He looked up as footsteps sounded outside the room. There was a pause, then Tayend peered around the archway. His eyes narrowed.

“Who are you, and where is the real Lord Dannyl?”

Dannyl frowned and shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw your desk.” The scholar entered the room and stared at Dannyl with mock suspicion. “It’s tidy.”

“Ah.” Dannyl chuckled. “I’ll explain in a moment. Sit down. Yerak is waiting and I’m too hungry for explanations right now.”

As Tayend sat down, Dannyl sent a little magic toward the dinner gong, sending the ringer gently tapping on the disc.

“You went to the Guild today?” Tayend asked.

“Yes.”

“New books?”

“No, I had a meeting with Administrator Osen.”

“Really? What about?”

The door from the kitchens opened, saving Dannyl from answering. Servants filed in with steaming platters and bowls of food. Dannyl and Tayend filled their plates and began eating.

“What did you do today?” Dannyl asked, between mouthfuls.

The scholar shrugged, then related a story he’d been told by another expatriate Elyne that he’d visited that morning, about some Vindo roet smugglers who’d sampled their wares and been found delirious and naked beside a river.

“So what did Administrator Osen have to say?” Tayend asked when the plates had been cleared away.

Dannyl paused, then drew in a deep breath. I can’t put it off any longer. He looked at Tayend and made his expression serious.

“He said that there weren’t any other applicants for the position of Guild Ambassador to Sachaka, so it was very likely I’d be given the position.”

Tayend blinked, then his mouth fell open. “Ambassador?” he repeated. “Sachaka? You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

Looking away, Tayend’s eyes began to blaze with excitement. “I’ve never been to Sachaka! And there isn’t even a sea journey involved.”

Dannyl shook his head. “You’re not going, Tayend.”

“Not going?” Tayend turned to stare at him. “Of course I’m going!”

“I wish I could take you, but…” Dannyl spread his hands. “All visitors to Sachaka must be approved, either by the Guild or their king.”

“I’ll apply to my king, then.”

Dannyl shook his head again. “No, Tayend. I… I’d rather you didn’t. Firstly, it’s a dangerous country and while magicians and most traders return alive, nobody knows yet how Sachakans will react to a non-magician noble venturing into their land.”

“Then we’ll find out.”

“There’s also decorum to consider. As far as I’ve been able to discover, Sachakans are neither accepting of lads, nor in a habit of putting us to death. They consider us low status, however, and they often refuse to deal with people they consider too far below them in the social hierarchy. That’s not going to be helpful in my role, or in my search for historical records.”

“They won’t find out, if we’re discreet,” Tayend said. Then he frowned and turned to glare at Dannyl. “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? More research!”

“Of course. Did you think I’d suddenly manifested a desire to be an Ambassador again, or live in Sachaka?”

Tayend rose and began to pace the room. “It makes sense now.” He stopped. “How long does the position go for?”

“Two years, but I can return early if necessary. And to visit home.”

Resuming his pacing, Tayend tapped his chin with one finger. Suddenly he scowled.

“Who is going to be your assistant?”

Dannyl smiled. “Lord Lorkin has expressed an interest.”

Tayend’s shoulders relaxed. “Well, that’s a relief. He won’t have seduced you into leaving me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Oh, Sonea’s son has quite a reputation among the ladies now – since that thing with that girl blew over. Probably highly exaggerated, as always. But there’s more than a few who’d like to find out for themselves.”

Dannyl felt a twinge of curiosity. “Really? So why haven’t they?”

“Apparently he’s choosy.”

Dannyl leaned back in his chair. “So will I have to keep an eye on him in Sachaka or not?”

A sly look stole over the scholar’s face. “I could watch over him. It would free you up to do your research.”

“No, Tayend.”

Anger and frustration crossed Tayend’s face, then he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a huff.

“You had better change your mind,” he said. “And you should also know that if you fail to change your mind I’ll…” He paused, then straightened his shoulders. “Then you might find I am no longer here, when you return to Kyralia in two years.”

Dannyl stared at his lover, suddenly unsure what to say. His heart had lurched at the threat, but something made him stay silent. Perhaps it was the fact that Tayend wasn’t trying to persuade him to stay. He only wanted the chance to go on another adventure.

The scholar gazed back at him, eyes wide. Then he shook his head, turned and strode out of the room.

Reaching out to touch the wall, Cery felt a wry affection. Once, the old outer city defences had been a symbol of the division between rich and poor – a barrier beyond which, after the Purge had driven all the homeless and the occupants of overcrowded safehouses out of the city and into the slums each winter, only Thieves and their friends could pass.

Now it was meaningless to Imardians except as a lingering reminder of the past. It formed part of the structure of one of Cery’s properties, this time a sprawling storehouse for importers to keep their wares, both legal and smuggled. There were still a few entrances to the underground network of passages known as the Thieves’ Road, but they were rarely used. He’d kept them only as possible escape routes, but these days a Thief using the Road was as likely to meet trouble as escape it.

Cery moved away from the wall and sat down. He had decided that the well-appointed apartment on the second floor of the storehouse was as good a place to settle as any. Returning to his old hideout was unthinkable. Even if it hadn’t contained painful memories, it clearly hadn’t been secure enough. Not that any of his other hideouts were better protected, but there was a chance, at least, that their location wasn’t known by his family’s killer.

But he had no intention of hiding away. As always, every time he ventured out into the city, whether in his own district or not, someone could attack him. Which made him wonder if he was wrong to assume he had been the killer’s true target.

No. Even though they waited until I was gone to kill my family, the true target was me. Selia and the boys had no enemies.

His chest constricted at the thought of them, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Somehow he took that suffocating grief and channelled it into something else: a deep, growing fury. If the killer or killers, or their employer, had intended to hurt Cery they had succeeded. And they were going to pay for it. Which meant it was more important to find out who had killed his family, and why, than how they’d managed to discover and break into his rooms.

He took a few long, deep breaths. Gol had suggested the Thief Hunter might have killed them, but Cery dismissed the idea. The legendary vigilante did not target the families of Thieves, or kill them to hurt Thieves. He only killed Thieves.

A faint chiming reached his ears in a pattern he recognised, so he rose and moved to a tube protruding from the wall, and placed his ear to it. The voice that echoed within was distorted, but recognisable. Cery moved around the room pulling levers and turning knobs until a section of wall swivelled open. Gol stepped inside.

“How did it go?” Cery asked, moving back to his chair. Gol took the seat opposite and rubbed his hands together.

“There are rumours about already. Don’t know if one of our lot let it slip or the knife’s been boasting.” Cery nodded. Some assassins liked to own up to their high-profile targets, as it demonstrated how clever they were. “I doubt Anyi would say anything,” Gol added.