.
    “You were sloppy, Shenziencis,” came a quiet, polite voice.
    He realized distantly that the voice wasn’t talking to him when the Imperial woman said, “He did not speak, Thunder. We have limits.”
    Fendril fought to roll back to his feet, and instead managed to groan and flop. A great armored hand closed upon his shoulder and dragged him across the ground. A moment later, the door closed.
    “Did you get the information?” the big male voice asked as a great pressure pinned Fendril to the floor. It was the man’s booted foot. He was wearing a great deal of armor. “The princess grows impatient.”
    “Ajeveth,” the woman, Shenziencis, said, “city of the dwarves. That is where we will find her.”
    “Good. Then let us leave.”
    Fendril’s vision was clearing, and he groaned again. When he opened his eyes, blinking through the tears, he saw the big Imperial bodyguard standing over him with his enormous ax rising up over his head. His foot crushed down on Fendril’s chest, making any real struggle impossible.
    “Wait,” said Shenziencis, and had he been younger and more optimistic, Fendril would have thought he had a chance. But he had seen the woman’s smile as she stood over three dead bodies looking at him, and that wasn’t the smile of someone who would spare Fendril’s life just because he was already helpless.
    “You and the weapon of the ancients had the others,” said Shenziencis, and smiled her emerald smile. “Leave this one and the clerk to me.”
    Fendril couldn’t fight. He couldn’t escape. He could barely move.
    His hand was tucked under him, near his pocket. He fumbled weakly. The Imperial bodyguard’s blow had left his whole body feeling the pins-and-needles sensation of a limb that had fallen asleep.
    His fingers closed around his message crystal, and he tapped out a signal every justicar knew.
    He kept tapping it as Shenziencis bent over him, the curling golden makeup around her eyes drawing to points like fangs. She leaned in, and her emerald-painted lips mouth opened far wider than should have been possible, her jaw swinging free as she closed down upon him . . .

    “The real problem,” said the young man passionately, “is that females just don’t appreciate nice guys like me.”
    Desidora, priestess of Tasheveth the love goddess, sighed very quietly on her side of the divider that blocked her view of the gemcutter’s son on the other side of the consulting booth.
    “So,” she said, “just as a tip, before we get to the actual advice: I think you’re going to have more luck if you avoid using that word to describe women.”
    Desidora wore pale green robes emblazoned with the silver smiling lips of her goddess. The smiling lips were regulation. The robe she had chosen to suit her tan skin and auburn hair—priests of Tasheveth were expected to look good while fulfilling sacred duties like mentoring the lovelorn.
    “Oh, I don’t call them that,” the young man said. “I would never be cruel to any woman. I just want to love them and show them how beautiful they are, but they’d rather go out with jerks instead.”
    “ Kutesosh gajair’is?” the magical warhammer resting by her chair asked quietly.
    “No,” she muttered. “Shh.”
    “Is someone in there with you?” asked the young man.
    “Sometimes the goddess speaks to us,” Desidora said through the divider, and then glared down at Ghylspwr.
    Desidora had been a love priestess ever since the voice of