"Your message sounded urgent," Welstiel said in a calm voice.

Lanjov offered a half smile tinged with relief, followed by a look of reluctance. "Yes, my friend, please sit and have a drink with me."

Welstiel settled quietly across from him. "What troubles you?" he asked.

Lanjov signaled to the innkeeper for two tankards of wine before answering.

"Tomorrow, I will dismiss the dhampir. I wanted to tell you first. You were so helpful to me in finding her, and I did not want you to mistake this as ingratitude."

"Dismiss her?" Welstiel leaned back, surprised by this sudden turn. "You have given up on bringing Chesna's killer to justice?"

"No, of course not. But the dhampir has some mad idea the killer is a nobleman who… who knew Chesna. It is ridiculous that such a creature could pass for one of us."

Welstiel folded his hands upon the table. "What brought her to this conclusion?"

"Some vision she apparently experienced while she and that half-blood were at my home." Lanjov paused and shuddered with apparent revulsion. "The point is, she is not only incorrect but invading the privacy of our best citizens. Only last night, there was a distasteful scene at the Rowanwood, and now the council must pay for the damages. Today, she came to my bank, stood in the lobby, and demanded to see me. I was thankful there were no patrons of note present. Lord Au'shiyn was with me, and we had no choice but to take her into my office. She plans to question any dignitary or council member who had contact with Chesna, and demanded a list of names! Lord Au'shiyn was supportive in this matter, and I hope you, too, see the need to stop this nonsense." Lanjov became almost manic in the moment. "This cannot happen. I would lose my place on the council."

A serving girl brought their tankards and set them on the table. Lanjov paid her quickly and waved her off.

"If you dismiss the dhampir, who will destroy the creature at large?" Welstiel asked.

"Please," Lanjov continued. "We cannot have council members questioned in this manner. It is pointless and only creates outrage and disarray. Captain Chetnik understands how these things work. He may not be a dhampir, but at least he'll search in the right places."

"And what happens if he finds it?" Welstiel asked. "Can he fight an undead? Can any of the city guard? If you dismiss the dhampir, it could further endanger Bela's citizens."

Lanjov ran a hand over his face, and then held it over his mouth. He leaned closer across the table.

"Councilman Batak is our legal adviser," he whispered through his fingers. "His wife is niece to the queen, but Batak keeps a mistress. If he was with the woman on the night of Chesna's death, how could he provide an alibi? Councilman Amrogovitz is a sixth-generation lord of a southern province, but he has also lost much of his fortunes in the gaming rooms, and few beside myself know this. It does not hinder his voice on the council, but we have no wish for his… pastime to become public knowledge."

Welstiel stared at him, and Lanjov shifted again in his seat.

"If you dismiss the dhampir," Welstiel said, "you are a fool, and more will die. What does it matter if a few men are embarrassed in comparison to the safety of your city?"

Lanjov tensed, and his voice hardened in return. "I explain my reasons out of respect for your kind efforts thus far. Lord Au'shiyn's counsel to dismiss her is the correct course of action, whether you agree or not."

Still, Welstiel did not blink, and for just a moment Lanjov’s face expressed a suspicious fear as he stood up.

"I'm sorry you are cross with me," he said. "But my mind is firm on this. She leaves tomorrow."

Welstiel realized he had lost his own composure, and held up one hand.

"Forgive me," he urged. "Sit and drink, and we will speak more. Perhaps there are other ways to put an end to this matter."

"It is late, and the day was long," Lanjov stammered. "Another time. Enjoy your wine, and thank you for meeting with me at such a late hour."

Lanjov hurried out into the night, and Welstiel sat alone.

Although Sapphire's protection often drove Toret's actions, as he and Chane wove through the back alleys of Bela's coast-side outer ring, he pushed all thoughts of her from his mind.

He'd starved himself since this stranger had first appeared on his doorstep with word of the hunter. For all of Rashed and Teesha's abilities, he'd done something neither of them ever attempted: He had created his own minions. He didn't like to think of Sapphire as a servant, but in truth, she was bound to him. Chane certainly was a servant, and a valuable one at that. Toret enjoyed the irony of raising a wealthy noble as his slave. Now, he needed muscled fodder to provide the dhampir with an exhausting fight from all sides.

He would surpass even himself, and raise two from death in the same night.

"You understand what to do?" he asked Chane, as they peered from an alley across a filthy street to a shabby tavern. Prostitutes, who'd seen more prosperous days, shuffled in the doorways, trying to entice a few pennies for services rendered.

"Yes, but you need to choose carefully," Chane replied. "Men armed with swords, or at least visible fighting blades, are the best probability. Choose men who have been drinking but are not drunk. A true fighter seldom falls too far into his cups."

Months ago in Miiska, if Rashed had given him such a cavalier lecture, Toret would have hissed back with seething resentment. He'd changed since then in more ways than simply improving his station. Now, he carefully listened to Chane's advice.

"Did you ever help your father choose guards?" he asked.

Chane's jaw twitched. "Yes."

Toret didn't press the matter and looked back to the street. They were both dressed as poor merchants in order to blend in, should they walk on the streets or enter a tavern. Toret wore a faded blue tunic and green cap made by winding a thick scarf into coils and fastening the ends. For the first time in months, he felt comfortable. He liked the loose tunic and how the cap hid his constantly unruly hair.

He was starving for life, for blood, but he still felt anticipation as Chane watched for possible candidates.

"Anyone?" he asked.

"Not yet. Do you wish to find both men and have me incapacitate them before you begin?"

Toret hesitated. He wasn't exactly certain what "incapacitate" meant but grasped that Chane wanted to know if they should secure both subjects before Toret began-as opposed to turning one and then beginning the process again.

"Yes, both," he answered, and leaned his hand against the stained bricks, feeling strangely comfortable. "I've never been in this part of the city. Have you?"

"No." Chane quite often used as few words as possible. He had his functions, but conversation wasn't his strong point.

Several men passed in and out of the tavern, but Chane showed no interest in anyone. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke. "Sapphire wants a pretty young girl to feed on. Did she tell you?"

"Oh, she told me, all right." Toret sighed. "I've no idea where to find one, and we've other matters to worry about right now."

"When we finish, I will go into the second ring. An attractive merchant-class girl in a decent dress should do."

Toret gave him a sidelong glance. Chane had never offered on his own to do anything for Sapphire.

"Yes," he answered, still puzzled. "That'll do."

"There." Chane nodded toward the street. "Look."

Two tall sailors with weatherworn skin emerged from the tavern. One wore a hook-tipped sword on his belt, and the other wore two heavy daggers strapped crosswise over his lower back. They were sober enough to bypass a large and obstinate prostitute without causing a scene.

"They are together," Chane said. "Convenient, and I doubt we will find anyone more likely down here."