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“Sit.” I’m about to object, but Gorgo shoves me into the chair in front of the table. Two Obsidians wrestle Volga down. One shoves an industrial laser cutter in front of her face. The red beam wavers close to her eyes. She goes still. In the distance, we hear the muffled sounds of scorchers going off. I feel myself darkening.

I let a rabbit into the wolf den. Now they tear her apart.

The Duke waits, staring at me, a single vein pulsing under his right temple, until one of his Obsidians returns. I hold my breath at the sound of boots approaching. When the man finally comes to the Duke’s table, I can breathe. Miraculously, he’s empty-handed.

“It was a ruster,” he rumbles. “She escaped.”

The Duke stares at him. “A. Red. Escaped. You. Belog?”

“We had her cornered. She dove into a ventilation shaft. She’s likely pulp.”

“A ventilation shaft?”

“We could not fit. It led down. Harald and Hjerfjord hunt. They will bring her head back by its bone tail.”

The Duke continues to stare at the brute until the Obsidian lowers his eyes in fear. He glances plaintively to the other Obsidians, but there’s no pity in their arctic eyes.

“I am…disappointed in you, Belog.”

“Yes, lord.”

“Do you know what the Queen would do if she were disappointed?”

The Obsidian glances at Gorgo, who is baring his crescent of gold teeth. “Yes, lord.”

“Fortunately, I know how difficult it is for a bear to catch a mouse. So many holes for them to run to. So I will forgive you, but I fear a debt is now owed. How will you pay?”

The Obsidian looks forlorn; slowly he extends his left hand. The Duke slaps it lightly. “The left. Very good. How old was the girl?”

“Young. Twenty winters.”

“Distinguishing features?”

“She wore a tuxedo.”

“A tuxedo.” The Duke looks at me, then back at the Obsidian. “Go help your brothers, Belog.” The Obsidian bows and rushes back to the stairs, disappearing into the shadows. The Duke turns to Gorgo. “Wake the baron of this neighborhood. Criminsky, isn’t it?” Gorgo nods. “Put out a bounty on a Red bitch wearing…” He looks at me again. “A tuxedo.”

Gorgo steps away. The Duke looks back to me, tapping his lacquered nails on the table. “I am also disappointed in you, Ephraim….”

“She’s not—”

One of the Obsidians slaps my right ear. But a slap from one of them is like getting a door slammed on your head. I pitch sideways to the ground for the second time of the night. They straighten me back in the chair. “Who was she?” the Duke asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you lying to me? I do hate liars.”

“Why the bleeding hell would I bring someone else here?” I shake my head so I can see straight. “I know the rules….”

“Yet you broke them. I said only bring your team. And you didn’t even bring all of them. As if you were afraid of me. As if I wouldn’t keep my word! As if I need to lie!”

“I never bring my team to a drop.”

He looks at Volga in amusement. “Except your luggage hauler. But do not fret; since you took it upon yourself to disobey me, I took it upon myself to help you follow the rules.” Gorgo returns from his call dragging a woman behind him. It is Cyra. They’ve brutalized her. Face one large con

tusion.

Volga lunges forward. An Obsidian slams Volga in the back of her head with the haft of one of their axes. She goes woozy and tries to get up. He and another thorn kick her legs out and stand on her back so she’s belly-down on the floor. “Volga, stop,” I tell her numbly. The Duke watches me with neutral expression.