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Saff wasn’t expecting him to already know who she was, and it rocked her balance. “I overhead Levan torturing a Brewer for information on a Nalezen Zares. I don’t know who that is, but I believe an old friend from the Academy might be able to help.”

Levan’s lip curled viciously, victoriously. “Which friend?”

Saints.

She’d have to answer; she was supposed to be under the influence of truth elixir.

For a split second, she considered using Aspar’s name.

She had the clearance to research Zares, after all.

But if anything went wrong and the Bloodmoons killed the captain, nobody but Nissa would know the truth of Saffron’s mission.

And if Nissa couldn’t convince the Order that Saff was undercover this whole time, she’d be trapped in the Bloodmoons.

“I suppose you’re thinking of Auria Marriosan,” drawled Lyrian, before she could even speak.

Her heart missed several beats.

The kingpin gave a wide, cruel smile, as though this was an immensely fun game.

“Oh, yes. I know every name in this city, and especially every Silvercloak. A clever mage, is Auria Marriosan. Perfect marks on her Knight’s Scroll in Common Law, although the final Silvercloak assessment landed her in the hospital wing with a missing ear.

Righteous, proud. No religion to speak of, which will be useful if she wants to be an impartial Grand Arbiter.

Although she’d do well to cut the Flane boy loose.

The flame-hearted Eqoran would be a more suitable companion …

although you have your own soft spot for Nissa Naszi, do you not? ”

Saffron struggled to bridle her fear.

How in the hells did the kingpin know so much?

She had thought herself prepared for this meeting, but he was twice as prepared, and he hadn’t even known she was coming.

“Yes, Marriosan.” Lyrian looked deep in thought. “Now, she would be a valuable card to keep in our pocket.”

Levan cleared his throat. “Killoran made the point that the Silvercloaks wouldn’t willingly cooperate with a Bloodmoon. Better for her to make the approach.”

“Well, we’re rather skilled at encouraging cooperation.” Lyrian stroked his chin. “Marriosan. Her grandfather is a gelatier. Do you think he could still make banana cream pie without his hands?”

The words clamped around Saff’s chest.

The thought of sweet Papa Marriosan tortured because of her …

He was old. The pain would likely kill him.

Auria would never recover, and she would certainly never forgive Saffron.

“In any case, we don’t need Killoran .” Lyrian climbed to his feet, crossing around to where she stood in front of his desk.

He lifted his wand and pressed it in the soft hollow beneath her chin, jerking her face up to the chandelier light.

“Didn’t your time in the gamehouse teach you anything about showing your cards too soon? ”

Saff struggled to swallow against the jutting wand.

Had he been watching her the whole time?

As if to answer her question, he let out a cold, rattling laugh. “Each of the roulette balls act as second eyes for me. I see everything, Filthcloak. I know everything. ” A cruel grin. “ Sen doloran .”

The torture curse.

It had no effect, of course, but Saffron was used to pretending.

She let out a strangled, half-suppressed scream, her limbs trembling, her eyes beading with tears.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Lyrian murmured, and there was a look of sadistic pleasure on his face, as though seeing victims squirm was immensely erotic. “I’ll stop when you beg me to do so.”

“No,” Saff all but spat. “Never.”

For some reason, her refusal triggered a curious reaction in the kingpin. In an instant he dropped the wand to his waist and gave a sordid head shake, as though disappointed in himself for resorting to such crude measures.

Saff let out a breath of false relief, though she kept the trembling for effect.

“Pain has never been all that satisfying to me.” His voice was quiet, sinister.

“Fear is a more sophisticated beast, is it not? Pain stops when the spell stops, but fear … it burrows, it grows roots, it takes on a life of its own long after I have sown its seed. To wield fear is to wield the greatest power of all.” A dismissive hand wave.

“I have magic, of course, but my most valuable gift is my memory. Because you know, Filthcloak, I never forget a face. I never forget a name. Every person in this city is mapped out in my head. Every strand of love and kinship between them shimmers before me, begging to be plucked. The most efficient means of compelling, other than compelling itself, is to tug those threads until they hurt .”

Saff said nothing, and he paced in front of the fire, his steps neither frantic nor impulsive, but rather slow, deliberate, quietly intimidating.

“Your uncles, Mal and Merin. Cloakiers, and fine ones at that. We’ve used them ourselves to purchase common cloaks, for when we wish to move through the city unmarked.”

He gave a broad, cold smile.

“How kind of them to take you in, after we killed your parents in Lunes all those years ago.”