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Uncle Rowan! Shes done yelling! She wants to talk to you! Am I? Even for a journalist. Im going to give you a gift, Shan. She unfurled her fingers, long nails glinting in the half-light. Whether you want it or not. For those of us youve killed, for those possessions youve taken— Im sorry about that lot, mutters Rowan, gesturing at the table and putting his phone away. He shoots a glance at the barman. Hes probably younger than the woman. Perhaps 20, no more. A tight T-shirt, grimy glasses and a body thats all joints and gristle. Rowan feels a swell of pity for the lad. The two boorish dickheads are twice his size. The nearest has a roll of fat at his neck like a pug. He’s wearing a Fred Perry tracksuit top with shiny blue jeans and white trainers. He’s around Rowan’s age, and still sports a hairstyle made famous by the footballer Lee Sharpe around 1992: short hair gelled forward and snipped in a perfectly straight line at the fringe. His mate is wearing a checked shirt beneath a short bomber jacket – chunky gold chains around his neck. That way, smiles Crow. Hotel and bar and the birthplace of British rock-climbing, if youre interested. Id sit there and have a good hard think. I opened the file and gazed at the pretty young woman staring back at me. Like Angelina Clark, Donna could have been my sister. Long black hair surrounded a heart-shaped face, and her blue eyes were soft and clear. Shed been happy when that picture was taken, a far cry from the final photos in the file. Sipping my coffee, I began to read and make notes. Shed been twenty-five and single. Although not rich, her father owned a chain of fast-food restaurants, and they were upper middle class. Donna had worked as a manager at one of those restaurants. Shed disappeared on Christmas Eve after leaving her parents’ home in Beaufort. Her body had been discovered three months later, hanging from the oak tree in her parents’ backyard. Im sorry, Jeren, he murmured. Im so sorry. Im here now. I wish... He sighed and the words slipped away. “I wish I’d never gone. But I’m no use to you here.” He had a van. Well, more like a really tiny camper. It was a mess. All painted up with swirls and shapes and the inside was disgusting. It smelled like when grass has been left to go mouldy. He placed Emma on the floor, grabbed my hand, and wrapped my fingers around the knife.Kill her, or Ill kill Emma. Forgive my sister, Maldrine. She doesnt understand how times are changing. She spends her days lost in books, reading about the lives of our forebears rather than living her own. Gilliad circled the Fair One, carefully keeping his distance while appearing fearless. This is a great honour, my friend, and Ill return it in the only way I can. He raised his voice in proclamation. “I am Gilliad, Scion of Jern, Lord of River Holt and my word is law. I hereby name Maldrine Ket a Captain of River Holt and my personal Champion. Let every River Holter respect my word and do him every service he requires.” Samara, helpless to the temperamental weather, grinned through the droplets cascading down her face.Why must you… She licked her lips, tasting the rain. “The painting. Its what you wanted. It was supposed to make everything better. She hit him again, harder, using magic to reinforce her strength.Of course it isnt. Its your god. Bow down and worship him. Beg for forgiveness. She froze, trying to drag another breath in.To Shan? Whether the wolf-cub heard her, or even understood, she couldnt tell. She turned, stiff-backed to face the guards. Even they looked ashamed. You cynic, smiles Crow. It was a chance to do good, of course. Though he was a slippery sod, theres no doubt about that. It took Marlish a lot of his creative writing skills to come up with something good to say about him at the memorial service. Her body obeyed, instinct and training taking over from shock and fear. And then something else flooded through her—anger. How many assassins would he send? How many of his plots did she have to foil when all she wanted was to be left alone? How many lives? With a heartless grin, Ylandra twisted the blade, digging it even deeper, and Elayne dropped like a stone, gasping. Without pause, Ylandra drove straight at Jeren. Im to stay? Sounds delightful, says Eve, wishing shed savoured her drink rather than downed it. She could already use another. Like what? Samara pressed. Like Kelly?.