Sins of Empire

Chapter 39

“This is it?” Meln-Dun asked.

Vlora cocked an eyebrow at him as he stood in the doorway of the small pub back room she and a handful of chosen men had occupied on the rim of Greenfire Depths. There was some noise from the street outside, but for the most part things were quiet, peaceful. The Palo looked nonplussed, and she could see him counting the small group over and over again in his head until he finally turned to her with a pained expression. “This is not enough men.”

There was a pregnant silence, only interrupted by the sound of Norrine dragging a whetstone across the blade of her sword. The scraping sound repeated twice before Vlora pointed to the man on her left. He was twenty-three and looked significantly younger with black hair and not a strand of beard on his chin. He was dressed just like her in dark green travel clothes, brown boots, high-collared shirt, and a slightly floppy tricorn that did well to hide his face. He carried a blunderbuss, nervously tapping the flared end against his boot.

“This is Davd. He was a drummer boy during the Adran-Kez War. Eleven years with the Riflejacks.” She thrust a thumb to the woman on her right. “This is Norrine. She’s been with the Adran Army for forty-two years. She was trained by Field Marshal Tamas himself.” Norrine was an older woman with dirty-blond hair and an elfin-like face. She was nearly to her sixties, but a tight physical regimen made her look fifteen years younger. She continued to sharpen her sword, smirking at the fourth member of their group. Vlora introduced him. “Buden je Parst is Kez. Doesn’t speak a word of Adran so don’t bother. And Olem,” Vlora finished, slapping Olem on the knee, “you’ve met.”

Buden grinned at Meln-Dun, revealed six missing teeth. He was missing most of his tongue, too, but he preferred not to draw attention to that. Meln-Dun’s pained expression deepened. “I understand your men are experienced,” he said slowly, “but the Yellow Hall is guarded by the best the Palo have to offer. If the Dynize are there as I fear, there may even be dragonmen. You should take no fewer than two companies.”

“Two companies,” Vlora responded, “will just draw attention and slow us down. We’re not going in there for a fight. We’re there to smash in the door and bring in Mama Palo.”

“Even still…”

Olem snorted. “Don’t let her lead you on. This is the Riflejacks’ dirty secret. Everyone in this room but you and me is a powder mage.”

Meln-Dun’s eyes widened and he swept his gaze across the small group once more. “I see. I had no idea the Riflejacks even had other powder mages.”

“Hence the dirty little secret,” Vlora said. She took a deep breath, trying to get in the right frame of mind for a night raid. She hadn’t done anything like this for years, and the prospect both thrilled and scared her. Five men against a whole warren of Palo thugs was dangerous, even if four of them were powder mages. Mistakes could – would – be made. There would be surprises. Everything they planned could go awry the moment they stepped out the door of this pub.

Tamas had always said that a greater risk had better come with a greater reward. She was risking the very heart of the Riflejacks, but the reward was that she could accomplish the entire assignment in a single night – and she and her men walk away tomorrow with a full year’s pay. Mama Palo’s fall might even bring long-term stability to Greenfire Depths. The money was great, but her conscience allowing her to sleep at night was even better.

“Even with powder mages, I still don’t see…” Meln-Dun began, but Norrine held up a hand.

“It’ll be enough,” she assured him.

The Palo finally entered the room and shut the door behind him, taking a seat. He seemed remarkably calm despite the attempt on his life earlier that day, and Vlora wondered if he’d been drinking to settle his nerves.

“Are you sure you’re able to do this?” Vlora asked.

Meln-Dun gave a confident nod. “I am. I have to. They’ve killed my friends, taken my family and business hostage. If this does not happen tonight, I am finished.” He scowled, then looked up at Vlora. “Something has been bothering me, Lady Flint.”

“What’s that?” Vlora mentally checked her kit, counting her powder charges, then making sure both her pistols were already loaded.

“Mama Palo told me something when we spoke last: that a known Blackhat was seen leaving your headquarters on more than one occasion.”

Vlora exchanged a glance with Olem. “That is true,” she said. “I’ve made no secret that we’re employed by the state. In fact, I believe that’s the reason you came to me in the first place.”

“Yes, but this business with the rebuilding. Was it your main reason for being here?”

“Keeping the peace has always been our reason for being here.” Vlora swore inwardly. Was Meln-Dun getting cold feet? Did he suddenly realize how deep he was with the Palo’s long-standing enemy? Surely this mustn’t be news to him. She reminded herself how easy it was to be self-delusional when you had a passion.

“But,” Meln-Dun pressed, “your purpose here. Were you assigned to bring down Mama Palo by the Blackhats?”

Vlora exchanged another glance with Olem, wondering if this would be a good time to lie. But, as she so often told her men, she hated a liar. “Yes.”

Meln-Dun was silent for several long seconds, his tongue between his lips and his eyes on the floor. “All right. We can do this. I just wanted to know where you stood.”

“Same place I’ve always stood,” Vlora responded. “And I’ve never lied to you. I do have an interest in helping rebuild Greenfire Depths.”

Meln-Dun looked away, unresponsive. Olem shrugged. Buden spat a wad of tobacco on the floor.

“It’s well past time to get moving,” Norrine warned.

“Agreed,” Vlora said, getting to her feet. She checked her men, using her mage senses to be sure they had enough powder and their weapons primed. She took a spare pistol off the table behind Davd and held it out to Meln-Dun. “Have you fought before?”

“It’s been many years,” he said hesitantly.

“Take this just in case.” She turned to face the others and said, “Remember, we’re not here to conquer or fight or dilly-dally. We’re grabbing Mama Palo and we’re getting the pit out as quickly as possible. Keep your knives and swords handy. Firearms are to be kept in check unless it’s absolutely necessary – if at all possible we want to be gone before they even know we’ve arrived. And only kill if we need to.”

“There will be violence,” Meln-Dun said with a frown. “Killing can’t be avoided.”

“I’m making as few enemies as possible tonight.”

“Every one of Mama Palo’s men you leave alive is another enemy on the morrow.”

Olem inclined his head toward Meln-Dun in a way that said he has a point. Vlora shook her head at Meln-Dun. “We’ll keep it as bloodless as possible, but make no mistake. We’re all killers. This’ll go painfully if it needs to. Let’s get moving before it gets any later.”

Davd led them out through the back of the pub and down a side alley, checking to be sure they weren’t spotted, before motioning for Meln-Dun to go ahead. It was a quiet evening, a weeknight curfew in effect by order of Lindet, and they were nearly alone on the dark streets of the plateau.

Meln-Dun took a deep breath and stashed his pistol beneath his shirt before he led them along a series of winding streets. They crossed boulevards and back alleys running parallel to the Rim overlooking the Depths before finally taking a small, little-used path behind someone’s house down into a narrow hallway cut into the very rock of the plateau.

They descended rapidly into the cool stone passage, the steps becoming impossibly steep, and only a quick pinch of powder snorted in each nostril gave Vlora enough night vision to see what she was doing. She heard the others preparing themselves likewise. At the front, Meln-Dun seemed to navigate confidently despite the pitch-black, and behind her Olem kept a hand on her belt, cursing from time to time as he stubbed a toe or bashed his elbow on the side of the quarry.

Their descent was arrested suddenly as Meln-Dun stopped to fiddle with a door, and a moment later they were on flat ground once again.

“Ground,” Vlora corrected herself, wasn’t the word for it. They had certainly not gone all the way to the bottom of Greenfire Depths, and as they walked down what appeared to be plastered hallways, their footsteps echoed like they were tramping along the scaffolding of a tenement construction site and felt only slightly more stable.

This appeared to be some sort of highway, and despite the twists and turns the corridor remained wide with small shop windows along either side and the occasional Palo family sitting along the walls with a gas lamp, taking a late meal or enjoying gossip with the neighbors. For the most part Vlora’s small group was ignored, and when they reached the next junction she asked Meln-Dun about it.

“We’re in what we call the Cobweb right now,” he explained. “Suspended fifty feet above the floor of the Depths, some of these halls span the entire length of the quarry. It’s much safer up here, but Kressians are never allowed.” He put an emphasis on “never” and Vlora lowered the brim of her hat slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

They continued on for what felt like miles until Meln-Dun suddenly held up a hand. They came to a stop behind him. The Cobweb was much more active here, even more active than the streets up on the plateau, and the group had begun to receive more than one curious glance. Things were even better lit here, too.

“What’s going on?” Vlora asked, gesturing for Olem to drop back with Norrine to watch their rear.

Meln-Dun pointed through an arched passage to a door a little farther on. “We’re getting close to the Yellow Hall. Mama Palo’s men patrol this area heavily. We’re going to have to go down now, but we may encounter guards, starting just behind that door.”

Vlora gestured to Davd, tapped her eyes, and pointed at the door. The young powder mage crossed the hall quickly, slinging his blunderbuss over his shoulder, and pressed gently on the door. Vlora counted to five, then followed.

Just inside lay a Palo man in a pale green uniform, slumped on his side. Davd tapped the side of the man’s head. “He’ll live, but he’ll have a pit of a headache when he wakes up.”

“Let’s be in and gone before he does,” Vlora said.

They were joined by the others, and Meln-Dun frowned at the unconscious Palo. “Those are the uniforms Mama Palo’s personal guard wear. You shouldn’t leave them alive.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Vlora responded, feeling a bit peeved. Meln-Dun was a businessman, but in her experience the strangest people could get overtaken by bloodlust when they had power over others. “There’s no reason to kill him. Let’s keep moving.”

They descended two more levels down a narrow staircase, then a ladder, before Meln-Dun stopped them again. “We’re here.”

“Already?” Vlora asked.

“That was quick,” Norrine commented.

Meln-Dun tossed aside a carpet to reveal a trapdoor. “We won’t be able to come back this way,” he said.

Vlora found out why a moment later. Below the door was a ten-foot drop to what appeared to be old clay shingles. She had a moment of confusion before she finally chuckled. “We’re above the Yellow Hall. That’s the original roof, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Meln-Dun answered. “The Cobweb was built above and around everything that existed in Greenfire Depths before, with the exception of some of the houses near the working quarries.”

“Is that roof going to hold us?” Norrine asked.

Vlora glanced down into the darkness. “I hope so.”

Davd went first, dropping down onto the clay shingles, scrabbling for purchase before getting a good footing. Vlora tossed down his weapons, then her own, and lowered herself down from the trapdoor by her arms before letting go. Davd caught her, helping her get her footing, before aiding the rest of the group down. Norrine came last, lowering the trapdoor gently onto her fingers before taking the drop.

They spread out across the roof, checking their weapons in the darkness before creeping along to the very edge of the shingles. Vlora could sense a steep drop below her – probably three stories or more – and wondered how they were going to get down. She and the other mages could make that jump without suffering damage, but Olem and Meln-Dun would break a leg.

Meln-Dun provided the answer a moment later, showing them to a small belfry that rose above the roof. Vlora joined them just as a few sharp words broke out.

“You’ve been planning this,” Davd hissed.

Meln-Dun recoiled. Vlora shushed Davd and turned to Meln-Dun, only to find the Palo was not denying the accusation. “What does he mean?” she asked him.

“I mean,” Davd answered, “all of this. The roof, the trapdoor, this belfry. He had to have planned this out well ahead of time.”

“Don’t mind me,” Olem whispered. “Can’t see a damn thing because I’m not a bloody powder mage. I’ll just stand here in the dark until you’ve got this sorted out.”

“He’s been planning this,” Davd insisted.

Vlora glanced quizzically at Meln-Dun before remembering that he couldn’t see in the dark, either. He was doing all this by feel. “Well?” she asked.

“I…” There was an uncomfortably long pause, then Meln-Dun said in a defeated tone, “I’ve considered the need to remove Mama Palo for several months. She’s been getting worse, more erratic, harder to negotiate with. I knew something would have to be done. I planned out this route several weeks ago, thinking I would be bringing Blackhats or Palo mercenaries in here to assassinate Mama Palo.”

“Assassinate” was a dangerous word for a businessman. The idea bothered Vlora, but she thrust it aside. It turned out Meln-Dun was using them just as much as she was using him, and somehow that made her feel a little less guilty. “It’s too late to quibble now. Get us through here.”

“The belfry is boarded up from the inside. We’ll have to break through it.”

Davd thumped on the boards. “That feels pretty tight.”

“It’s going to make a pit of a lot of noise,” Olem warned.

Vlora vacillated for a moment. She might be able to drop down and find another way in, then make her way back up to pry the boards off from the inside. But the Yellow Hall was an enormous house, and she could just as easily get herself lost and cornered. More important than staying silent was staying together.

“The belfry leads into the old master suite,” Meln-Dun said. “It’s where Mama Palo lives and holds court.”

“We’re above her court right now?” Vlora demanded.

“Yes.”

“Making a damned racket. They probably already know there’s someone up here.” Vlora reached out with her senses, trying to find everyone within a hundred yards with the slightest bit of powder on them. She felt her other mages doing the same. Immediately below them there were concentrations of powder that amounted to three armed men. A fourth and fifth were coming up the stairs to the second floor of the Yellow Hall and beyond that… well, she lost count at thirty.

Mama Palo had a lot of bodyguards.

“Right,” Vlora said, readying her pistol. “Davd, knock it in.”

Davd backed up and took a running start, throwing himself against the boarded window of the belfry. There was a mighty crash and he disappeared in a swirl of dust. Vlora followed him through, helping him to his feet, while Norrine, Olem, and Buden rushed down the stairs with weapons at the ready. There was another crash as they forced a door below, and then a torrent of shouting in Adran, Palo, and Kez.

Vlora leapt down the stairs, blinking as she entered a brightly lit room. The walls were made of the same yellow limestone as the rest of the hall and decorated with candelabras and tapestries. The light came from lamps fed by haphazardly strung gas lines, and Vlora pulled up to find herself looking down the barrels of three pistols as well as the blades of another two swords.

There were five men, not three, and she suspected they would be joined by many more within a few moments.

The five Palo guards wore pale green uniforms and looked angry and startled, their faces red, fingers pulling triggers that wouldn’t respond. Vlora could sense Norrine suppressing the powder in the pans, keeping the pistols from firing.

“Stop!” Vlora said, drawing her sword. “There’s no need for bloodshed.” She hoped to pit that they understood Adran, because her Palo was terrible. “We’re here for Mama Palo. No one has to get hurt.”

Behind the five men Vlora spotted an old woman lounging on a divan in the center of the room. She had a regal bearing, her chin held high, and she wore faded old buckskins and no jewelry like the Palo one might find deep in the Tristan Basin. She looked to be well into her seventies, hands shaking with rheumatism, and Vlora had a sudden pang of guilt.

This was who was causing so much trouble? This was who Vlora had come for? Could she bring herself to drag an old woman to the Blackhats and watch her hang?

The old woman seemed unafraid, even dismissive. “Kill them,” she said in Palo.

That Vlora understood. “Keep the noise down!” Vlora hissed, sidestepping a sword thrust and drawing the tip of her own smallsword across a Palo’s throat.

Mama Palo’s bodyguards were good. Very good. Within moments Vlora could tell that they were trained fighting men, and the fact they lasted longer than half a breath against four powder mages was a miracle in and of itself. But they didn’t last long, and only Buden wound up with a slice along his arm for their efforts and five dead or dying Palo soon lay on the floor.

“Davd, get the door,” Vlora said, motioning toward the entrance. She could hear feet pounding in the hallways outside, and Davd and Olem reached it in time to throw their weight against several people trying to shove their way in. “Buden, clean yourself up. Norrine, secure the old woman. Wait, where…” Vlora’s question was choked off in midsentence as she turned toward Mama Palo’s divan.

Mama Palo knelt beside it, speaking frantically in Palo, hands in the air. Meln-Dun held his pistol against her head, and he pulled the trigger before Vlora could order him to stand down.

Vlora’s instincts were faster than her tongue, and the powder in the pan of the pistol sizzled briefly but did not take as she reached out with her senses and suppressed the blast. She crossed the room in three strides and snatched the pistol away from Meln-Dun, tossing it to Norrine. “No! I made it clear we’re taking her in.”

She was surprised to see real hate in Meln-Dun’s eyes. He sneered down at the old woman. “She deserves to die.”

“Perhaps. But she’s going to hang – this will be state justice, not ours.”

“And that makes it better?”

“It has to,” Vlora spat, “or else we’re all just animals.”

“The Blackhats will torture her. This is a kindness.”

The statement brought Vlora up short as she realized he was probably right. She’d just been asking herself if she could hand an old woman over to face the noose, and she’d decided in a flash that she could. She had, after all, lost good men to Mama Palo’s people. But to hand an old woman over to the Blackhat torturers? “I’m not here to do a kindness.” She put herself between Meln-Dun and Mama Palo and helped the old woman to her feet. “Do you speak Adran?” She repeated the question again for Kez. Mama Palo ignored her.

“She speaks Adran and Kez just fine,” Meln-Dun spat.

“You,” Vlora said to him, pointing to the other side of the room. “Over there. And you, Mama Palo, are under arrest in the name of the Lady Chancellor for crimes against the state.”

“Is it a crime to want to be free?” the old woman said in perfect Adran.

“In this country? Most definitely.” Vlora handed the old woman over to Norrine, then joined Davd and Olem by the door. There was a steady thumping on the other side, and the latch had already broken. The wood itself would give way at any moment. “Hold!” Vlora shouted. “We’ve got Mama Palo. If you want her to see the dawn, you’ll let us out of here peacefully!”

The thumping stopped, until Mama suddenly shouted something in Palo. There was an answering yell, and then the thumping redoubled.

“She told them to kill us no matter what happens to her,” Meln-Dun reported.

“Norrine, keep her quiet!”

“Perhaps,” Olem said, grunting as a particularly hard blow on the door almost threw him on his ass, “you shouldn’t have told her we’re handing her over to the Blackhats.”

Davd began swearing colorfully when a jagged bit of the door splintered off and buried itself in his shoulder. “Here,” Vlora said, taking his place. “Meln-Dun, what exactly was your plan to get out of here?”

“My plan was to kill Mama Palo and show her head to her guards. To take power.”

“That actually works?” Davd asked.

“That’s awfully tribal for a businessman,” Olem said.

“Power is all they understand.” Meln-Dun’s voice was cold, angry, and for a moment he seemed like an entirely different person.

Vlora had a pang of doubt, wondering if she’d backed the wrong horse, before casting it aside. Too late now. “I think you underestimate your own people. You would have just gotten yourself killed very slowly.”

“This door has seconds left,” Olem hissed.

“All right. So much for not making any noise.” Vlora closed her eyes, focusing on the powder that she sensed just outside the door. There were at least seven people out there, and she found their powder and, with a thought, ignited it. She used her sorcery to warp the blasts, containing it, focusing the explosions in small spaces to minimize the chance of starting a fire.

The blasts rattled the ceiling, causing plaster dust to sprinkle on their shoulders. The thumping stopped, and Olem immediately leapt away from the door, jerking it open, his pistol at the ready.

There were a lot more than seven people in the hall. At least nine had been killed by the blast, and another eight milled around, mouths open, fingers in ears as they tried to get back their hearing. The closest drew his sword, but Olem put a bullet in his chest. Vlora shot a second, and then Davd forced his way between them and a roar of his blunderbuss put the rest of the hall on their backs.

The hallway was a bloody mess of mangled bodies and crying, moaning wounded. Vlora forced herself to ignore the carnage. “Quickly,” she said, leading her mages down the hall. She felt powder moving toward them and ignited it, using the same technique to warp the blast inward. She felt her energy ebb slightly with every effort, the sorcery bleeding away at her reserves in little jumps as she used it.

They cleared three more halls and made the ground floor, where Meln-Dun examined the latest carnage with an edge of disgust. “I thought you said no killing.”

“I said I didn’t want to kill,” Vlora snapped back. “Maybe if you had a better exit strategy we wouldn’t have to.” She swore, furious with both Meln-Dun for his half-wit plan and with herself for agreeing to it so eagerly. She’d been too desperate to spare her men a fight.

Three men with swords faced them in the main hall where Vlora had attended the party less than a week before. She took them alone, snorting powder for a fresh trance before carving through them as quickly as she was able, making it as painless as possible. These men, unlike the ones upstairs, were clumsy and overenthusiastic. They never stood a chance.

She would have preferred to disable and move on, but her training was not in that kind of combat.

As Ben Styke had told her, she was a killer.

They fought through another six guards before getting out of the Yellow Hall. Meln-Dun led them down several side corridors before finding stairs to take them up, assuring them that the Cobweb gave them a far better chance of escape than being on the ground.

Vlora lagged behind, checking and rechecking her men with every step. Both Davd and Buden were wounded, and Norrine practically had to carry Mama Palo, but they were all present and accounted for. They reached the Cobweb, where Olem dispatched a Palo in a pale green uniform, and then they were running along the same corridor that had brought them to the Yellow Hall.

They made it all the way to their exit unopposed, and Vlora almost shouted with joy when she saw starlight overhead and they came out on the Rim. She looked back on the uneven lights of Greenfire Depths, her heart thumping hard.

They had made it. Six men in and six men out, and they had snatched Mama Palo from the very heart of her power. The old woman threw herself to the ground, forcing Norrine to lift her like a sack of potatoes and toss her over a shoulder. The sight angered Vlora, and she found herself wishing the old woman would go with some dignity.

It would certainly be more convenient.

Vlora didn’t know how many Palo they had slaughtered on the way out. At least forty, she estimated. The poor bastards probably didn’t know what hit them, and she wondered if there was any way to keep her name out of the entire affair.

A powder mage in Greenfire Depths? They would have to know it was her.

The Blackhats were waiting outside the gates of Loel’s Fort. Vlora escorted Mama Palo into the back of the Blackhat prison wagon herself, and watched as a silent pair of Iron Roses locked the door. There was a whole company on guard, almost as many as they’d brought for Ben Styke. She searched their chests until she saw the dangling medallion of a Bronze Rose.

“Where’s Michel Bravis?” she asked. “He was supposed to be here.”

“Agent Bravis is busy,” the Bronze Rose responded. “He’ll be pleased about this, though. We’ve been working a long time to bring this bitch in.”

Vlora bit her tongue, then couldn’t help but ask, “What’s going to happen to her?”

The Bronze Rose’s eyebrows went up. “An example, that’s what.”

“Torture?” Olem asked, a dangerous note to his voice. He didn’t like the prospect any more than Vlora did. She reached out in the darkness to gently touch his hand in warning.

“Nah,” the Bronze Rose said with a note of regret. “She’s going to hang within days. The grand master doesn’t want any chance of a rescue attempt or riots. For the best, I suppose.”

“For the best,” Vlora echoed, allowing herself a silent sigh of relief.

The Blackhats were gone within moments, and Vlora found herself watching until the prison wagon was out of sight. She wondered about how quickly it had all gone. An hour ago Mama Palo had been challenging Lindet herself for control of a significant part of Landfall, and now she was just another criminal ready for the noose.

All thanks to Vlora and her mages. It soured her stomach a little, and she needed somewhere to spit, and a drink to get the bad taste out of her mouth.

“Lady Flint.”

Vlora looked up to find Meln-Dun beside her. The anger and spite the Palo had shown during the kidnapping was gone, replaced with his normal placid calm. She wondered whether she’d seen a truer side to him, or if the stress of the mission had brought out something dark. The latter was not unheard-of.

“Well done,” she told him.

“To you as well. I can’t thank you enough, Lady Flint. It may take a week or two to calm things down in the Depths, but I’ll have my people begin a purge of Mama Palo’s followers immediately. I think a time of peace and prosperity is due in Landfall.”

“I certainly hope so,” Vlora answered. “And you’ll be able to get your family back safe?”

“Yes, I believe so. I’ll see to that tonight.”

Vlora raised her eyebrows as Meln-Dun turned to leave. “Do you need an escort?”

“Ah,” Meln-Dun said, “I don’t think so. With the chaos of Mama Palo’s disappearance I should be able to rally my own forces without trouble. Thank you again, Lady Flint. You have my gratitude.”

The Palo businessman left by the main gate, leaving Vlora alone in the muster yard as her mages had gone to tend to their wounds.

Well, not quite alone.

Olem stood beside her, a weighing look in his eyes as he watched Meln-Dun leave. He wore a small frown, and tapped an unlit cigarette against his lip. The night was suddenly quiet within the fort, muted sounds of a city at sleep drifting over the walls. It was so peaceful that Vlora wondered if the entire raid had been a dream.

“This went off without a hitch,” she said quietly. “Why do I feel shitty?”

“Having to kill a whole lot of people is a pretty large hitch,” Olem answered. A match flared to life, and a moment later she smelled cigarette smoke.

“But I’m a bloody mercenary. I’ve killed hundreds of people. Maybe thousands. This shouldn’t bother me.”

“You’re a killer,” Olem agreed, “but you’re a decent person.”

The two statements seemed mutually exclusive to her. “Do you think about the people you’ve killed?”

“Seems like a pretty good path to madness.”

There was a brief pause. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Olem sighed. “Sometimes. I try not to.”

“Same here.” Vlora looked out the gate, hoping that Mama Palo would make it to the noose unmolested. She may have been the enemy, but she was an old lady who had the guts to challenge the most powerful woman on this continent. That was something Vlora had to respect.

She intertwined her fingers with Olem’s and said, “I’m sick of this place. Let’s leave.”

“I think,” Olem responded, “we should get paid first.”