Madoc pocketed the necklace after examining it carelessly and sneered. “And it’s safe to assume at this point that the assailant has been taken care of, yes?”

“No. It was a Spark. He was inside the coach with her. Tore a hole in the armor and fled, nearly killing one of my men in the process.”

“‘Tis true,” Jim said. “Want to see the dent in my chestplate? Always knew it would come in handy.”

“No, thank you.” Madoc grimaced. “You’re not making a lick of sense, Mugsy. You trying to tell me she was killed by one of her own men?”

“Didn’t say it made sense. Just tellin’ ya the truth.”

Madoc stared off to the side in silence for a moment. “And her body?”

“It was… irretrievable. Dumped with her men. Everything else we carted into the Wastes and burned.”

Madoc swore viciously. “What an astronomical failure. Really, Mugsy, your reputation is unearned. You were given an effortless task and—”

“And one of my men died for it,” Mugs growled. “Logan’s son. So watch your goddamn mouth.”

“Logan? The Logan?” Madoc widened his eyes and then laughed cruelly. “Oh, you fool! That stupid little boy was destined for a premature death. It was only a matter of who else would be buried with him.”

Mugs didn’t say anything.

From the rear there was a sudden, quiet moan. For a few moments Mugs had forgotten about the girl but at the noise his pulse raced. He was the only one who seemed to notice it; Madoc was eyeballing him with a look that he could only interpret as amused contempt, and his poise betrayed his desire to start a fight he believed he could win, his fingers that had once been folded in crossed arms now hovering provocatively over the hilt of his sword.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mugs saw the girl convulse violently and moan again. This finally drew the attention of Madoc and his men, the leader stepping forward and gripping his weapon.

“What’s this, over there? Unhood that man, old friend.”

“He is ill,” Mugs said calmly, backing slowly to the girl. “He was wounded in the ambush and needs only medicine. If you allow it I can go get my bag and—”

“I do not,” Madoc said flatly. “Now unhood him.”

“Not a good idea, Madoc. His eyes—” The rest of his words were caught in his throat when the girl’s hand shot out from beneath the cloak and grabbed him by the wrist, painfully hard. He tore his eyes from Madoc, startled: her hands were ice cold.

Her eyes were wild, face pale and glistening with sweat. She looked damn near dead by all accounts, but it was the way she whispered in his ear, as though she was casually slipping a noose around his neck, that sent a chill straight down his spine. She spoke two words, uttered with a mixture of despair, malice, and euphoria.

He’s here.

Madoc gaped at the mystery girl. “A woman…” He unsheathed his sword and spat at Mugs. “You lied! Dunstan, seize the Empress!”

The sour-faced man on his left took a step forward.

“I wouldn’t do that, Dunstan,” Mugs whispered.

From the darkness a blade whipped across Madoc’s neck and hovered there, drawing a single drop of blood. With it came a thick hand that took a fistful of the man’s hair. Kate’s unnerving laughter bounced and echoed into the night.