croaked from on high, hands and feet thrashing.
“
Starving
mad dogs,” the apparent sorcerer clarified.
“Salia …”
“Starving mad dogs in heat.”
“Enough,” the priestess informed him. She turned a pleasant smile upon the floating baron. “Yes, m’lord Jassion?”
The baron took a deep, calming breath. “I’m all right. I’m calm. Kindly ask your—friend—to put me down.”
“You heard my lord,” she said sweetly.
The sorcerer shrugged and dropped his arm to his side. Then, staring down at the moaning form that now lay sprawled on the carpet, “Oh. You probably meant lower him
slowly
, didn’t you?”
Salia Mavere forced the amused smile to remain plastered across her face, even as her stomach roiled. In a way, she was almost grateful for the baron’s outburst, for it provided distraction from her own traitorous emotions.
She didn’t fear much, the mistress of the Blacksmiths’ Guild. But she knew terror every time she thought of that black-armored bastard—not for what she knew he’d done, but for what he
might
have done.
And she feared, too, what might happen if the other Guildmasters ever came to share her suspicions.
They could take away everything I’ve worked for …
Jassion rose shakily to his feet, brushing dust from his chest—and, not incidentally, drawing his guest’s attention back to what was, rather than what might be. Then, each word strained through clenched teeth, “My sincerest apologies, Salia. That was inexcusable of me. I fear that you’ve touched on a rather sensitive topic.”
You’ve no idea
. Still, she could only raise an eyebrow at that, impressed at Jassion’s apparent penchant for understatement. She knew, as did anyone in power in Imphallion, that a young Jassion had been present at the Denathere massacre, when Corvis Rebaine, called the Terror of the East, had ended his campaign in a basement full of corpses. The young baron had watched the warlord disappear with Jassion’s older sister, Tyannon, and survived only by lying hidden amid the tangled bodies.
She knew, too, that when Rebaine had resurfaced during the Serpent’s War, Jassion had been present at his interrogation. And she knew, though only a few others did, that Rebaine had claimed that not only had he not
slain
his hostage, he had eventually
married
her. At
her
instigation. According to the guards who were present, it had not been a revelation Jassion took particularly well.
So when she said, “I understand,” she meant it. “I’ll forgive the outburst, Baron Jassion.
This
time.”
He nodded curtly. “But I
did
tell you!” he erupted, only barely holding himself in check. “From the day the Serpent died, I warned you that allowing Rebaine to depart in peace was a mistake! We should have hunted him down and killed him when we had the chance!”
“It
was
a mistake,” Salia agreed softly. “One I would very much like you to help us rectify.” She couldn’t help but smile at the stunned disbelief that fell like a veil over his face. “Would you like to reconsider working with us? Or shall I fetch you your hot poker and call for a horse?”
“You want
me
to hunt Corvis Rebaine for you?” He seemed to be having real trouble grasping it.
“I do. The
Guilds
do.”
“Why?”
She leaned forward. “Because he couldn’t have resurfaced at a more inopportune time. I don’t need to tell you that the Houses and theGuilds are barely speaking to one another, let alone cooperating. Cephira’s invaded our borders. We
cannot
afford an internal war on top of all this, Jassion. Our attentions must remain focused on Cephira, and on trying to keep the government running.
“We cannot spare any of our own military forces to pursue Rebaine, not if we wish to check this invasion. In fact, we’ll be taking most of
your
soldiers with us when we return to Mecepheum, to join with the massed armies of the other Houses. And I think I’ll neither surprise nor offend you when I say that
“
Starving
mad dogs,” the apparent sorcerer clarified.
“Salia …”
“Starving mad dogs in heat.”
“Enough,” the priestess informed him. She turned a pleasant smile upon the floating baron. “Yes, m’lord Jassion?”
The baron took a deep, calming breath. “I’m all right. I’m calm. Kindly ask your—friend—to put me down.”
“You heard my lord,” she said sweetly.
The sorcerer shrugged and dropped his arm to his side. Then, staring down at the moaning form that now lay sprawled on the carpet, “Oh. You probably meant lower him
slowly
, didn’t you?”
Salia Mavere forced the amused smile to remain plastered across her face, even as her stomach roiled. In a way, she was almost grateful for the baron’s outburst, for it provided distraction from her own traitorous emotions.
She didn’t fear much, the mistress of the Blacksmiths’ Guild. But she knew terror every time she thought of that black-armored bastard—not for what she knew he’d done, but for what he
might
have done.
And she feared, too, what might happen if the other Guildmasters ever came to share her suspicions.
They could take away everything I’ve worked for …
Jassion rose shakily to his feet, brushing dust from his chest—and, not incidentally, drawing his guest’s attention back to what was, rather than what might be. Then, each word strained through clenched teeth, “My sincerest apologies, Salia. That was inexcusable of me. I fear that you’ve touched on a rather sensitive topic.”
You’ve no idea
. Still, she could only raise an eyebrow at that, impressed at Jassion’s apparent penchant for understatement. She knew, as did anyone in power in Imphallion, that a young Jassion had been present at the Denathere massacre, when Corvis Rebaine, called the Terror of the East, had ended his campaign in a basement full of corpses. The young baron had watched the warlord disappear with Jassion’s older sister, Tyannon, and survived only by lying hidden amid the tangled bodies.
She knew, too, that when Rebaine had resurfaced during the Serpent’s War, Jassion had been present at his interrogation. And she knew, though only a few others did, that Rebaine had claimed that not only had he not
slain
his hostage, he had eventually
married
her. At
her
instigation. According to the guards who were present, it had not been a revelation Jassion took particularly well.
So when she said, “I understand,” she meant it. “I’ll forgive the outburst, Baron Jassion.
This
time.”
He nodded curtly. “But I
did
tell you!” he erupted, only barely holding himself in check. “From the day the Serpent died, I warned you that allowing Rebaine to depart in peace was a mistake! We should have hunted him down and killed him when we had the chance!”
“It
was
a mistake,” Salia agreed softly. “One I would very much like you to help us rectify.” She couldn’t help but smile at the stunned disbelief that fell like a veil over his face. “Would you like to reconsider working with us? Or shall I fetch you your hot poker and call for a horse?”
“You want
me
to hunt Corvis Rebaine for you?” He seemed to be having real trouble grasping it.
“I do. The
Guilds
do.”
“Why?”
She leaned forward. “Because he couldn’t have resurfaced at a more inopportune time. I don’t need to tell you that the Houses and theGuilds are barely speaking to one another, let alone cooperating. Cephira’s invaded our borders. We
cannot
afford an internal war on top of all this, Jassion. Our attentions must remain focused on Cephira, and on trying to keep the government running.
“We cannot spare any of our own military forces to pursue Rebaine, not if we wish to check this invasion. In fact, we’ll be taking most of
your
soldiers with us when we return to Mecepheum, to join with the massed armies of the other Houses. And I think I’ll neither surprise nor offend you when I say that
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