Chapter 7: Of Ashes and Arches
There are few things more satisfying in life than watching your enemies fumble in confusion while you sip tea in a lace robe. I should know. I was doing exactly that when the second inquisitorial letter arrived. This time, it was pinned to the breastplate of a dead courier with silver nails.
"Lovely," I murmured, stirring honey into my cup. "They’ve upgraded to theatrics."
Roderick dragged the body into the back with a grunt. He muttered something about needing stronger wards on the perimeter. I, meanwhile, was admiring the calligraphy on the parchment. Whoever penned this threat clearly took pride in their penmanship.
"The Church does not bleed, it burns."
"A bit dramatic," I said aloud, tapping my quill against the rim of my cup. "But then again, so am I."
Elian appeared at my elbow like a seductive ghost. He leaned in close, warm breath on my neck, and whispered, "Do you think they’ll try to burn us tonight, or wait for the full moon?"
"Full moons are better for martyrdom," I replied. "More romantic lighting."
He giggled and draped himself over the divan across from me. His thigh peeked out from a slit in his gown, just enough to make me lose track of my thoughts for a few heartbeats. Damn him.
The brothel—sorry, companionship house—was thriving. Our clientele ranged from lonely barons to disillusioned priests, and every coin we earned added another layer of security to the Velvet Court. Still, the threat from the Church loomed like a stain on silk.
We needed more leverage.
And as luck would have it, it came in the form of a mysterious visitor who had been caught snooping near the townhouse’s perimeter on a damp and stormy night.