Roland heard the sounds of laughter above him. Although he hadn’t been paying proper attention, he could guess that Holsley had just told a crude joke. Something involving a horse, a bard, and an injured elf. The rogue couldn’t tell if he had done it to detract attention from the trolley or simply because telling jokes was in his nature.

It reminded him of the first time they went thieving together in the Markets. As the older of the two, Roland had always felt a certain sense of responsibility when it came to Holsley, almost as if he were his older brother, and had always been a little reluctant to bring the young bard in when he pickpocketed the crowds.

Holsley tended to be loud, unbalanced, and attracted a lot of attention. However, Roland soon discovered that he was the perfect distraction.

He was just good enough with the lute to bring in a crowd and enchant them for a few moments. Roland grinned as he remembered the little jokes Holsley would put into his melodies, of how he’d riff on the crowd’s appearance and send a cascade of chuckles all the way to the back.

Holsley never heard the comments about his performances, but Roland had. They loved him. As the rogue pilfered from open pockets, he listened to the people laugh and joke while talking about how they thought Holsley was pretty good for someone his age.

The performance that the bard had done at his hanging had surprised Roland. Why was his friend so out of touch with the lute? In times gone by, Holsley could enchant that crowd as easily as drawing a breath, but not now. He had to wonder what had changed. Maybe Holsley wasn’t the same bard he’d been three years ago?

The tubheads pulled themselves together as the trolley manoeuvred its way towards a set of double wooden doors with iron hinges. They were rustic and homely, and on each was a gold plate in the shape of a raven’s silhouette. With a thief’s eye, Roland spied out of the gap in the trolley’s sheet the studded gems placed in the raven’s eyes.

He ignored the opportunity to steal.

Instead, he closed his eyes and focused. The rapier was close. He knew it was. He didn’t know how, but it was like a feeling, almost like an internal compass where his heart was, gently tugging him in the right direction.

Roland originally thought that his strange sixth sense had been developed and sharply honed during his career as a professional thief. Only later in life did he learn that no other thief had this gift. Fox had told him that.

The room they were entering now was not the throne room where he had first met Love; it was a dining room, which surprised him. Roland thought for sure that the rapier would be in there because the matriarch had mentioned using it for a new dress design. Still, he figured she always kept her dresses close.

The trolley passed through the threshold, and he heard two knocks above him — that was Holsley. As discussed previously, he knew the bard was about to create a distraction. Roland braced himself and watched Holsley through a crack in the trolley’s curtains.

Holsley, laughably, suddenly tripped over nothing and continued falling for what felt like a full minute in the most exaggerated and dramatic manner possible. He flailed his arms, moaned in mock surprise, and made a complete ham of himself as he hit the polished floors. Roland had almost been so enthralled by the performance that he’d nearly forgotten to slither out.

As the tubheads saw to the bard, he deftly rolled from the trolley and rushed swiftly behind the nearest pillar. He peered around it, careful to keep his face hidden. Holsley apologised profusely and slowly moved the cart towards the other end of the long table. Finally, now that Roland had escaped the confining space, he could take in where he was.

This is what passed for a dining room amongst the wealthy elites.

High-flung ceilings delicately painted with extravagant and truly vivid works of art depicting Gods and men in constant battle with one another hung overhead. Extravagant cornices towered above the marble pillars, which stood dutifully around a single, long table that could easily seat fifty people. Maybe more. Everything in here was a work of art, but especially the table’s top, which was covered end to end with silver cutlery and baroque dishes.

Gods, the money he could make if he had ten minutes alone in here.

As it stood, though, he wasn’t alone, not by a long shot. There were maybe two dozen houseguards in here. They stood dutifully along the walls, watching over the lonely figure sitting at the far end of the table. The elderly, hunched-over figure wore a grotesquely over-imagined figure-hugging glittery dress seemingly made of silver light.

He recognised Love Ravenpeak immediately.

Roland cringed as she popped a chocolate into her mouth from the wooden box beside her and chewed it thoughtfully. He also spotted the black cat lapping up a bowl of cream next to her. It was still adorned in a jewel-encrusted harness. Again, he thought, if only he could have ten minutes alone.

One of the tubheads escorted Holsley and the trolley towards Love. Roland followed in the shadows. To keep out of sight, he used the room’s many features to aid him but knew getting under the table would be the best way to keep an ear and a dagger on the situation. Carefully, he flitted from cover to cover, from pedestals to pillars to curtains, hoping for an opportunity to slip beneath the furniture.

‘Your Ladyship,’ the tubhead said with a respectful bow. ‘Your dinner has arrived.’

Roland stifled a giggle as he watched from behind a velvet curtain.

The tubhead removed the silver cover from the platter and revealed the half-eaten remains of pheasant with all the trimmings. Love considered it for a moment, then peered over towards Holsley. A moment passed. She ushered him towards her with one finger while keeping her chin proud and high.

Not wanting to displease her, Holsley moved forward, and even from where Roland was standing, he could see her face take on a devilish demeanour. Love was smarter, perhaps smarter than he realised, and he was always wary about putting one over on a smart person.

‘Darling, could you please tell me what has happened to my pheasant?’ Love playfully leaned forward, resting her chin against three of her bejewelled fingers in mock amusement. ‘Am I suddenly on some kind of diet?’

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‘It’s a really good question,’ replied Holsley, eyes firmly on the ground. ‘Uh, it was like that when I got it.’

‘Your ladyship,’ she said.

‘Oh, sorry, your ladyship.’

‘What’s your name, dear?’ Love kept her face indifferent, impossible to read. ‘I’d love to know it.’

‘Uh, Gus.’ Holsley came up with it quickly. ‘Gus Gravy, vu, uh, Graven. Yes. Gus Graven. That’s my name.’

She glared at him.

‘Your Ladyship.’

‘Are you sure?’ Love asked but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You look familiar. Have you always had that distinctive gap between your front teeth and those absolutely gorgeous auburn curls, Gus?’

Roland could see Holsley’s hand twitch as if it might be considering grabbing the lute. Shame that. Roland was still holding the lute with his fingers wrapped around the strings to muffle them. He continued, stealthy as a shadow, moving next behind a grand old suit of armour.

‘Yes,’ Holsley admitted. ‘Though, I think it’s a pretty common look. Uh, your Ladyship.’

‘Indeed.’ Love smiled, revealing a few of those sharp fangs. ‘Who sent you?’

‘Bingle…uh…’ Holsley looked around. ‘Forkspoon. Bingle Forkspoon, your Ladyship.’

Roland shook his head in disbelief as he rolled underneath the table, allowing the snickers of the guards to mask his landing. If it weren’t so tragic, he would’ve laughed too. It was perhaps the worst name he’d ever heard someone make up on the spot. There was no way, not one, that Love wouldn’t see right through it.

He did it, though — he was now under the table. From here, the pull of the rapier was stronger than ever. It was so close.

Above him, Love continued her interrogation. As the moments slipped by, it became more and more evident that she thought she was dealing with a fool. Roland knew that she had probably already guessed that this was Holsley, which meant her mind was right around the corner from thinking about him.

He stopped. A glint caught his attention. Ahead, right at the end of the table, through the makeshift aisle of neatly organised chairs, he saw the very thing he had come to retrieve. He rushed for it, then stopped.

It was attached to Love’s upper thigh.

‘Right, I think that’s enough games for one day.’ Love stood up from her chair but didn’t leave her position at the head of the table. ‘Where is Roland Darrow?’

‘Who?’

‘I suppose if I had to guess, he’s stalking the corridors looking for my rapier? Perhaps, he’s found himself to my vault. Maybe, even…’ her eyes drifted to the trolley. ‘He’s in this very room with us.’

‘Uh,’ Holsley stammered. ‘He couldn’t make it today. I think he caught a cold in your dungeons. You might want to look into that.’

‘Funny,’ Love snarled, exposing her fangs. ‘He’s close, isn’t he?’

‘Uh, no?’

‘Guards.’ A trample of feet sounded at the call. ‘Apprehend the bard.’

It’s incredible how a few seconds can change any situation. For example, a few seconds ago Roland had wanted to get in and out of the keep quietly, but he knew now that it would never happen. Love knew he was here, and she had Holsley trapped. That’s why a good thief always knows how to improvise when things change.

It’s also why he suddenly had a dagger to Love’s throat.

The old matriarch hadn’t seen it coming. Roland was rapid in his step, diving out from the head of the table, around her legs, and rushing the dagger point into the supple skin of her exposed neck. He was at her throat in the time it took her to draw a breath. The houseguards closing in towards Holsley stopped when they saw Roland and backed off.

‘I see we’re going with plan B then,’ said Holsley.

‘What exactly is your plan now, darling?’ Love purred, her voice calm and collected. ‘Are you going to kill me?’

‘Only if I have to,’ said Roland. ‘I’d certainly be repaying the favour.’

Love let out a sigh, which seemed more out of exasperation than anything else. ‘What are your demands?’

‘Now we’re talking.’ Roland nodded towards the houseguards and spoke a little louder so they could hear him. ‘All of you, move over there towards the windows on the other side of the table and sit down on the floor.’

They hesitated. Love nodded. Then, with their hands up, they moved slowly back to the far side of the room and found a space on the floor.

‘Holly,’ Roland held up his stone appendage. ‘Grab the rapier.’

‘Oh!’ The young bard jumped into action. He rushed towards Love and, ignoring her look of apparent disdain, drew the rapier from her. Holsley slid it into Roland’s belt and took three considered steps back from the situation.

‘Your lute’s down there, Holly.’ Roland nodded towards the instrument under the table. ‘Make sure you don’t leave it behind.’

Holsley dove for the table but struggled to get around the chairs.

‘What now?’ Love asked.

‘We’re going to take a walk,’ Roland hissed in her ear.

‘I’m curious as to what happens after that,’ replied Love. ‘Are you going to walk me out of the city? Out of the region? What happens when you drop the dagger, I wonder. Will you sleep with it at my throat, Roland dear?’

Holsley was kneeling, struggling between the chairs to reach the lute. His fingers brushed the strings, and he realised he’d have to move the chairs out of the way to pick it up. If Roland hadn’t been standing next to Love, he might’ve been able to grab it without having to manoeuvre the furniture.

‘If I have to.’

‘Well, I do apologise, Roland, I simply don’t have that sort of time. As you are aware, I am a very busy person.’

Click. Love pressed one of her rings like a button, and the piece of jewellery suddenly glowed a sickly deep orange. Roland brought the dagger into her as a warning, even going as far as to draw a drop of blue blood from her neck. He noticed his dagger brush something and realised that it was the tawny piece of string she had been wearing the previous time they’d met. He ignored it for now.

‘What did you just do?’

Love was smiling. Roland could feel it in his stomach. Whatever was about to happen was not going to be anything good.

‘Holsley,’ she said clearly. The young bard backed out from the table, banging his head as he did so. He rubbed it as he looked up at Love as if she was addressing him, but the matriarch simply looked back down at him with contempt.

There was a hiss then, and he suddenly realised that Love hadn’t been talking to him.

She had been talking to the cat.

Holsley squealed as the black tabby lunged from the table onto his shirt, scratching and hissing at the bard’s face. He struggled, stumbling backwards, as he tried to get the cat off of him.

On the far side, the houseguards were laughing. The cat was all over him, showing no mercy, and when he finally managed to get the ferocious feline off of him, its efforts redoubled, hissing madly and swiping at his ankles. Holsley was forced to back away or feel its wrath.

‘Is that it?’ Roland giggled. ‘You’ll have to do better than a house cat.’

‘As you wish.’

Roland squared his jaw. One of the gems on the cat’s harness was glowing — a shimmering sickly orange hue bathed its fur, just like the light on her ring. The lambent glow lasted for a second, but when it was finished, the cat doubled in size, becoming roughly the size of a large dog, and the harness magically grew with it. Suddenly, the claws were the size of tiny daggers, and Holsley had no choice but to dodge away from it clumsily as it continued to assail him.

Holsley, who had been panicking when it was just a regular-sized cat, could see where this whole thing was going. The bard rushed to the double doors and pried them open before barrelling into the hallway beyond. It was a good thing, too, as the cat glowed and grew again, this time becoming the size of a panther.

With a snarl, the overgrown feline leapt after the bard.

‘Make it stop!’ Roland warned, tilting the dagger threateningly. He could hear Holsley’s shrieks echoing down the corridor as the cat closed the distance between them. ‘Now.’

‘You’ve got a choice to make here, darling,’ Love cooed. ‘Keep me as a hostage or allow your friend to be devoured by a giant cat that doubles in size every few moments. It’s your choice, of course.’

Roland let out a groan of complete exasperation.

He threw Love to the floor, sheathed the dagger, ducked down to pick up the damned lute that Holsley had left behind, and quickly gave chase before the house guards could get up off their butts to stop him.