As soldiers swarmed Kurtz, Cole drifted aside, unsure what to do. They had the keys, but as guards dragged Kurtz out of the hall, Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that their mission had failed.
Despair was a fool’s companion. Cole reminded himself of that as he paced outside Lord Livna’s office, unsure what Kurtz was facing inside. Should he knock? Enter? Break down the door? Acting in haste was folly, but doing nothing felt like surrender.
Three of the Fifteen approached—Thakkar the Berland warrior, golden-haired Lysander, and Wroxton the refined. They stopped beside Cole, each so fierce and deadly he felt dwarfed.
“They still in there?” Thakkar asked.
“Yes,” Cole said.
“Those detestable Howlers deserve their fate,” Wroxton said. “My sister, Rixie, harbors no trust in them, but many in town do. In our absence, they’ve fashioned themselves as heroes.”
Lysander’s golden hair shifted as he tilted his head. “I don’t much like their way of being heroes. Wearing scalps like trophies.”
“How in flames are we to assert authority when—” Thakkar straightened and lowered his voice. “My lady.”
Lysander and Wroxton darted aside, clearing the way as Lady Viola approached the door. Despite her petite stature, she carried herself with such grace and authority that the soldiers stood down as if commanded.
“Is the brawler inside?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady,” Thakkar said.
Her sharp gaze fell on Cole. “Who are you?”
“His friend, madam,” he said, grateful to be a few inches taller—though if looks could wound, he’d be in trouble.
One sculpted eyebrow rose. “Friend of the brawler? Did you fight in my great hall too?”
“No, madam.”
She pursed her lips, managing to look down her nose at Cole.
The door opened, and the burly man who’d dragged Kurtz into Lord Livna’s office escorted him out. Praise Arman! Now they could get back to the Ivory Spit.
Kurtz grinned at the crowd. “Quite the reception,” he said. “Good evening, my lady.”
“Master Dunn, what recourse has Lord Livna placed upon this man?” Lady Viola asked.
“Just that he stay out of trouble, m’lady,” said the burly bear—Dunn apparently.
Lady Viola’s expression remained unreadable, though Cole swore her eyes frosted over. “Detain them both,” she said.
“But we’re leaving,” Cole said. “We don’t want to make trouble.”
“You should have thought of that before starting a brawl at my banquet,” she said. “As lady of this house, I believe a night in the dungeon will help the lesson take root.”
Seriously? She was contradicting Lord Livna?
Cole glanced around. Thakkar scowled at the floor, Wroxton grimaced, and Lysander Thane frowned over Lady Viola’s head. Only Master Dunn bowed obediently.
“Yes, my lady. Master Thane, would you take the boy?”
Cole’s face burned as Lysander gripped his arm. “This way, boy.” He winked, leading Cole down the hall.
Behind them, Kurtz chuckled, as if a night in the dungeon were an old joke. “Lady Viola, allow me to explain. You see, Fenris Yarden—Get off, Dunn!”
Cole glanced back. Dunn had pulled Kurtz along, while Lady Viola’s withering stare followed them.
“I trust your hospitality includes clean straw?” Kurtz yelled.
