Winter's Reach (The Revanche Cycle Book 1) Read Online Free

sconces. At the far end of the hall, balcony doors stood closed against the autumn night.
    Stathis waved his arm across the gallery hall in a grand flourish, inviting his guests to take in the dozens of paintings on the walls. Their gold and silver frames hung in a jumble, lush oils next to charcoal sketches.
    “My humble collection. Artworks from every corner of the Empire and beyond. This one right here? My latest acquisition. It’s a genuine Kleissos, dated to 977. Now, of course I had to pay a considerable sum for it…”
    He paused, waiting for one of his guests to ask how much he’d paid. Neither of them did.
    “…a
very
considerable sum,” he added, “but it was worth it.”
    “These are all very lovely,” Despina said, “but our patron has something else in mind. Something a little more…exotic?”
    Vassili nodded. “Eckhardt said you purchased a certain piece from him, just last month. A very
special
piece.”
    Stathis pursed his lips, suddenly taciturn. His gaze flitted between his guests.
    “I might have
spoken
to Eckhardt something along those lines,” he said, choosing every word with care, “but that sort of thing, well, it is unwise to possess such an item. The Church frowns upon it. You…
did
say your patron has deep pockets?”
    “The deepest,” Vassili said. He patted his satchel. “We are prepared to make a generous offer and take it off your hands, right here and now. That is, if the item is authentic.”
    Stathis wavered on his feet, torn between his greed and his nerves. Greed won. He held up a finger. “Wait right here.”
    He scurried back a few minutes later, clutching a sandalwood box in his arms. He unlatched it and lifted the lid as his guests leaned in to see. Inside, a mask carved from bleached bone to resemble the face of a squirrel rested on a bed of black velvet.
    “It has been authenticated.” Stathis trembled with nervous excitement. “It’s the real thing. It belonged to the Witch of Kettle Sands.”
    Vassili and Despina looked at one another. They nodded in unison. Then they turned their gazes back to Stathis.
    “It is dangerous, owning such a thing,” Despina said.
    “Oh, it’s hardly the first piece of contraband to pass through my vault,” Stathis said. “I’ve friends in the constabulary, and they’re rewarded not to search my wagons too carefully. When Eckhardt showed me this beauty, well, I just
had
to have it.”
    “He’s so brave,” Despina said to Vassili.
    Vassili clasped his hands together. “Truly. I’d be afraid of getting cut up, like Eckhardt was.”
    Stathis blinked.
    “You didn’t hear?” Despina tilted her head. “It was a terrible thing. Someone chopped him up into teeny-tiny pieces and fed him to his own dogs. While he was still alive.”
    “I—I had no idea!” Stathis stammered. “Poor Eckhardt! He was a bit of a scoundrel, but a good man at heart. When did it happen? Did they catch the rogue who did it?”
    “It happened when we visited him,” Vassili said.
    “And no,” Despina added, “we have not been caught.”
    The sandalwood box tumbled from Stathis’s hands. It bounced on the floor, flipping over, and the bone mask spun a few feet away. Stathis staggered backward, bumping his shoulders against the gallery wall.
    Vassili opened his satchel. He took out two pallid masks of his own, handing one to his partner. They put them on at the same time. Despina’s mask was styled like a shrike. Her piercing gaze bore through the hunting bird’s narrow eye-slits. Vassili’s mask was a swirling abstract at first, all squirming lumps and strange curves, until Stathis realized what he was looking at.
    Worms
, he thought.
It’s a mask of worms
.
    The house exploded in a cacophony of breaking glass and screams. The noise came from everywhere—the kitchens, the grand staircase, the bedroom wing—as Stathis’s household staff met their nightmares.
    His butler staggered in through the gallery door, reaching out a desperate