Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

empty, and already falling as if dropped from the ceiling. The clothes piled on the chair, looking like some strange joke. Veliana stared at them, her mouth open in shock. She’d thought the first time that she was delusional from her pain and trauma. This time she knew magic was at work.
    She picked up his shirt and shook it. Nothing. She used her dagger to shift his trousers from side to side. Still nothing. Curses on her lips, she turned to leave when something caught her eye.
    Crawling on the floor toward a small crack was an eight-inch black worm. As it flexed, she saw a thin cut along its side.
    “Not possible,” she said. No wonder he had been nicknamed the Worm. He’d probably given the name to himself to mock every single person he dealt with. Every joke about living in mud, digging through walls, listening with ears clogged with dirt … it was all true.
    It was almost to the crack. Veliana hurled her dagger, wanting to get nowhere near the strange creature. The dagger pierced the worm just above its midsection. It twisted and squirmed, its body cut in half. Still it crawled toward the crack, leaving its lower half behind.
    Veliana crushed it with her heel. Innards spurted across the floor. She held in a wave of vomit. It reminded her of when he had kissed her. She pulled the dagger free, wiped it clean on her pant leg, and then sheathed it. It took a couple kicks to get the worm body through the crack. The carcass was shockingly heavy for being only a worm.
    When done, she turned and saw the tavern keeper looking at her with wide eyes.
    “Burn the clothes,” Veliana said as she tossed him Gileas’s bag of coins. “Consider that ample payment for keeping your mouth shut.”
    With no time to waste, she hurried out the door. Everything was a mess. If the king knew of Thren’s plans for the Kensgold, then most likely the Trifect did too. That changed everything.
    Before she could worry about that, she had to deal with her most pressing danger: Thren knew where the Ash Guild had holed up to hide. Preparations for an assault would have already begun. Thren had long learned never to let an enemy last a second longer than necessary. She ran a list of safe houses through her mind, trying to decide which one James would flee to first.
    Faster and faster she ran, praying no guild member caught sight of her. Her guild was dying, and the scent of blood would bring every last cutpurse down on their heads.

CHAPTER
17
    W hen Aaron arrived in his father’s room, Kayla was already there, waiting.
    “As I was telling Kayla, this was a perfect hit,” Thren said to his son. “Delius is dead, in the middle of a crowd in daylight, no less. No one saw the killer. We’ve heard confused reports already claiming it was a man instead of a woman. The entire city knows I am responsible, but no court will ever judge me, no soldier will ever find me. That is how you send a message, my son. That is how you frighten a population, by showing that even with common knowledge of our guilt, their justice will never reach us.”
    “Yes, Father,” Aaron said. His voice was barely above a whisper. Thren noticed his subdued nature and then rubbed his chin. He stared into Aaron’s eyes, trying to decipher the reason.
    “The girl,” he asked. “Did you kill her?”
    Aaron shook his head. He almost lied. He wanted to claim she’d died, and that the trauma of killing a young girl in cold blood had left him ill. But he couldn’t. His entire insides chilled at the very thought of his father finding out he spoke a lie.
    “No,” he said, stealing a glance at Kayla. “She ran away while the crowd was still gathered. I failed.”
    Thren caught the glance and turned his attention to Kayla. She only shrugged as if she didn’t understand.
    “No matter,” Thren said. “Kayla, go fetch me one of our cutpurses. I don’t care who.”
    Aaron waited with his eyes downcast. His father never said a word.
    “You called for me?” asked a clean-shaven man with thick circles underneath his eyes. His black hair was cropped and pulled back into a ponytail.
    “I did. Aaron, this is Dustin. Have you met him before?”
    Aaron shook his head.
    “I don’t believe so.”
    “Look upon him,” Thren said to his son. “And listen carefully. Instead of spending time thieving, assaulting caravans, or working the streets, he will instead track your failed target. He will spend our money bribing men and women to find out the girl’s name and