Ilona Andrews: Steel's Edge

“Do you think it will work?” Jack asked.

“If this doesn’t work, I’ll kill him myself.”

George didn’t need to specify—“him” meant Brennan. Brennan was the root of the evil that had damaged their lives. Too many people had suffered, too many had died. He couldn’t be allowed to exist.

“Agreed,” Jack said. “We’ll do it together.”

Across the hall, Richard stepped inside. He saw Rene and Angelia standing together in the corner and walked in the opposite direction, taking position against a column, much like George’s.

The Grand Thane walked into the lobby, the Marchesa on his arm. The conversation died. The older man led his bride-to-be to the center of the room, to their table, and sat. Brennan followed him among the other bluebloods, taking the seat at a table nearby. His face wore a solemn expression.

Jack bared his teeth, quick like a knife cut, and hid them again.

“Come on.” George pushed away from the column, and they walked to their seats at their assigned table next to the Duchess of the Southern Provinces.

“Boys,” she greeted them with a smile.

“My lady.” They both bowed.

“Please sit down.”

They sat.

“How is it going?” Lady Olivia asked quietly.

“Well so far,” George answered. The most difficult thing about Brennan was that he made an unpredictable opponent. The murder of Maedoc had proven that. What they were about to do was calculated to unbalance him, make him spin out of his orbit, and once he did, he would become a human wrecking ball, destroying everything in his path.

A tall man in the uniform of the Castle Guard strode into the room and onto the raised platform at the front. “My lords and ladies, may I have a moment of your time.”

Quiet fell onto the gathering.

“My name is Celire Lakita. I’m in charge of the security for the Pierre de Rivière. This morning, a murder occurred on these premises.”

Nobody gasped. Everybody had already heard the news.

“I want to assure you that your safety isn’t in question.” Celire paused. “We know that the murder took place on the Upper Northern Balcony. We know that four assailants were involved. We know why it occurred. We know who is responsible.”

George focused on Brennan. The big man sat absolutely still, his face a cold mask.

“I will now speak to the killers directly.” Celire looked at the gathering. “We know who you are. Rest assured that this matter will be resolved by the day’s end. Attempting to escape is futile—you will note increased security presence in the hallways. You have until this evening to make things easier on yourself and retain some small measure of dignity. If you don’t cooperate, your fellow conspirators will. The measure of my mercy is small and dwindling by the minute. To the rest of you, please enjoy your meal.”

He stepped down.

The hall buzzed with a dozen simultaneously started conversations. It was a carefully crafted speech. Kaldar and Richard had spent forty-five minutes writing it. Once Kaldar flashed his Mirror credentials and dangled the possible arrest of Maedoc’s murderers in front of Celire, the head of castle security proved more than willing to play his part in laying the trap. Now, Brennan had to react.

Do it, George willed silently, staring at Brennan’s back. Do it. You know you want to talk to them .

Brennan flicked open a pen.

“Pen,” Jack murmured.

“I see it.”

Brennan wrote something on a piece of paper and flagged down a waiter. The waiter weaved his way to the table where Rene and Angelia sat together. The waiter dropped off the note. Rene looked at it. His face turned pale. He passed the note to Angelia.

Five minutes later, he sent one of his own. The second note arrived at Richard’s table. He folded his napkin, rose, and walked out.

Three minutes later Angelia rose. Rene carefully escorted her to the door. Brennan was the last to leave.

He had to take them to the side room. It was the only private room quickly accessible from the Grand Dining Hall. Security blocked the hallway on the left, and the hallway on the right opened into staff areas and kitchens filled with people.

The mirror shivered. Someone had opened the side room’s door, and the draft had disturbed the delicate web of the spell.

“Yes,” Jack hissed.

The spell tore like a film of oil being swept from the water’s surface. The mirror vanished, revealing a perfectly transparent sheet of glass and Brennan behind it. Rage distorted his face. Angelia flattened herself against the wall. Rene bristled. Richard remained impassive, like a dark shadow. He was looking straight at the dining room. No alarm registered on his face. The spell must’ve worked as intended—from inside the side room, the glass still appeared to be mirrored.

“They know nothing,” Brennan snarled, his voice slightly muffled but clearly recognizable as it issued from the grates hidden among the ornaments on the wall. “They have nothing, they know nothing, they are lying.”

The Grand Thane raised his hand. The noise in the dining hall died, as if cut off by a sword.

“Wake up!” Rene snapped. “They know. We should deal.”

Brennan hammered a punch into Rene’s jaw. The blond man staggered back.

“Now you listen to me, all of you.” Brennan barked. “There will be no deals. Don’t speak to anyone, don’t say anything, don’t even break wind without clearing it with me first. If you do, I will crush you. Don’t think for a second that you will get out of this unscathed, while I’ll go down. I’m a royal peer of the realm. You’re nothing. You’re trash.”

He spun to Angelia. “You’re a whore who can’t keep her legs together. You”—he turned to Rene—“are a fop and a weakling.” He faced Richard. “You’re a greedy coward. I can replace every one of you, and there will be a dozen fighting to take your places. I made you what you are. I took the fractured bandits and scum and molded them into a military force. Not a single slave was sold on this coast in the last five years without my getting a cut. I command three hundred slavers. I own the seaboard. I am the real power.”

The Grand Thane rose. His eyes bulged. His face turned purple with rage. George felt an overpowering urge to be very quiet and small.

“You want to open your mouths? Try it. You won’t live to see the sunset. Do you hear me?”

The Grand Thane started toward the glass.

Brennan spun, his eyes deranged. “You will be lucky if I kill you. I may just strip you of everything you are. I’ll have you sold to the vilest degenerate I can find. You’ll end your days drowning in the basest of perversities, kept on a chain for his amusement—”

The Grand Thane grabbed the nearest chair, almost as an afterthought, and smashed it into the glass. Shards rained down, scattering across the floor. Suddenly, the two rooms became one. Brennan saw everyone in the dining hall looking at him and froze.

“You vain, pathetic brat,” the Grand Thane roared.

Brennan reached for his sword. “Don’t put your hands on me, old man!”

“These hands will end you, boy!”

Rene put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A hair-thin streak of pure white flash pulsed from the left, and hit Rene’s hand. Blood poured. Rene screamed.

At the far table, Lorameh stood calmly, white lightning dancing on his fingers. There was something familiar about his face. The recognition hit George like a punch. “Erwin!”

The man had been his supervisor for two years. How the hell did he not recognize him? He wasn’t even wearing much of a disguise.

“Of course, it’s Erwin,” Jack said. “He smells the same. Did you just now figure it out?”