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son.
    “Unfortunately,” Tamas said, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. “Sabon,” he called. The Deliv appeared in the doorway. “Bring in the mercenaries.” Sabon disappeared again. “Now, where is Vlora? We need you both. Did Sabon tell you about our losses?”
    “Sabon told me. Sad news. I imagine Vlora will be along eventually,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly talk to her.”
    Tamas scowled. “I thought—”
    “I found her in another man’s bed,” Taniel said, feeling a jolt of satisfaction at the shock on Tamas’s face. The shock turned to anger, then grief.
    “Why? When? For how long?” The words tumbled from Tamas, a moment of true confusion that Taniel wondered if any had ever seen in Tamas, or would again.
    Taniel leaned on his rifle and fought back a sneer. Why should Tamas care? It wasn’t his fiancée. “For several months, from the gossip. The man was paid to seduce her. Some nobleman’s son, in it for the thrill and the money.”
    “Paid?” Tamas asked, his eyes narrowing.
    “A scheme,” Taniel said. “Petty revenge. No doubt hatched by a wealthy nobleman.” Taniel hadn’t taken the time to find out who the culprit was, but he had little uncertainty. The nobility hated Tamas. He was common-born and had used his influence with the king to prevent the wealthy from purchasing commissions in the army. Only the capable rose in the ranks. It flew in the face of tradition, but also made the Adran army one of the best in the Nine. The nobility feared Tamas too much to attack him directly, but they’d strike him any way they could, even through his son.
    Tamas’s teeth clenched in a snarl. “I’ve arrested half the nobility this very night. They face the guillotine with their king. I’ll find out who paid, and then…”
    Taniel suddenly felt tired. Years fighting a war that wasn’t his, followed by months of cramped traveling, only to come home to betrayal and a coup. His anger had been sapped. He thumbed a line of black powder onto his hand and snorted it. “The guillotine is enough. Save your men.” Save your anger, though Kresimir knows you have enough of it. No pity, though. None for your son, the betrayed.
    Tamas rubbed his eyes. “I should have had her watched.”
    “She’s free to do what she wants,” Taniel said. It came out as a snarl.
    “The wedding?”
    “I nailed her ring to the bastard bedding her. They’ll have had to cut him off his own sword.”
    Sabon reentered the room. He was followed by a pair of disreputable-looking characters wearing the clothes of people who slept in the saddle, or on a barroom bench. One was a man, tall and lanky with a hairline that touched the back of his head, though he couldn’t have been older than thirty. He wore a belt that covered his entire stomach, carried four swords and three pistols of different sizes and shapes, and he wore the gloves of a Privileged—though instead of white with colored runes, the gloves were navy blue with gold runes. The man was a magebreaker: a Privileged who’d given up his natural-born sorcery to nullify magic at will.
    The other was a woman. She looked to be in her late thirties and wore riding pants and a jacket. She would have been beautiful but for the old scar that lifted the corner of her lip and traveled all the way to her temple. She, too, wore the gloves of a Privileged, which allowed her to touch the Else. Hers were white with blood-red runes. Taniel wondered why she wasn’t in a cabal. He could sense she was strong enough even without opening his third eye.
    Mercenaries, Tamas had said. These two had a look. A Privileged and a magebreaker together were a dangerous combination. They were used to hunt Knacked, Marked, and Privileged. Taniel wondered which his father had in mind.
    “A Privileged escaped our cull at Skyline,” Tamas said. “Not one of the royal cabal, but powerful nonetheless. I want you three”—a glance at Ka-poel—“four to track her down and kill