The rain masked the scent of blood, but Oren saw the truth in the dying man’s eyes. The duke’s enforcer gurgled, fingers twitching, his lifeblood seeping into the cracked stones of the alley. Oren wiped his dagger on the man’s cloak.
The sigil-ring on the corpse’s hand gleamed in the torchlight. He pried it free, wincing as his own bruised ribs protested. This was the price of betrayal—he’d learned that lesson early. But tonight, it was the duke’s coin that bought death.
A shadow moved behind him. Oren spun, blade ready, but the sorceress only smiled. “The duke will know,” she said. “You killed his hound, but the master remains.”
Oren met her gaze and tossed the ring to her. “That’s your problem now.” The wind carried her laughter as he disappeared into the night, leaving the dying embers of vengeance behind him. Tomorrow would bring another master, another name, and another knife.
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