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  Culebra had often wondered if he would be more afraid himself if he could see them. Apparently the snakes were quite frightening to look upon, especially en masse, but he was unable to understand why. They felt beautiful, both to the touch and in the warmth buzzing in his mind. He just wished he could convey all of that to someone who would actually listen.

  Sighing softly, he slid off his rock and returned to the door. The servant stood just inside it, if he was judging correctly, putting her a mere three steps away from where he had stopped. "Yes?"

  "Highness, your brother requests your presence in the blue breakfast room."

  "Very well," Culebra said. "Help me tidy myself up, please, and escort me to him." He could have made his way alone, but if his brother wanted to see him in the breakfast room then it was late morning and the halls would be crowded.

  "Of course, your highness." He listened to the click of the servant's heels and the rustle of fabric as she fetched his jacket and helped him into it, smoothing the sleeves and collar, fastening the buttons with quick, easy movements. She adjusted his neck cloth and then, after a brief pause, reached up to run her fingers through his hair. After a couple more minutes of fussing she stepped back. "You are ready, highness."

  Culebra smiled. "Thank you for your help. He offered his arm. "If you would kindly lead me to my brother?"

  Taking his arm, she murmured another, "Yes, highness," and carefully led him through the halls, speaking up to tell him when they approached stairs or a turn or had to move out of the way of something. While his peers largely ignored him and the guards mostly despised him, the servants were almost always kind to him. Why they were not as afraid of him as everyone else Culebra did not know, but he was always grateful.

  "You're very expert," Culebra said when she stopped in front of the breakfast room. "Thank you for your kind assistance." Slipping a hand into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a coin and pressed it into her hand. "What's your name?"

  "M-Maria, highness."

  "I hope I may call upon your services again, Maria. Good day to you."

  "T-thank you, highness," Maria said, and after a moment where he assumed she curtsied, he heard her walk off.

  Stifling a sigh at the coming meeting, Culebra pushed open the door and counted steps to his seat at the table. His fingers wrapped around the back of his chair after the appropriate five steps, and he sat down smoothly.

  He could smell his brother's cologne, a heavy pine scent with hints of blood rose that he imported from Verde. There was also the smell of wax and velum, the costly ink used for important documents. So his brother was drafting something, but none of his secretaries—

  The door opened behind him, and Culebra could smell fresh food and tea and a much cheaper perfume that smelled like watery tea roses. Velvet and starching, wax and paper: a secretary. To judge by that perfume, he knew which one. "Good Morning, Toribio."

  "Good Morning, highness," Toribio greeted, and after a moment of clacking and pouring, he set something in front of Culebra and guided Culebra's hand to it. "Spiced tea for you, highness."

  "Thank you. Good morning, brother."

  "Why must you always go hide with those accursed snakes?" Pruebas demanded. "You know the servants hate fetching you there, and you are already unapproachable as it is."

  Culebra stifled a sigh. "I thought that after the attempted assassination that it was the safest place for me to be until morning."

  "You would be safest with another full time bodyguard."

  "No," Culebra said flatly. "I am not discussing the matter again. Ruisenor keeps me safe. I would prefer to leave off the guards entirely; I do not want more to die."

  He could practically feel Pruebas' irritation, but instead of continuing the old argument Pruebas only said, "We have a new delegation from Kundou arriving in a few days. I want you to take charge of them since you likely already know many of them. I have a list of names here. The delegation head is Lord Midori Kawa, which sounded familiar to me."

  "Lord Midori?" Culebra said, the words immediately bringing to mind the quiet, gentle man who had cared for him after he'd left the Kumiko. He'd met Lord Midori before on previous trips, and he'd always been cordial. But Culebra had not really gotten to know him until after that terrible voyage when the mermaids destroyed his ship, killing everyone but himself and Lord Krasny.

  Midori's presence had been all that kept Culebra from losing his mind. Even Krasny, one of his few true friends, had not been as reassuring a presence as Captain Midori. He had a warm, slightly husky voice, calloused hands, strong and sure, and always smelled like rough soap and the sea. Culebra barely remembered the journey, he'd been so lost in grief and remembered fear. He would never forget those awful screams, the blood and the fear. The rest was a haze, but he remembered that—and Midori's calm, steady presence. "Shouldn't it be Captain Midori? He's head of Kundou's royal navy. He's no diplomat."

  "If he is part of the delegation then I suppose he has changed occupations. I see no notations about him being a captain. They were expected to arrive at the end of the month, so they should arrive in the next week or two."

  Culebra nodded. "I'm happy to help, brother. I will do my best."

  "See that you do," Pruebas said. "As to a bodyguard, if you are to do this, then I am afraid that one will have to be appointed. I cannot have our guests put at risk, nor have anyone thinking I do not take proper care of you."

  That, Culebra conceded bitterly, had been very well-played. He should have anticipated it—but of course he was happy simply to be of real use, and Pruebas had counted on that.

  Well, no matter. The bodyguard would not last long. Being with him on a near-constant basis required being comfortable with Ruisenor and all his other snakes. Only Granito and Dario had been comfortable with the snakes.

  "Of course, brother," Culebra murmured. "I suggest you find men of fortitude, however. They are quite useless to me if they are terrified of Ruisenor. Will that be all?"

  "For now, but do not wander far. We may discuss the matter more at lunch or dinner."

  Culebra nodded and rose, sweeping his brother a polite bow. "Until later then, brother. Good day." He left as his brother gave an absent reply, slowly making his way back to his room on his own. His emotions were a tangle: he did not want a bodyguard, but he liked having something to do, and he was definitely looking forward to seeing Midori again.

  He only hoped Midori would be happy to see him. It would not be the first time that he had mistaken mere duty for friendship.

  Reaching his room, Culebra smiled as Ruisenor immediately wrapped around him greeting, hissing softly against his ear. "Hello, beautiful. We're going to have a guest, soon. I think you'll like him."

  Ruisenor hissed again in reply, warmth and affection pulsing in Culebra's mind. She slithered away in a soft hush across the floor, and Culebra followed, silently hoping that the days until Midori arrived passed quickly.

  Chapter Two: The Black Princesa

  Cortez took a deep swallow of raw red wine, eyeing the men approaching her with trepidation. Old senses, instincts she preferred to leave sleeping, stirred and slowly woke. Her myriad scars tingled with awareness even as she acknowledged that the sensation of her scars feeling anything was all in her head.

  The scar from a knife that had nearly cost her an eye and the nastier gash across her throat that left her voice rough and husky throbbed the most. They were marks of betrayal, and they always throbbed when trouble was brewing.

  She said nothing as the men sat down across from her at the table she'd taken in the middle of the room where she was mostly lost and ignored in the bustle of the tavern. She was still not certain she wanted to be back in Piedre, but Verde had ceased to be comfortably distracting. Unfortunately, it already looked as though she should have stayed there. Better to be bored than dragged right back into the life she had been trying to leave behind.

  "You're Cortez," one of the men said. He had a posh, city look about him: tailor
ed clothes of good quality trying hard to be average but failing miserably. He smelled like good soap, which was dumber than the good clothes. The second man was no better and actually wore some citrus-smelling cologne. A certain type of criminal might have worn posh threads, but he wouldn't likely buy something as frivolous as fancy soap. A criminal who could afford to waste money on fancy soap was more dangerous than the nobles these men were pretending not to be.

  "You're irritating," Cortez replied and took another swallow of wine, idly debating the merits of just getting up and leaving versus picking a fight. The barkeep would have her back, and no one else in the bar was stupid enough to go against her.

  "We have a job for you," the first man, smiling in a way that some probably mistook for pleasant. Cortez knew a spider when she saw one, and while killing them did not feel right, she would gladly make them wish they were dead.

  She took another swallow from the bottle of wine, and then set it down with a dull thud on the scuffed table. "I retired months ago, everyone knows that. And if you don't know it, you're too stupid to bother with anyway. Take your job offer elsewhere and leave me in peace."

  "I believe we have sufficient means with which to change your mind," the first man said, spider smile turning distinctly oily. He slipped one leather-gloved hand inside his jacket and pulled something out, setting it on the table and slowly withdrawing his hand.

  Cortez started to say something scathing about the melodrama of it all when the object registered. It was a cheap copper ring engraved with words from a prayer all around it: always meet friendly gazes.

  She picked the ring up and held it up to the light, and a rock finally dropped into her stomach when she saw the inscription inside, and swore inwardly. They were right, as much as she hated to admit it. The ring was sufficient to change her mind. She slipped the ring onto her finger and said simply, "What is the job?"

  "Kidnap Prince Culebra and deliver him to a particular location."

  "You're out of your mind," Cortez said. "Only those who desperately seek the Basilisk's embrace go after Prince Culebra. If his guards don't stop intruders, that big snake of his does. Everyone knows that. I know I look like I pine for death, but I promise you that I very much enjoy living. I have no interest in such a suicidal mission."

  The oily spider smirked. "If you want the owner of that ring returned to you in one piece rather than several you will find a way to accomplish the impossible. The sooner you do it, the better. When you give us his highness, Fidel will be returned to you."

  Cortez wondered what they had done to get the drop on Fidel—and if Fidel had slipped free of them yet. If they thought taking away his knives made him less dangerous, they were fools. "I'm not doing a job like this for free, and 'return Fidel' isn't good enough. If you were stupid enough to come here without coin, you can leave again."

  The quieter man finally shifted, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. "Money is a trifling thing. Name your figure and it's yours. Fidel will be returned to you, we'll take his highness, and we can all go our separate ways." His smile was smoother, the warm, reassuring smile of a priest. It actually seemed sincere, it was so well done.

  So he was definitely the more dangerous of the two. Hmm. Both men were clearly trouble, but she still sensed they were not the true threat. Sniveling nobles sent to do the hiring never were. If a noble was her problem, she would not be speaking with one. Such men sent others to do their work while they stayed out of range of the blood spatter.

  Cortez pondered the situation and reluctantly concluded that cooperation was the best path for the time being. "Fine. I want five times my usual rate. Give me three weeks, because there is a great deal of prep work to be done for a job like that. It's non-negotiable. If you want me to do this job then you let me do it my way."

  "You may have six weeks to deliver him," the quiet man said, and he tossed a bag of coins on the table. "One tenth of your asking price, to get you started. Bring him to the Red Oak when you have him. Do you know it?"

  Cortez gave that question the sneer it deserved, then lifted her bottle and took another long draught of the rough wine. "Enjoy the rest of your night, gentlemen." They rose and left as quietly as they had arrived, leaving Cortez with an almost empty bottle of wine and a foul mood. And a bag of coins that was far more money than she had bothered to earn in the past year.

  Six weeks. That nagged at her, but she did not know why. She really needed to figure out what day it was and perhaps then she could figure out why six weeks hence bothered her.

  Sighing, she left money on the table for the wine, stowed the purse of coins into her jacket, and downed the last of her wine in two quick gulps. She was not nearly as drunk as she had hoped to be.

  Outside, she turned up the collar of her wool jacket and pulled on a worn cap. To all appearances, she was a young man walking home after a night at the tavern. Between her manner of dress, her sword, and her ruined voice, people seldom realized she was a woman. It had always worked for her that people made that assumption.

  Mist swirled through the late night, clouds obscuring the stars and half-moon. She walked the dark streets with ease, arms loose at her side, ready to draw her sword or throw a punch in a moment. But no one bothered her as she walked, the figures in the shadows staying put, others keeping close to the little fires they'd built at the edge of alleyways.

  She kept walking past the traveler's inn where she was renting a room, heading all the way to the end of the street where a temple of black stone stood nearly invisible in the dark of night. Torches flickered on either side of the entryway, making the black stone glisten.

  Cortez walked up the incline that led into the temple, pausing in the entryway to clasp her hands and recite the appropriate prayer. When she finished, she continued on into the actual sanctuary. It smelled of smoke and pungent incense—and sex. Somebody had definitely been having a very private word with a priest after services.

  Picking up the small bell set on the railing that separated the altar from the rest of the sanctuary, Cortez rang it three times and then set it back down. She did not have to wait long before the priest appeared, slipping through the door at the back of the altar space.

  The man froze when he saw her and then pushed back his hood to reveal a sharp, ragged face. He was just as scarred as Cortez, battered from a life that gave no quarter. As ever, looking at him caused mixed emotions. She did not know if it was love or hate she felt—or both. She only knew he made her tired, but she could not entirely forget him either. Whatever his ills, he'd helped her far more than obligation dictated, more than anyone else.

  "Well, here is a face I did not expect to see again, not in this place," the man said, not quite smiling, though his dark eyes eased. "What brings you here, Corazon?"

  "Father Yago," Cortez greeted, kissing his cheek as he kissed hers. He smelled of tobacco smoke and sangria and the same incense that still filled the temple. "I know it's late, I'm sorry. I was hired by two men tonight, just minutes ago, to do a very tricksome job. I wanted to know if the Brotherhood had anything to do with it or knew anything about it. The entire matter has a ... well, it feels like you or the Order, or something like that."

  "Not the Brotherhood," Yago said, looking surprised and then annoyed, his dark eyes taking on a sharpness that smart men learned quickly to fear. "Not sanctioned, anyway. Of course, we always have certain jobs floating about, waiting for someone who is up to the challenge." Cortez barely kept back a snort at that; it was certainly one way to delicately say 'we always have a bounty on Prince Culebra's head'. "You left and I issued orders you were to be left alone. I made it very clear I would not tolerate defiance on that point. You know that."

  Cortez nodded. "I know. But I wanted to be sure."

  "If I wanted you for a job, Corazon, I would see you about it myself. Describe the men to me," Yago said. "Can you tell me the job?"

  "Best if I don't," Cortez said, truly beginning to worry for the first time. She had hoped it was the
Brotherhood of the Black Rose trying to force her to return despite Yago's promise. If Yago was not behind it, and she could not see why he would lie, then that left very few options, and they were much worse than the Brotherhood. "They were nobles, or near enough. Not very good at pretending to be otherwise." She described the men in detail, concluding with, "I do not know why they came to me. I have not been involved in such things for a year and a half now. There are better people. Do you think it is the Order then?"

  That made more sense, for the Order never wanted to kill the Basilisk's incarnations. They usually did anyway, but it was never their intent.

  Yago pulled out a small case and extracted a cigarette, offering the case to Cortez. She took one, and he lit them both with a nearby candle. He took a long drag of his, blew the smoke out slowly, and then said, "There have been rumors. I do not know if you have heard them … "

  Cortez shook her head. "I have not been back in Piedre long. I went north to Verde for a time and only returned two weeks ago. That is the other thing that troubled me. These men, I think they have been waiting for me to reemerge."

  "That is troubling," Yago agreed.

  "What are these rumors?"

  Yago took another pull of his cigarette. "A new group. Not Black, not White. If they have a name, no one is whispering it yet. Their leader is a shadow, though I have heard the name Jorge a couple of times. Not enough to trust that name is correct, but dying men seldom lie. Tell Fidel to put extra effort into watching your back."

  Cortez's anger sparked. "You know Fidel has nothing to do with me, anymore. I left the Brotherhood. He still follows you."

  "What? Cortez … he left just three months after you because he could not bear to be without you. I thought he would have gone straight to you."

  "What are you talking about?" Cortez demanded, heart giving a hard lurch. "Fidel and I agreed our differences could not be reconciled. He was very much a Brother."