awhile. We’ve got something on that’s just your style.”
“Critias,” said Ischade with more dignity than Strat would ever have, “we should
talk. No one has been hurt, no one has to be. You come-“
“-to get my partner. We can leave it at that.”
“And if he is unwilling to leave?”
“Doesn’t have squat to do with it. I’ve got responsibilities; so does he, even
if he’s forgotten them. I’m here to remind him. As for you, we can use you.
Come help out, and I’ll let you have your say-later. Right now, I’ve got
orders. So does he.” Critias gestured to Strat, who looked at Ischade and
could not, in front of Critias, plead with her for patience, for help, or
even for his partner’s life.
But Ischade didn’t strike Crit dead, or mesmerize him. She nodded primly and
said, “As you wish. Straton, take the bay horse. He’ll serve you well in this.
I’ll ride your dun. And we’ll give Critias what he wants-or what he thinks he
wants.” She turned then to Crit.
“And you, afterwards, will give me the courtesy of a hearing.”
“Lady, if any of us can hear anything after sunrise, I’ll be more than willing
to listen,” said Crit as Ischade raised a hand and Strat’s dun trotted toward
her.
Roxane had been waked abruptly from exhausted sleep when Niko lopped the head
from her finest minion-she would miss the bodyguard snake. And Stealth would
regret what he had done.
She’d paid a heavy price this evening; her thighs ached and her buttocks smarted
as she got out of her bed and felt her way through the dark.
Her Foalside home was small sometimes, large at others. Tonight, it was