Ghost Thorns Read Online Free Page B

as the damp earth around the roots of Morius Orian’s carrion flower.
    And all at once, she knew how Morius intended to kill Septimus Rhazion. 
    “I suggest,” said Caina, pocketing the vial, “that you get out of Malarae at once. The Kindred aren’t likely to forgive another assassin dying in your shop.”
    “But I didn’t kill him,” said Halaam, his voice a whine.
    “No,” said Caina, “but who are they going to blame?”
    Halaam sighed, and started gathering his possessions.

    ###

    A few hours later, Caina let herself into Marcus Orian’s room at the Gilded Rose, wearing the disguise of a caravan guard come to enjoy the brothel’s amenities.
    Marcus, she noted, had not. He sat in a chair at the room’s small table, the bed unused, scribbling into a small, leather-bound book. A quick glance at the pages told her that he was attempting to turn his recent travails into epic verse. 
    Caina wondered if the poem would skip over his time at the Gilded Rose. 
    “Who are you?” Marcus demanded, surging to his feet. He didn’t recognize her through the disguise – that was good. “Why are you in my room?”
    “A messenger from Sonya Tornesti,” said Caina, masking her voice. 
    “Oh,” said Marcus, clutching his book to his chest. “What…what does she want?”
    “Be certain to attend your father’s dinner tomorrow night,” said Caina. “Master Anton and Mistress Sonya will be there, and they shall need your help.”
    Marcus blinked. “For what?”
    “To stop your father,” said Caina, “from murdering all his guests.”

    ###

    The next night, the coach of Anton Kularus stopped in front of the mansion of Morius Orian, and Caina stepped down.
    She had abandoned both the garb of a nightfighter and her caravan guard’s disguise for a black-trimmed blue gown that was too tight and too low across the bodice. It was exactly the sort of thing Sonya Tornesti would wear. Fortunately, the loose skirt allowed her to conceal weapons, and if she kicked off her high-heeled sandals, she could run without trouble.
    Caina suspected she might have to do some running before the night was out.
    Corvalis stepped next to her, tall and dark in his black coat.
    “Well,” said Corvalis, offering her his arm. “Shall we go cause trouble?”
    “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Caina. “Did you bring it?”
    He grinned. “Halaam didn’t bother to take it with him when he fled. It was still there, in his shop.” He handed her a small glass vial filled with a blue-colored fluid. “You’re sure this will work?”
    “Yes,” said Caina. “Mostly.” 
    A pair of footmen stood at the gates and bowed as they passed. Marcus Orian waited just inside the garden, shifting from foot to foot with nervousness, sweat glittering upon his brow. 
    “Master Anton, Mistress Sonya,” he said with relief. “You came.”
    “We did, my lord,” said Caina, slipping back into her Szaldic accent. “Our instructions, did you receive them?”
    “I did,” said Marcus. “Though I confess I do not understand them at all.”
    “That is of no concern,” said Corvalis. “I understand the Elders of the Kindred are fond of saying that understanding is not required for obedience.” 
    “I hope you are right,” said Marcus.
    They strolled into the garden. Liveried servants stood here and there, offering trays of food and drink to the master magus’s guests. Caina saw several members of the Magisterium present, stark and forbidding in their ornamented black robes, and her hands wanted to move to her concealed weapons. She hated the magi, loathed wielders of sorcery, and would have killed them all, if given the chance.
    But these men and women had done nothing to warrant death, and she would not let Morius murder them in cold blood. 
    And if Caina was right, Morius was going to kill a lot of people to become preceptor of Malarae’s chapter of the Magisterium. 
    “Ah.” A stout, balding master magus strode toward