They curved through the streets, which narrowed because of the stalls that sprang up along the sides. They were passing many leatherworks and metal smiths. Almost there. She stopped at an intersection with a main road leading toward the castle, looked about for patrols, and then continued on when she saw none. The sky was clear and bright, but still the chill seeped through her clothes and into her skin. She hated winter. It made her hurry, made her spend only four seconds checking a turn when she should spend five. If she were to make any prediction, it’d be that when she was buried, it’d be when the ground was cold and hard. Assuming she was buried at all. Given her life, even that was far from a given.

“We’re here,” she said. A quick set of instructions sent two around to the other side, and then the remaining six followed her through the main door. She let one of her guildmembers, Pryor, go first, just in case there was a trap. When she heard him gasp, she thought it so, and she drew her daggers. But instead, she heard her name.

“Vel?”

She followed Pryor in and surveyed the area.

A man waited for them. He sat atop a large crate, presumably their red powder for the deal. His body bent over as if greatly burdened. He wore red robes stained with ash and blood. His skin was dark, and his hair darker. In one hand he held a dagger, the other, a long piece of gray cloth. When he lifted his head, she stared into his brown eyes and saw a combination of fury and hopelessness that frightened her. He was handsome, but she felt no attraction. How could she, seeing a gaze like that?

All around him, burned to ash and bone, were bodies.

“What is going on?” she asked, stunned by the sight.

“You were betrayed,” said the strange man. “One of your own helped kill the others so they might prepare an ambush.”

“Who?” Veliana asked.