bay. He felt the grip lift, heard retreating steps as he raised his hands and
pulled the blindfold off. The bay whickered softly. A trio of cloaked figures
went rapidly down the alley, one more than had brought him; the third would be
the man who had kept the horse safe in the interval.
He walked over and patted the bay’s neck, finding his hands shaking. Not from
any fear of violence. Even Vis’s personal grudge did not do that to him. It was
himself. It was knowing what he had done.
He took the reins and swung up to the bay’s back, reined about to ride out of
the alley and caught his balance as the bay rose up under him: a cloaked shadow
had slipped round the comer in front of him.
“That horse isn’t hard to find,” Haught said as the bay walked backward and came
down on four feet again, still shying. Strat reined him out of it, and held him,
hand to the sword he had never given up.
“Damn you-“
Haught held up something between two fingers. “Calm yourself. She sent me. With
this.”
Strat reined the bay quieter, still too wary to bring his horse alongside a man
who might have a knife. He slid down to his own feet, keeping the reins in hand,
met the ex-slave on a level and took the object Haught offered at arm’s length.
A ring lay in his palm. It was Ischade’s.
“She wants you-not at the uptown house tomorrow. Stay away. Come to the
riverhouse. After midnight.”
He closed his hand on the ring. A shudder ran through him with a reaction he had
no wish to betray to the slave’s amusement. He kept his face cold and his voice