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“Upstairs.”
     
    Kara tore the last row of books off the shelf, kicking through the pile on the floor. She knocked twice on the empty back of the shelf. Despite the chill in the room, she was sweating. Dutraad’s wheezing snore from the curtained bed was starting to drive her crazy.
    The room was a disaster. Kara had done a shoddy, hurried job of dumping out every drawer and cabinet in sight. Half the locks she had forced open, or picked so shoddily that it seemed the work of a child. It looked more like a common ransacking than the work of a professional burglar.
    She kept looking over her shoulder, expecting the door to the room to burst open at any moment. Any noise she was making in here, which was a lot, was undoubtedly drowned out by the commotion of the party downstairs. Kara could hear the sound of a waltz thrumming through the floorboards of the room even as she searched.
    And besides that, Dutraad would undoubtedly not be disturbed even by his own servants in his private room.
    And yet still, Kara found herself glancing back towards the door.
    She moved towards the wall behind the desk. There was a large painting there, a venerable looking man wearing clothes that hadn’t been fashionable for two centuries.
    Kara stared at it for a moment, her mind whirling. It was obvious. Too obvious.
    Then again, she was out of less obvious choices.
    She grabbed the frame of the painting, then lifted it off the wall. She set it down on the floor by the desk, then glanced up.
    There, in an alcove of the wall, was a strongbox.
     
    “Just taking a walk.” Maklavir straightened and tried to look as dignified as possible.
    The guard motioned with his chin back down the hallway. “The party’s back down that way, sir. Perhaps I can help you find something?”
    Maklavir sensed rather than saw another guard step in behind him. His stomach tightened into a ball. “I say, my good man, I think you’re overreacting here a little bit. I’m just stretching my legs.”
    The guard grinned. One hand moved down towards the hilt of his sword. “Whatever you say, Mr. Maklavir. Perhaps we could talk this over somewhere a little…quieter.”
    Maklavir felt the movement of the second guard behind him. There was a quiet rasp of steel being drawn from a sheath.
    He swallowed hard, forcing his panicked mind to think clearly.
    It occurred to him then that he might be in a spot of trouble.
     
    “You know I love these little games of ours, Kendril,” Bronwyn purred. “But I really can’t stay. This whole business with the Soulbinder is far too important, I’m afraid.” She lifted her head and gave a teasing smile. “But then, I imagine you know that already, don’t you?”
    Joseph stepped out from behind the billiards table.
    Kendril moved within three steps of the young woman. He brandished his knife menacingly. “I think you’d better take us to the Soulbinder now , Bronwyn.”
    She gave a harsh, tinkling little laugh. “Please, Kendril, you’re sounding stupider and stupider every time you open your mouth. How will you get past Dutraad’s guards? Are you going to fight your way through with that ?” She glanced down contemptuously at the dagger in Kendril’s hand.
    The Ghostwalker scowled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Take us to the Soulbinder.”
    She smiled. “What a delightfully awful trap you’ve sprung here, Kendril. You get points for daring, certainly, but certainly not for clear and forthright planning.” She crossed her arms. “Please think , my dear handsome boy. If I knew this was a trap, then why did I still walk in here?”
    Joseph and Kendril both paused.
    The door to the room flew open.
    The female assassin stepped into the room. A long curved knife was in each of her hands. Her white half-mask glinted chillingly in the candlelight.
    Kendril took an instant step back and raised his dagger. The weapon looked paltry in comparison to the assassin’s long knives.
    Joseph reached for the