Lord Livna led his wife down the aisle. They made a striking pair, both in their thirties, finely dressed, with dark hair and eyes—his skin pale, hers deep olive. They nodded and smiled at guests on their way to the front.
Cole used the distraction to study Renshaw Thusk. The thick fur cape hid much, but when Thusk turned to speak to a man at his table, Cole spotted a leather belt with a brown suede pouch on his left hip.
He saw no key ring. No other bulges.
Could the keys be in the pouch? Maybe he didn’t carry them around but left them with a steward or trusted assistant.
What would Cole do then?
The Livnas reached the dais, and Lord Livna seated his wife. The rest of his family—all women, Cole noted, including a tiny girl who could barely see over the table—were already seated. Behind them, a massive, polished carving of a dagfish hung on the wall.
When Lord Livna finally sat down, so did everyone else. Servants streamed in with trays, attending the high table first. It would be a while before the food reached them in the back.
Kurtz leaned in and whispered, “What do you make of Thusk?”
“I didn’t see a key ring, but he has a good-sized belt pouch,” Cole said.
“That must be it,” Kurtz said.
“Or he doesn’t bring keys with him,” Cole said.
Kurtz raised an eyebrow. “We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?”
Sure. But the thought of opening that huge man’s belt pouch made Cole queasy. Yet he hadn’t had a good meal since Achan’s wedding and intended to enjoy this one. When the food finally reached their table, he ate venison, fish, potatoes, carrots, and fresh bread.
After golden pudding was served, people lined up to greet Lord Livna on the dais—including Thusk. Cole moved down the aisle for a better look. The pouch was studded with brass facets, its front secured by a large brass latch. If he could turn it, he could reach inside.
He returned to Kurtz and Quimby and shared what he’d learned.
“Sounds good to me, it does,” Kurtz said. “I know how I’m going to make my distraction.”
“How?” Cole asked.
“See that man?” Kurtz nodded to a broad-shouldered blond man, hair knotted at the back of his head, who had just left the dais after speaking to Lord Livna. “That’s Fenris Yarden—one of the vilest men I’ve known. He was in the Prodotez when the king freed us. He and I don’t get along.”
“He’s also Lord Livna’s cousin,” Quimby said.
Cole frowned at the man, then at Kurtz. “Don’t get yourself hurt.”
“Bah! Fenris can’t hurt me. Much. That bloke behind him though…”
Cole eyed the towering, muscular man trailing Fenris—shaved head, thick knotted beard, and tunic fringed with what looked like ponytails.
“Are those…scalps?” he asked, slightly horrified by the sheer number.
“Looks to be,” Quimby said.
Fenris and his towering shadow approached Thusk.
“Follow my lead.” Kurtz started down the aisle. “If you get the prize, hand it off fast, eh?”
Cole nodded, breathing deeply to keep his dinner down. He was part of the Mârad now. He had to do his best.
Kurtz slowed, letting Fenris and the big man reach Thusk’s table. Cole’s stomach twisted. Fenris Yarden reminded him of his uncle Crispen, even the green eyes.
“Eben’s breath!” Kurtz exclaimed to a thin man across from Thusk. “Has anyone told Lord Livna he has a rat problem? Someone should—oh! Fenris”—he chuckled—“it’s only you.”
Fenris’s lip curled into a wicked grin. “Kurtz Chazir. I don’t know about rats, but isn’t a chazir a pig?”
