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in each other."
    "But Mhar would benefit by an alliance with us," said Deveren, confused. "Why —" "Mhar would," Damir clarified, "but Bhakir wouldn't."
    Deveren nodded slowly. "So you've got a delayed coronation and a broken love match. What else?"
    "Bhakir's been making changes in the top ranks of the military, both land and sea," continued Damir. "It would seem that many hitherto trusted generals and admirals were traitors. How lucky that Bhakir discovered their fiendish plots." If irony were a real substance, Damir's would have burned holes through the beautiful table.
    Deveren whistled. "The bastard wants war, doesn't he?"
    "Looks like it. I've been able to get a few messages to and from the beleaguered young prince, though. He wants to set up secret negotiations between his core group of supporters and Byrn, as represented by me."
    "And you want me to see that Braedon would be a safe port," Deveren concluded. "Well, you have to admit, having you as the leader of the thieves just might ensure that there would be no criminal incidents, should we host the meetings here."
    Deveren nodded. "I don't think it'd be a problem."
"Then your thieves will take kindly to being told 'don't touch'?" Damir teased.
    Now it was Deveren's turn to be deadly serious. "They'll take kindly to preventing war with Mhar. Sweet Lady Death, Damir, Braedon would be their first target. If they could get hold of our seaport. .." He didn't even need to finish the thought. He didn't really want to.
    "These talks could be of great import," Damir warned.
"Obviously."
"Prince Castyll himself might come."
    "Then he can stay at the King's Arms Inn," quipped Deveren, reaching for the wine goblet and lifting it to his lips.
     
    "He might want to pay ... an extended visit. A very extended visit."
     
    Deveren nearly choked on the ruby-red liquid.
     
    Pedric was having a dreadful night.
    Marrika had been stonily silent since she and Pedric had left the thieves' meeting. At first, the young man had respected her silence, but when it dragged on for a quarter of an hour he began to grow annoyed. He tried to take her arm, but she jerked it away. Annoyance blossomed into anger. He seized her arm, securely this time, propelled her over to a quiet alleyway, and demanded, "What in the Nightlands is wrong with you?"
    It was dark, but by the moonlight that filtered its way down past the buildings he could see the rage on her beautiful face. She didn't answer with words, but snarled angrily. Pedric was thoroughly startled when he felt a stinging slap on his cheek. Automatically, his soft aristocrat's hand went to rub the painful area.
    "You are such an idiot, Pedric Dunsan!"
     
    "I'm not idiot enough to go shouting our true names in public!" he hissed back.
    She sneered. "So it's Otter, huh? Well, for seven months I've been your woman, and I haven't seen you do a damned thing that a trained otter couldn't do. You humiliated me tonight!" She made a slack-jawed fool's face. "Uh, sometimes that comes in handy," she mimicked cruelly.
    Pedric felt his face growing hot, and not just from the angry slap. "I'm not a very good public speaker," he said.
     
    She laughed, a harsh, angry sound. "You're not very good at much, Pedric, except spending your papa's money."
     
    "I've earned my place in the group," he began in a low, controlled voice.
     
    "You bought your way in, rich boy, and everybody knows it. Good gods, even Deveren's made a haul or two worth something. You just show up with that worthless art stuff—"
     
    "—at any auction, that so-called worthless stuff would fetch—"
    "We're not an auction house, Pedric, or haven't you noticed? We're thieves! We steal, and we kill, and that's what we do, that's what we are." Suddenly she laughed. "Well, I suppose I've got no one but myself to blame. Somehow I thought you'd do something with yourself. You had the perfect chance tonight. Everyone likes you, though I don't know why. If you'd been able to speak like a real man,