Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

son.”
    She thought of the coin rattling inside the perfume jars and how it was a pittance compared to Thren’s wealth. Accepting might mean death, but the position was an incredible honor … as well as potentially lucrative in a way she could only have dreamed of.
    “I accept,” she said while bowing. “Humbly, and undeserving, I accept.”
    Thren’s hideout was not far, and though she needed rest, and though Thren insisted they talk soon, she had one matter she had to handle first. For years she’d indirectly sold information to Laurie Keenan. Should anyone find out—more important, should Thren find out…
    After grabbing what few things of hers she had at her old rented home in the deep south of the city, Kayla hurried back to the merchant district. She walked by Undry’s perfume shop, opened the door, and then continued without even slowing. Undry collapsed on the counter, scattering bottles of perfume and raising a horrendous stench. Deep in his fat breast lodged a dagger.
    When she returned to her room in Thren’s hideaway, she found a yellow rose lying on her pillow. Below it, formed out of twelve stones arranged just so, was the letter
H
.

CHAPTER
5
    I t seemed the nights had grown darker and silent over the past years, as the war between the thieves and the Trifect claimed more than its share of innocent casualties. Moonlit revelries had lost their allure, and most kept their drink and their women inside. No one wanted to be mistaken for either a member of the thief guilds or a turntail for the Trifect. Daggers and poison floated through the streets when the sun was set, and only those prepared to deal with them dared walk in the open.
    Yoren Kull was competent with a blade, but that was not why he walked with his head held high. It was because of the man who traveled with him, dressed in the black robes and silver sash of a priest of Karak. Officially, their kind was banned from the city. Unofficially, they made sure every king knew of their presence, and of the immediate death that would follow should he try to remove them. Yoren felt quite confident no one would dare harass him with a priest at his side.
    “When will we arrive at the temple?” Yoren asked. The priest responded in a soft voice honed by years of practiced control.
    “I am not taking you to the temple. If I were, you’d be blindfolded.”
    Yoren chuckled. He stood a bit straighter, as if insulted by the very notion. His left hand clutched his sword while his right straightened a few errant hairs hovering over his forehead. He was a handsome man, his skin smooth and bronze while his hair was a healthy blond. When he smiled, his golden teeth gleamed in the light of the torch the priest carried.
    “Forgive me for my false assumption,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I assumed meeting disciples of Karak would involve Karak’s actual temple.”
    “Our hallowed walls are sacred,” the priest said. “Discipleship to Karak involves a life combating this sinful world, and we do not tolerate weakness. Those whom you seek are not worthy of staying within the temple, despite their … insistence to their faith. You’ve asked for the most unruly of Karak, and so to them I bring you. Whatever you need them for, I pray it is worth it. Keep your sword sheathed. My presence may keep us safe, but if you draw steel, you alone will deal with the consequences.”
    Yoren had never been to Veldaren before, but so far he was hugely unimpressed. The enormous wall surrounding the city had seemed ominous, and the towering castle doubly so. The god Karak was rumored to have built them, and it seemed few argued otherwise. What was inside, however, seemed to almost mock the great walls and castle. Much of the southern district had slowly died off. King Vaelor had ordered all trading caravans to enter through the west gate, where the guards were thicker and the road easier to watch. Poor slums and weather-beaten homes had greeted Yoren when he entered from the south.
    The city improved near the center, but it was all wood-and-plaster buildings. Other than the sheer size, and a population of three hundred thousand men and women crammed together just begging to be exploited, Yoren saw little that would make him wish to live within the walls.
    “Where are we now?” he asked.
    “It is better you not know,” the priest said. “It would be dangerous for you to come again without my assistance.”
    After meeting him in the center of the city