Vera would do anything to help Clare, so she didn’t hesitate when Wilf asked her to relive everything she’d gone through, just in case there was some clue she’d missed in the things Salim had said, or the places they’d gone.
They sat at a corner table in the Black Scorpion’s common room. It was early enough in the day that there were no other patrons, though the innkeeper floated in and out while he restocked the bar. He didn’t speak much Devendran, though, so Vera wasn’t nervous about him overhearing anything.
Wilf and Vera sat across from each other at the small table, with the Rose on her left—still bound, thankfully—with two guards standing behind him. She didn’t like having the assassin so close to her, or hearing her experiences, but Wilf thought the Rose might be useful in deciphering clues from her story.
Venn sat on her right at the last seat at the table. He’d been a silent spectator as she spoke. His dark brows had been pulled low and tight over his guarded eyes as she recounted her time with Salim, but she could feel his fury. It seethed out of him, spiking whenever she spoke of the abuse or mistreatment she and Clare had suffered.
Wilf asked several questions, and Vera was grateful for his interruptions; it distracted her, which kept her from being swallowed by the horrible memories.
The Rose had questions as well, though Vera barely looked at him while answering. She kept her eyes on Wilf, pretending he’d been the one to interject. It was easier than facing her sister’s murderer—or Venn, who sat in stiff silence.
“Tell me the names of the mercenaries with him,” the Rose said.
Vera listed all the names she’d learned, and she couldn’t hold back a shiver when she uttered the last name: “Tariq.”
“Hmm,” the Rose mused, leaning back in his chair. The weight of his eyes on her profile made her tense.
“Why is Tariq interesting?” Wilf demanded.
“For a few reasons,” the assassin said. “He’s been one of Salim’s favorites for a long time, but he’s greedy and ambitious, which means Salim watches him closely.”
“What does that matter?” Venn asked, impatience thinning his words.
The Rose lifted one shoulder. “It proves that Salim wanted only his best men around him for this particular job. Which makes sense, seeing as abducting a princess is quite the undertaking. It also means Salim is being paidextremelywell if he’s using men who merit a bigger cut of the profits. So, your enemy is very wealthy. This isn’t some simple political machination, but an expensive attack by someone who can afford it.”
“A noble,” Wilf said.
“Or a royal.” The Rose turned his attention back to Vera. “As I said, Tariq is also greedy, and I’m certain he would have suggested a way to bring in more coin. I’m assuming you know what fate they planned for you?”
Her stomach dropped.
Venn’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
The Rose lifted the corner of his mouth. “She’s a pretty woman. You figure it out.”
The tension at the table increased tenfold as his words sunk in. Vera’s cheeks burned, and Venn’s expression darkened. Wilf’s eyes were thunderous.
The Rose eyed her. “Tariq likes blonde women. Did you two become acquainted?”
Venn stiffened.
Vera’s entire face flamed, and words were beyond her.
It was Wilf who bit out an actual response. “Shut up, assassin. Ask relevant questions, or I’ll lock you back upstairs.”
The Rose lifted an eyebrow. “I think Sir Grannard finds the questiondeeplyrelevant.”
Venn loosed a growl so deep it made the hairs on Vera’s arms lift.
The assassin grinned.
Vera ducked her head, but from the corner of her eye she saw Wilf gesture sharply to the men behind the Rose, who dragged him up from his chair.
“But we aren’t finished,” the assassin said.
“Youare,” Wilf snapped.
Vera surreptitiously watched as the Rose was shoved out of the common room and up the stairs. She expected the tension to dissipate with his absence, but it didn’t. In fact, the silence was scalding.
