“I know these are not peaceful times,” he said, “but we cannot allow fear to control our lives. That is a victory you know the thief guilds have longed for.”

“We’re approaching the fifth anniversary of the Bloody Kensgold,” Alyssa said, referring to a gathering of the Trifect, the three wealthiest families of merchants, nobles, and power brokers in all of Dezrel. On that night, Thren Felhorn had led an uprising of thief guilds against the Trifect, burning down one of their mansions and attempting to annihilate every last one of their leaders. He’d failed, and his guild had broken to a fraction of its former size. On that night, Alyssa had assumed control after the death of her father, victim to an arrow as they’d fought to protect their home.

“I know,” Bertram said. “Is that what distracts you so? Leon and James have both agreed to delay another Kensgold until this dangerous business is over with.”

“And when will that be?” she asked as another servant arrived with a silver cup of wine. “I hide here in my mansion, fearful of my food and scared of every shadow in my bedroom. We cannot defeat the guilds, Bertram. We’ve broken them, fractured many to pieces, but it’s like smashing a puddle with a club. They all come back together, under new names, new leaders.”

“The end is approaching,” Bertram said. “This is Thren’s war, and he champions it with every bit of his strength. But he is not so strong, not so young. His Spider Guild is far from the force it used to be. In time, the other guilds will see reason and turn against him. Until then, we have only one choice left before us, and that is to endure.”

Alyssa closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the wine. For a moment she wondered if it was poisoned, but she fought the paranoia down. She would not sacrifice such a simple pleasure. She couldn’t give the rogues that much of a victory.

Still, when she drank, it was a small sip.