“What in the Creator’s name are you doing in Kell?” Cyrene asked.

When she had first met Basille Selby, he’d been an Eleysian peddler hawking knickknacks at the Laelish Market in Byern. He’d sold Elea Cyrene’s birthday present, the very book that had belonged to the Doma all those years ago. He had been the one to tell Cyrene to find Matilde and Vera to begin with. Then, of all things, she had found him again in Eleysia, only to discover he was a disgraced noble after having an affair with Princess Brigette. Now…Queen Brigette. Now…dead.

Even though Cyrene hated her for killing Maelia, she did feel sorry for Basille that his lost love had perished. And…he probably wasn’t even aware of it.

“Hard times, my dear,” he said. He waved his hand in a flourish, as if he’d never truly seen hard times.

“Is that why you ran in Eleysia?”

“Ran? Me? No, I found a better opportunity.”

“But Brigette…”

“Don’t speak her name,” he said tightly.

“You’ve heard?”

“Heard?” he asked coyly. “That the Eleysian throne has been wiped out, the countryside is in turmoil, and all the warring parties are clamoring for the crown? Believe me…I’ve heard.”

Cyrene wilted. “My apologies.”

“Anyone going to tell me what is going on here?” the commander asked, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Ah, I see you’re the culprit who dropped this group at my door,” Basille said to the commander.

“You already know them?”

“Indeed. This is not our first run-in.”

“I don’t understand how we keep ending up in the same place,” Cyrene said with a shake of her head. “Once was chance, twice was coincidence, but three times…”

“I think the word you’re looking for, my dear Affiliate, is fate.”

“Affiliate?” the commander said with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t claim that anymore,” she said to Basille.

“Ah, yes, I did hear rumble of something else,” he said, gesturing for them to all get out of the street. “Consort?”

Cyrene’s eyes snapped to him. “How exactly are you so well informed?”

“I am a simple peddler. Information is my favorite currency.”

Matilde bustled past Basille and tipped her head at him. “Are you working with these assassins, too, now, Selby?”

“I don’t discriminate on clientele,” Basille said.

Orden snorted in the corner.

“We’re pleased to hear that,” Vera said, “because we need you to take us through the Drop Pass.”

Ahlvie coughed himself hoarse. “You want to take us where? You know the Pass is haunted, correct?”

Avoca knocked her shoulder into his as she passed into the room and took a seat. “Scared?”

“I’ve heard the stories. And, no offense, but when we travel with Cyrene, things tend to be worse than expected rather than better.”

“Thank you for that,” Cyrene grumbled.

“I was going to suggest the Pass as well,” the commander said. “It’s the fastest way out of Kell, and the Guild won’t follow you through. You’ll be off to Yarrow and beyond in no time with the right guide.”

“And you all think I am the right guide?” Basille asked in his drawling Eleysian accent. For once, he wasn’t dressed head to toe in the Eleysian garb—loose fit pants and a shirt, fitted around the ankles and wrists. Much too cold in Kell for that attire, but he still managed to make the tailored Kelltic clothing suit his tan skin and dark features.

“Is there another one around?” Avoca asked with that heightened intensity that only she could master.

With her own anger simmering just under the surface, Cyrene worried that she might erupt.

“Certainly no one as well traveled as I,” Basille said.

Cyrene had a feeling she knew where this was going. “What’s your price? There’s always a price.”

“Gold?” Orden asked. “We have plenty.”

Basille barked out a short laugh. Cyrene shook her head. No, that was never what he was after. He always wanted something more.

“What is it?” Cyrene asked. “There’s something else. Last time, it was an invitation. And this time?”

“I find myself in a room with some very important people. I should think they have something valuable to me.”

The commander moved with the fluidity of a wraith. He grabbed the merchant by the throat and raised him onto his tiptoes. “I bring these people here on good faith, and you are swindling them, crook?”

“Put him down,” Cyrene cried at the same time Vera said, “Control yourself.”

Basille’s eyes were bugging as the commander slowly eased him back onto his feet. He released the peddler, who coughed and choked.

“That was unnecessary,” Avoca muttered.

“I quite liked it,” Ahlvie said with a lopsided grin. “I could get used to this guy.”

“Before the brute attacked me, I was going to name my price,” Basille said, straightening and rubbing his throat.

“Well, spit it out then,” Cyrene said. “He is the least of your concern in this room.”

“Ah, so you went beyond your manifest then? I knew you’d find the right tutors.”

“Enough,” Vera said. She waved her hand in the air. “We are at the end of our wits. You always did like to hear yourself speak. Say your price.”

“Guess,” he said with a twisted smile.

“Can I cut him?” Avoca asked. Her blade was in her hand, and she looked poised to throw it into Basille’s chest.

“Wait,” Cyrene said, holding her hand up. There were too many voices. When she had been in Eleysia and struck a deal with Basille, it had been for something innocuous but with dire consequences. She needed to think on his level. If he was their only way through the Pass, then she would figure it out. “Something about home.”

“Yes?” he asked.

“You want to go home?”

He scoffed. “I can go to Eleysia anytime I please.”

“Then, something more than that?”

“I want you to write a letter,” he said simply.

Cyrene furrowed her brows. “To whom exactly?”

“I want my name cleared and to be reinstated as a noble on the Privy Council.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“You know a certain prince,” he said with a smirk.

Cyrene sighed. “Dean.”

She didn’t even have to ask how he knew that Dean was still alive.

“See it done, and I’ll take you through the Pass.”

“I can’t guarantee that he’ll do it.”

Basille grinned. “Oh, he’ll do it.”

Cyrene shook her head in disgust. Deals made her feel slimy. “Fine. But we must hurry.”

Basille disappeared to retrieve pen and paper.

Avoca strode across the room to stand in front of Cyrene. “You do not have to do this.”

“It’s just a letter,” the commander said. “I’ve seen him deal with much worse.”

Cyrene paled. If only it were just a letter. She and Dean might have parted on good terms in Fen, but that didn’t mean that she was anxious to open that connection between them. She didn’t even know if she would ever see him again. Or why it made her so anxious to consider that she wouldn’t.

“Maybe you should mind your own business,” Avoca snapped at him.

Matilde and Vera materialized before the commander. “We believe that you were promised information in exchange for your own help. While Cyrene prepares, we would be happy to explain what your Guild training has been sufficiently lacking.”

The commander looked as if he were about to snarl at them but eventually disappeared. Cyrene was grateful that she wasn’t the one who would have to explain everything to him. Matilde and Vera had years of experience. She would be better off writing one measly letter.

Cyrene folded the letter and addressed it to his Royal Highness Prince Dean Ellison of Eleysia. She had no mark of her own, so Basille used his own seal to close it.

“You’ll need one of these,” he told her. “I could give you a fair price.”

Cyrene rolled her eyes. “How will we send it?”

“The commander will do it,” Basille said, as if it were obvious. “Now, let’s go, Consort. Much to do and little time to do it.”

Cyrene backed out of the drawing room and carried the letter outside. Her friends had saddled their horses, packed the saddlebags, and consolidated their belongings. The commander was hastily scribbling into a worn book, looking suddenly out of place in the light of day.

She cautiously approached him. “Commander.”

His head darted up. “Are you finished?”

“Basille requested for you to get this into the right hands.” She passed him the letter.

He took it and stuffed it into the notebook. “It will be done. Your tutors are remarkable.”

It was the first real compliment he’d given anyone.

“Yes, they are. Did you learn much?”

“Enough. If I need more, I’ll send a hawk.”

“A hawk?”

“They’re incredibly smart. My hawk could find anyone in Emporia. He will find you, and he will find the person to deliver this letter to.”

“Thank you for not double-crossing me,” she blurted out.

“Not yet at least.”

“So, do I get your name yet?”

The commander tucked away his notebook and pulled her into his arms. She wrapped hers around him, surprised at how close she felt to this total stranger.

“When next we meet,” he promised.

Cyrene laughed. “Be safe.”

“An assassin’s life is never safe.” He released her with hooded gray eyes and a warm smile. “May the river run red.”

“I’ll take that as an benediction.”

“Keep your wits about you in those mountains, spitfire. You’ll need them.”

With those chilling words, the commander stepped back and disappeared into the distance. She shuddered at the thought of him becoming Doma. With his power and unbridled ferocity, he could do anything. She was glad to leave him as an ally and not an enemy.

“Ready?” Orden asked as she marched over to retrieve Ceffy.

“Ready to get this over with.”

“Mountain ponies would have been better,” Basille said, “but we work with what we have.”

And then they moved out and away from the nightmare of Alba, toward the dark and foreboding hell awaiting them.