Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online

Caerish wine and tomato juice - that would be used in the climatic final act.
    She found Theodosia at a wooden table, gazing at her portable mirror. She wore the elaborate dress and makeup of Severa, Tertius Maraeus’s great Cyrican love. 
    “Marina!” said Theodosia. “You simply must help me with my hair! I shall have to go on as soon as Marcellus finishes his aria, and my hair is a disaster!”
    Caina knelt beside her and began arranging the intricate hairstyle that the role of Severa required.
    “Anything?” murmured Theodosia.
    “Corbould, Armizid, and Khosrau are all sitting together,” said Caina. “There’s a guard of militiamen and Imperial Guards around them.”
    “That’s good,” said Theodosia. “Hand me that brush, will you?”
    Caina handed over the brush. “Unless the Kindred have infiltrated the Guard or the militia. Or an assassin disguised himself as a slave. Gods, but there are so many of them.” The anger flickered inside of her. “And the nobles and the merchants don’t even see them. I thought the nobles in Malarae treated their servants badly, but this is worse. They cannot even be bothered the brush the flies from their sleeves, but allow the slaves to do it for them.”
    “Keep an eye on them,” said Theodosia. “All of them. If anyone asks, say that you are carrying messages for me. We’ve been assuming that Lord Khosrau wants Lord Corbould dead, but perhaps one of Cyrica’s lesser nobles would profit in a revolt.” She stood up, scrutinizing herself in the mirror. “Well, I suppose that shall have to do.”
    “Theodosia!” Marcellus, the tenor singing the role of Tertius Maraeus, wandered to her side, clad in a costume resembling antique Nighmarian armor. He had a handsome face, a voice like rolling thunder, and a mind like a lump of lead. “Am I going on?”
    “Yes, dear,” said Theodosia, taking the befuddled tenor’s arm. “Come along. We sing our duet after your first aria.”
    “Oh,” said Marcellus. “That’s good.”
    Theodosia guided him towards the stage, and Caina slipped out the back of the tent. 
    She scanned the crowd. She would know a Kindred assassin when she saw one. Caina had trained under Riogan, a ruthless assassin who had left the Kindred to join the Ghosts, and he had taught her all their tricks. The Kindred preferred to buy child slaves from the Istarish markets, and used years of brutal training to shape them into remorseless assassins. Her eyes wandered over the endless gray-clad slaves waiting by their white-robed noble masters. Had the assassin she had killed in the Praetorian Basilica once been a slave child, terrified and weeping on the auction block?
    She pushed aside the thought. 
    She could not afford distractions. Instead she watched the spectators on the ascending rows of seats, thinking of ways the Kindred might try to kill Lord Corbould. An archer in the higher seats? No, unlikely - the enspelled glass globes would dazzle an archer’s vision. A dagger thrust or a sword blow? Even less likely - guards surrounded Corbould, and the Kindred preferred not to sacrifice themselves in their assassinations. A poisoned glass of wine? Khosrau would provide a food taster to Corbould out of courtesy. Though if Khosrau had hired the Kindred to kill Corbould, it would not be hard to slip Corbould poisoned food…
    “Mistress?”
    A male slave in his late thirties stood before her, eyes downcast, a silver collar around his neck. Like the others, he wore a gray tunic, but his was of finer material than most. A noble’s slave, then - Caina had noticed the nobles like to dress their slaves in finer materials. 
    Like a man putting a fine collar on a favored pet.
    The thought filled her with such rage that it was all she could do to keep her face smooth.
    “Aye?” said Caina. 
    “Are you Marina, the servant of the singer Theodosia?” said the slave.
    “I am,” said Caina. 
    “Then my master Lord Khosrau bids you to come speak with