Loren didn’t go anywhere without a weapon.
As the catch released, the hidden blade jumped out of hisheel.
Mayda gasped.
“Speak one word, you’re the first cut I make,” Loren warned,not looking at her.
He hadn’t the time.
He transferred his other boot to his opposite knee andrepeated these actions.
The blades were broad in width, blunt in length, withrazor-sharp edges that came to a point.At the end of the short shaft was not ahandle but a narrow rod that went side to side.
With a twist and click, the blade was at crosses with therod.
Loren curled his fists around the rods, the bladesprotruding through his fingers.
He did this with his hands in front of him, his back to thevarious views to the room.
And he curled his hands carefully into the sleeves of hiscoat as he walked to the door.
He heard a noise, a wordless call.
His advance on the exit was noted.
The order was made.
Therefore, he was not surprised when the door burst open andtwo of Winnow’s large, lugubrious henchmen entered the room.
“Leaving without paying,your grace?”the one inthe lead asked snidely.
“You return the wallet one of your staff lifted from mycoat, I’d be happy to do so,” Loren drawled.
“We don’t operate that way at Avon,” came the reply.“And wedon’t give pussy away for free.”
This was tiresome.
It always was.
He was rich.
He was titled.
His father was richer.
And his title was better.
Loren was not at fault for the happenstance of his birth.
But what never failed to infuriate him was that he knew justlooking at them that neither of these men had stood proud forHawkvale.
Neither of these men hunted the dying, but irritatinglyprolific, bands ofMiddlelandiantrue believers.
Neither of them found their fourteen-year-old scout with histhroat slit and a strip of his scalp taken as a prize.
Neither of them witnessed their best friend take an arrowthrough the throat.
Neither of them held his friend’s mother in their arms asshe wept when he returned her son’s possessions.
