Daughter of the Blood

me for this assignment." While Dorothea may have chosen who would take on the task, it quickly became apparent that the assignment had come from the other. It was something he would keep in mind for the future.
    "He won't balk because you're the one explaining the terms of the agreement?" Dorothea said, glancing at his right arm. "His dislike for you is intense."
    Greer gave Dorothea an oily smile and turned his attention fully on the Dark Priestess. So. Even the choice of who hadn't been made by Hayll's High Priestess. "All the more reason for him to listen—particularly if I'm not pleased to be offering such generous terms. Besides, if he chooses to lie about what he knows, I may be able to detect it far better than one of the ambassadors who"—he put his left hand over his breast in an expression of sincerity—"although most highly qualified for their usual assignments are, regrettably, reluctant to deal with Sadi except in the most perfunctory ways."
    "You're not afraid of Sadi?" the Dark Priestess asked.
    Her girlish voice annoyed Greer because it was at odds with her deliberately concealed face and her attitude of being a dark, powerful force. No matter. Tonight he finally understood who really controlled Hayll. "I'm not afraid of Sadi," he said with a smile, "and it will give me great pleasure to see him dirty his hands with a child's blood." Great pleasure.
    "Very well. When can you leave?"
    "Tomorrow. I'll allow my journey to seem casual so that it will go unremarked. While I'm there, I'll take the opportunity of looking around their quaint little city. Who knows what I might find that would be of value to you Ladies."
    "Kartane's in Beldon Mor," Dorothea said as she refilled her wineglass. "No doubt he can save you a great deal of preliminary work. Contact him while you're there."
    Greer gave her another oily smile, bowed to them both, and left.
    "You don't seem pleased with the choice, Sister," Hekatah said as she drained her glass and stood to leave.
    Dorothea shrugged. "He was your choice. Remember that if it goes wrong." She didn't look up when Hekatah raised her hands and pulled the hood away from her face.
    "Look at me," Hekatah hissed. "Remember what I am."
    It always amazed Dorothea that the demon-dead didn't look any different from the living. The only distinction was the faint odor of meat beginning to spoil. "I never forget what you are," Dorothea said with a smile. Hekatah's eyes blazed with anger, but Dorothea didn't look away. "And you should remember who owns Sadi, and that it's my generosity and my influence over Prythian that's making your little game of vengeance possible."
    Hekatah flipped the hood back over her face and flung out one hand. The door opened with a crash, its brass knob embedded in the stone wall. With another hiss of anger, she was gone.
    Dorothea refilled her wineglass. She'd seen the slight sneer, the change in Greer's eyes after he'd met the Dark Priestess. But what was she anyway? A bag of bones that didn't know enough to fall to dust. A leech. A scheming little harpy who was still trying to get back at a man who cared for nothing in Terreille. Nothing at all. She wasn't sure she believed this story about a child the Priest was besotted with, wasn't sure what difference it made if he was. Let him have his toy. She'd thrown enough youths into the Dark Priestess's lair. Now the walking carrion wanted her to give up the use of Sadi for a hundred years, and as gratitude for Dorothea's willingness to make such an accommodation, was trying to sway her best servant, to make him untrustworthy.
    Very well. Let Greer fawn. The day would come when he would realize his error—and pay for it.
    Greer sat in a dark corner booth, sipping his second tankard of ale and watching the worn, weary faces of the men at the other tables. He could have gone to a tavern where he would have had a better dinner and the ale wouldn't have left an aftertaste of wash water in his mouth, but he would have had to smile and fawn over the Blood aristos that crowded a place like that. Here, because they were afraid of him, he had the table of his choice, the best cut of meat, and privacy.
    He drained the tankard and raised a finger at the barmaid who hurried to refill it for him, fending off roaming hands as she passed between the tables. Greer smiled. That, too, in this place, he could have for the asking.
    When he was sure everyone else was preoccupied, he lifted his right hand and laid it on the