Doranei's throat tightened. Bugger again: Ostia. He knew the name, of course, from the aftermath of the battle in Narkang. Dumbly Doranei nodded his head and accepted the goblet when she passed it. Oh Gods, he thought, Zhia Vukotic herself. What in the name of Ghenna do I do now?

'We wear symbols of those that are now at war with each other,' Zhia continued, oblivious to his stream of thought, 'and yet you seem remarkably quiet. What is your name?'

'Doranei, Madam.'

'Madam? I think Mistress is the appropriate honorific here, young Doranei.'

He blinked for a moment. It was strange to be called young by a woman who appeared less than thirty summers. 'I didn't think you were the strictest adherent to the Circle's code, Mistress Vukotic.'

'You will refrain from using that name, young man,' Zhia snapped before her expression softened into an indulgent smile again. 'It would be an inconvenience to me if anyone overheard you, one that would cause me considerable bother.'

'My apologies,' Doranei said, lowering his eyes briefly. 'That was petulant of me.'

'Ah, the king has taught you some manners as well. How refresh¬ing. I do prefer assassins to be civilised; those who aren't tend to have something to prove. I can't stand men who are just waiting to be provoked.'

'I doubt many of them stand for long.' Doranei regretted the words immediately. King Emin encouraged a loose informality within the IVotherhood that sometimes made them speak their minds too easily. Some men, like the Farlan Lord, Isak, enjoyed being taken aback from time to time, but others had found themselves compelled to call the King's Man out – however stupid an idea that invariably was.

'A soldier's flattery, how sweet of you,' Zhia purred. 'With such a tongue you must have charmed more than your fair share of Narkang's maidens – that is, of course, if your king allows you to mix with ladies who enjoy such compliments. Please tell me he doesn't hide away you pretty young things.'

The King's Man felt his cheeks redden slightly. Despite the mock¬ing tone, Mistress Zhia's velvety voice seemed to run like a feather down his spine, making him shiver in curious delight and dread. He wondered if she was using magic on him – she was quite skilled enough

but he'd always been a fool for a pretty face, magic or not.

'Oh, I've embarrassed you now. I do apologise,' the vampire twit-tered on. Doranei, forcing himself to look her in the eye again, saw she was enjoying acting the foolish noblewoman. 'I'm sure the king doesn't want your sword to be blunted by such activities; weapons must be kept keen, after all. Still, I must make this embarrassment up, for surely I could not live with myself if 1 sent you away without redeeming myself.'

Oh good, a vampire's playing games with me. This is likely to turn out well.

Zhia stood with a flourish and stepped with a dancer's grace to Doranei's side. She took his elbow and, with no apparent effort, lifted him to his feet. Her thin hands felt as solid as oak underneath him, her strength disconcerting in such a delicate form. Upright, Doranei was a good half-dozen inches taller than Zhia, but he felt as brittle as a fallen leaf in her hands. She deftly slipped the straps from his shoulders and drew his pack off him. The movement was surprisingly tender and Doranei found himself suddenly aware of her delicate perfume. As her lips parted slightly, Doranei felt his breath catch.

Oh Gods.

'So now, will you let me make it up to you?' Zhia leaned closer, unblinking as she stared up at him and he inhaled even more of the sweet scent.

Doranei nodded dumbly.

'Thank you,' she whispered. He began to edge towards her lips just as Zhia stepped back. 'In that case we should leave,' she said firmly.

'Leave?'

'Of course,' she said breezily. 'You'll be accompanying me to the theatre tonight, and the curtain goes up soon.'

'Theatre? But I-' Doranei floundered. 'I can't, I've got to-'

'Nonsense,' Zhia interrupted. 'It will be an education for you; trust me that your king will not begrudge you the trip. Now, if you've found your feet, we should be off.'

She didn't wait for a reply but propelled Doranei towards the shut¬tered door. He tried to protest, but the words wouldn't come. Instead he let Zhia guide him through the dim streets, past the glaring eyes of any number of city guards, until they arrived at a theatre surrounded by chattering citizens of all classes, all bedecked in their finest. Wreaths of hemlock cascaded over the walls and scores of torches gave off long trails of scented smoke. As they approached, Doranei looked around with growing trepidation. Flickering shadows reached out around the shuttered barrows that surrounded the theatre.

Whispers skittered around the street, faster than the King's Man could catch to make sense of. The darkness loomed as they approached

the gate, where a pair of albinos scowled at the pair of them but stepped back as Zhia met their gaze. When he passed through, Doranei felt a chill hush settle about his shoulders. As he walked into shadow, his only comfort was the firm grip of a vampire on his arm. Oh Gods.

CHAPTER 16

As long fingers of cloud drifted silently past a crescent moon, Doranei made his way to the heart of the Northern district, to the house of King Emin's agent in Scree. It was at least two hours past midnight by his reckoning. His head had been throbbing since the play and he was struggling to be sure he had not been followed. The most likely candidate was Zhia herself, however, and he wouldn't stand a chance pitting his wits against the ancient vampire, not even if he were at the top of his game. The hot night air mixed with pain, wine and bewilderment was making it hard for him to remember the way.

The streets were dead, strange for a man whose training ground had been the never-sleeping criminal dens and murky side-streets of Narkang. Doranei turned into a nondescript road and halfway down, after one last check around, slipped a key from around his neck and unlocked an unremarkable door set slightly below street level.

'And which of the six pits of Ghenna did you fall into tonight?' said a soft voice from the darkness within.

'One of the more curious ones, Beyn,' Doranei replied. 'Did every¬one get over safely?'

All present and correct. We thought you'd been taken.'

'I almost was. I certainly wasn't in much state to carry on run¬ning.'

'So?'

Doranei felt he didn't know Beyn well, despite being in the same unit for the past seven years. Beyond their service to the king, Doranei knew only that Beyn liked to spend his time charming women with his striking looks – usually only for the challenge.

'So I went to the theatre instead.'

'The theatre?' Beyn paused for a few heartbeats before he chuckled. The Brothers all developed a rather twisted sense of humour sooner

or later, characterised by the ridiculous wagers they were constantly making with each other. Doranei knew his story would amuse them alll. 'Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Go and make your report to the king now.'

Despite his headache and injuries, Doranei smiled. A moment of interest, then he was dismissed. That was the Beyn he knew, aloof, insufferable at times, but always aware of his duty. Doranei crossed the room to the door. A dim glow spilled out from the hallway as he opened it and he looked back to see Beyn sitting with a crossbow cocked and pointing at the street door. They exchanged nods and he left in search of the king.

The nondescript house was large enough for the thirty members of the Brotherhood and the handful of others King Emin had brought along. It was surprisingly well built, for only a quiet murmur reached his ears from the other end of the corridor. Doranei thought of the house's owner, a locally renowned artist called Pirlo Cetess. It would be good to see him again – if he was still alive, of course. There were none of the usual decorations one would expect from a household in mourning, so perhaps their assumptions had been wrong when their messages had gone unanswered. He could only hope so.