A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

this girl's sister—'
    Felisin winced then snapped a glare on the ex-priest. 'You presume—'
    'He ain't presuming nothing,' growled the thug. 'Forget what's in the blood, what's supposed to be in it by your slant on things. This is the work of the Empress. Maybe you think it's personal, maybe you have to think that, being what you are—'
    'What I am?' Felisin laughed harshly. 'What House claims you as kin?'
    The thug grinned. 'The House of Shame. What of it? Yours ain't looking any less shabby.'
    'As I thought,' Felisin said, ignoring the truth of his last observation with difficulty. She glowered at the guards. 'What's happening? Why are we just sitting here?'
    The ex-priest spat again. 'The Thirsting Hour's past. The mob outside needs organizing.' He glanced up at her from under the shelf of his brows. 'The peasants need to be roused. We're the first, girl, and the example's got to be established. What happens here in Unta is going to rattle every noble-born in the Empire.'
    'Nonsense!' Lady Gaesen snapped. 'We shall be well-treated. The Empress shall have to treat us well—'
    The thug grunted a third time – what passed for laughter, Felisin realized – and said, 'If stupidity was a crime, lady, you would've been arrested years ago. The ogre's right. Not many of us are going to make it to the slave ships. This parade down Colonnade Avenue is going to be one long bloodbath. Mind you,' he added, eyes narrowing on the guards, 'old Baudin ain't going to be torn apart by any mob of peasants...'
    Felisin felt real fear stirring in her stomach. She fought off a shiver. 'Mind if I stay in your shadow, Baudin?'
    The man looked down at her. 'You're a bit plump for my tastes.' He turned away, then added, 'But you do what you like.'
    The ex-priest leaned close. 'Thinking on it, girl, this rivalry of yours ain't in the league of tattle-tails and scratch-fights. Likely your sister wants to be sure you—'
    'She's Adjunct Tavore,' Felisin cut in. 'She's not my sister anymore. She renounced our House at the call of the Empress.'
    'Even so, I've an inkling it's still personal.'
    Felisin scowled. 'How would you know anything about it?'
    The man made a slight, ironic bow. 'Thief once, then priest, now historian. I well know the tense position the nobility finds itself in.'
    Felisin's eyes slowly widened and she cursed herself for her stupidity. Even Baudin – who could not have helped but overhear – leaned forward for a searching stare. 'Heboric,' he said. 'Heboric Light Touch.'
    Heboric raised his arms. 'As light as ever, son.'
    'You wrote that revised history,' Felisin said. 'Committed treason—'
    Heboric's wiry brows rose in mock alarm. 'Gods forbid! A philosophic divergence of opinions, nothing more! Duiker's own words at the trial – in my defence, Fener bless him.'
    'But the Empress wasn't listening,' Baudin said, grinning. 'After all, you called her a murderer, and then had the gall to say she bungled the job!'
    'Found an illicit copy, did you?'
    Baudin blinked.
    'In any case,' Heboric continued to Felisin, 'it's my guess your sister the Adjunct plans on you getting to the slave ships in one piece. Your brother disappearing on Genabackis took the life out of your father ... so I've heard,' he added, grinning. 'But it was the rumours of treason that put spurs to your sister, wasn't it? Clearing the family name and all that—'
    'You make it sound reasonable, Heboric,' Felisin said, hearing the bitterness in her voice but not caring anymore. 'We differed in our opinions, Tavore and I, and now you see the result.'
    'Your opinions of what, precisely?'
    She did not reply.
    There was a sudden stirring in the line. The guards straightened and swung to face the Round's West Gate. Felisin paled as she saw her sister – Adjunct Tavore, now, heir to Lorn who'd died in Darujhistan – ride up on her stallion, a beast bred out of Paran stables, no less. Beside her was the ever-present T'amber, a beautiful young woman whose long tawny mane gave substance to her name. Where she'd come from was anyone's guess, but she was now Tavore's personal aide. Behind these two rode a score of officers and a company of heavy cavalry, the soldiers looking exotic, foreign.
    'Touch of irony,' Heboric muttered, eyeing the horse-soldiers.
    Baudin jutted his head forward and spat. 'Red Swords, the bloodless bastards.'
    The historian threw the man an amused glance. 'Travelled well in your profession, Baudin? Seen the seawalls of Aren, have