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

his mighty voice booming his aria. In a few moments Theodosia would come on stage as Severa, and her song about the plight of the Cyricans would convince Tertius to make war upon Anshan. Caina slipped back into the shadows, listening to the song with half an ear as she scanned the crowd for any threats…
    “A blowgun.”
    She whirled, reaching for the dagger at her belt.
    A shadow detached itself from the back of a tent and stepped towards her. 
    It was a man in a hooded cloak, eyes glinting beneath the cowl. Beneath his cloak she glimpsed a sheathed sword and chain mail. His right hand rested on the sword’s hilt, and Caina saw an odd, swirling black tattoo over his forearm.
    He was a Kindred assassin. She was sure of it. 
    The assassin stared at her.
    “You’re not going to kill me,” Caina said at last.
    Behind them Theodosia’s soaring song joined Marcellus’s. 
    “Oh?” said the man.
    “We’re standing in front of ten thousand people,” said Caina. “If I scream, quite a few armed men are going to notice. If you were going to kill me, you would have stabbed me in the back.”
    “Astute,” said the cloaked man. “I saw you watching the crowd, which seemed like an unusual thing for a servant girl to do.”
    “Perhaps I was bored,” said Caina. “I’ve heard the epic of Tertius Maraeus before.”
    “Perhaps,” said the cloaked man. He took a step closer, and Caina glimpsed his face, hard and lean. “I thought that at first. And then I remembered how the Emperor’s Ghosts have many friends among actors and singers and slaves.”
    “There’s no such thing as the Ghosts,” said Caina. “They’re a story, a legend.”
    A hard smile flashed over the cloaked man’s face. “And that is an answer in itself, no?” 
    “The Ghosts are myths,” said Caina, “but the Kindred are not.”
    The man’s hard smile faded. “You think I am a Kindred assassin?”
    “I know you are a Kindred assassin,” said Caina. “I know how the Kindred walk. I know how they hold their weapons. I know how they disguise themselves. You’re Kindred. Who are you here to kill?” 
    “You are almost correct,” said the cloaked man. “I was Kindred.” 
    “That’s impossible,” said Caina. “No one leaves the Kindred. Alive, anyway.”
    But that was wrong, and she knew it. Riogan had left the Kindred. They had tried to kill him for it, but he had survived. At least until Maglarion had found him. 
    “So,” said Caina. “Former Kindred. And you’re here to talk, not to kill me. What do you want to tell me?” 
    “A blowgun,” said the cloaked man. “That’s how they’re going kill Corbould. A tiny dart, coated with a particularly exotic poison. The poison numbs the wound, and he will never feel it. Thirty-seven hours later, the poison will reach his heart and stop it. And then, I suppose, Lord Khosrau will have his war with the Emperor.” 
    “Why are you telling me this?” said Caina. She would not put it past the Kindred to spread lies to mask one of their assassinations. “Are you such a great friend of Lord Corbould?”
    “I do not give a damn for Lord Corbould,” said the cloaked man, “nor for his precious Empire. Nor do I have a damn for the Ghosts. Suffice to say I have my own business here, and I do not want you stumbling over me in your zeal to save Corbould Maraeus.” 
    Caina opened her mouth to answer…and fell silent.
    She saw a slave moving through the aisles of the Amphitheatre. A dozen slaves hurried through the Amphitheatre, running errands for their masters. Yet this slave was heading straight for Lord Corbould and the other nobles. 
    And Caina recognized him.
    When last she had seen him, he had been wearing a yellow robe and creeping up behind her in Barius’s pawnshop.
    She turned back to the cloaked man, only to see that she had vanished. 
    Caina cursed, looking around for him, but he had disappeared without a trace. She looked back at the seats, and saw that the