“What’ll we do?” Cole asked Kurtz.
“Do?” Kurtz took a deep breath. “I suppose we’ll go watch. Show our support for Lord Livna, eh?”
Mistel didn’t think she could watch two men try to kill each other and one of them succeed.
Cole grabbed Kurtz’s arm. “Unless we go to the harbor instead.”
“Why would we go—ah!” Kurtz slapped Cole on the back. “I bet it’ll be real quiet at the harbor tomorrow at high sun.”
Cole winked at Mistel, which made her stomach flutter. “Exactly.”
The next day, as Mistel rode Bart alongside Cole and Kurtz down an empty street near the harbor, the wind carried the reek of brine and fish guts.
“It’s so quiet,” Cole said.
The city had gone still, as if holding its breath. Mistel knew why.
“Do you think Lord Livna will win?” she asked.
“Most certainly,” Kurtz said.
Mistel hoped so. “We haven’t been here long, but I’ve seen enough of Sir Fenris and his Howlers to know that things would be bad if he wins.”
“He won’t win,” Kurtz said.
“From what Merrygog said, the Howlers are more conquerors than soldiers,” Mistel said, “taking whatever they want, leaving fear behind them. He said they would hold this city hostage more than protect it.”
“They’re a bunch of biters, they are,” Kurtz said, “but Fenris is not going to win, eh?”
“How do you know?” Cole asked.
Mistel waited anxiously for Kurtz to answer.
“Because while Fenris spent all those years on Ice Island, Eric was training. He’s been training since he could lift a sword. There are few who fight better, and while Fenris was taught by the best, too, the years he spent in prison will have weakened him.”
“It didn’t weaken you,” Cole said.
Kurtz yanked down the neckline of his tunic, bearing a slashing scar across his collarbone. “This is proof of my weakness,” he snapped. “If I’d been the top of my game in the Battle of Armonguard, I wouldn’t have gotten hit.”
Mistel glanced at Cole. The war had left him battle bruised. Perhaps it had left its mark on Kurtz as well. She nudged Bart after them.
When they reached Thusk’s warehouse, Mistel found the building unremarkable—long, low, and rectangular, with a sagging thatch roof. No guards. No workers.
“Looks like even Thusk’s men abandoned their posts to watch the duel,” Kurtz said.
Just as they had hoped. The place was theirs.
Still, as Kurtz led them down the side of the building, Mistel couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might see them and tell Thusk. Thankfully, the nearby houses showed no sign of life.
They tied their horses to a fence that separated the warehouse from a row of small family homes and approached the building.
Cole squinted at the walls, hands on his hips. “No runes,” he said.
Mistel frowned. “That’s strange. Why wouldn’t Thusk want to shield this place from bloodvoicers?”
Kurtz crouched by a side door, drew his boot knife, and slid the blade into the lock. A few deft twists, and the latch gave way with a quiet click.
They slipped inside.
