“Sisyph,” they replied, the name a long hiss.
I nodded once and handed them each a contract. “Standard Level Five minion contracts. They detail your pay, room and board, and length of service—”
“Level Five?” Fyodor asked, one dark eyebrow raised. “Does the Council of Evil know you’re under-classifying your minions?”
I frowned. “I’m not under-classifying anyone. That’s what the advertisement was for, and that’s all I’m qualified to offer you.” Officially, I wasn’t qualified to offer them any level. Apprentices weren’t supposed to hire minions. But I’d already done much worse things that would put the council in a snit, including claiming my master’s title without their approval.
“You ripped a hole in time andspace.” The last word was almost lost in Sisyph’s hiss.
That wasn’t exactly what had happened, but it was close enough that I didn’t argue. “Yes, well, that’s a secret between you, me, and the other hundred minions who witnessed it. No need to bring the council into this.” Not that they could, anyway.
Fyodor considered a moment, then declared, “I decide on my people’s assignments.”
Was he upset that I’d put one of his orcs in my kitchen? “Aside from the one I assigned to the kitchens—”
“Gleb.”
“Aside from Gleb. I need him in the kitchens or the impswillset them on fire.”
Fyodor nodded briskly. “Understood.”
Sisyph’s eyes skated between us for a moment, then he declared, “Us too.”
The more they involved themselves in the lair’s care, the less I was responsible for. It’d allow me more time to focus on my plan. “Permission granted. All I ask is that you protect the lair inside and out.”
We made the necessary addendums, and they signed their contracts.
When it was my turn to sign, I paused. Technically, if I signed them as the Lord of Grimnight when I didn’t officially hold the title, they would be invalid, but the minions wouldn’t know that. It would be the kind of thing my old master would do.
I carefully and clearly signed ‘Wilde’, the only name I had any real claim to.
I may have taken my master’s title, but I wouldneverbe like him.
Chapter Ten: Wilde
Eight Days Later
Prince Fitzroy’s Private Residence
Researching Quests
The prince’s sitting room was perfectly designed for hours of reading. Chairs positioned for either conversation or to ignore each other as we fell deeper into our research. Light sources in every corner so no shadow interrupted the page. Free of all distracting noises, movements, and people.
I’d chosen a plush armchair on my first visit and had happily returned to it every day since. A little table sat near my elbow with a cooling cup of tea and a tray of sweets to nibble on between pages.
Fitz sat on the other side of the table, his chair at a slight angle to mine. On the first day, he’d sat properly, one ankle thrown over the other knee. By the fifth, he’d relaxed into a slouched position, his head resting on the arm while his legs dangled over the other side.
“You’ll get hair in my tea,” I said, scooching my cup away.
The first time I’d scolded him, he’d immediately sat up and apologized, then sat perfectly upright for the rest of the afternoon.
This time, he grinned and rolled his head so that he could look at me upside down, tawny strands of hair sprawling over the table. “You always say that.”
“It’s always a concern,” I told him, tapping him gently on the head.
His book lay forgotten in his lap as he gazed at me. “I’m really glad I met you when I did.”
I snorted. “Was there a dearth of tea-ruining opportunities before me?”
