Page 138 of Settle Down, Princess

Weasel’s eyes met mine, that canny mind starting to focus.

“What then?”

“The more you know, the more likely your head will end up separated from your body.” Arik stepped closer as he crossed his arms. “Pretty sure you'd prefer to keep it where it is.”

Weasel nodded slowly, then reached into his pockets and tossed a couple of small pieces of metal on the desk.

“There’s your butterflies,” he said with a shrug. “Woulda sold them to you for far less than a gold coin, but…” His eyes met mine as a slow smile spread across his face. “In the spirit of ensuring customer satisfaction, maybe you should share a few more details. Butterflies are nasty things.”

He pressed the small pieces of metal together and a tiny spring within forced it to snap open, forming a shape much like a butterfly’s wing, but no insect had wings with razor sharp edges like these things.

“Set ‘em up under a saddle and they’ll cut through the blanket and then into the horse, making the nag go mad, trying to bolt away from the pain like the stupid things always do. There’s no getting away from it because the saddle and the rider are forcing it into the beast’s skin, cutting deeper with every gallop.”

He snapped it back shut.

“If you’re not looking to make a slow horse win a race, then I’m guessing a beast with an arse tore up worse than a brand new whore’s is not the end result you’re looking for.” I clenched my jaw, then looked up at Arik. No, it wasn’t. Weasel chuckled, reading our expressions perfectly. “So how about you share as many details as you can without me risking my damn head. We’re businessmen after all.” His cronies all grinned and nudged at each other, not able to look less trustworthy if they tried. “We want to ensure the customer is satisfied with the product we provide.”

More chairs were pulled up and one dark look from Arik had those nearby moving away from ours sharpish.

“We’ve been given orders to make sure someone dies on horseback,” Arik replied. “And we’re supposed to make it look like an accident.”

“Proficient rider or one of them pricks that sits in the saddle like a sack of potatoes?” Weasel asked.

“Proficient enough,” Silas replied.

Weasel made a show of considering that before grinning, revealing a row of the most wretched teeth I’d had the misfortune to look upon.

“Your dad has always been at pains to keep you away from the darker side of his business.” Weasel nodded at Silas. “A son of the Raven walking the halls of the palace at the Bastard Prince’s side.” His focus shifted to Arik. “Proud, he seemed.” Weasel shook his head. “And now he’s got you muddying your hands with wet work?”

That was the euphemism the assassins in the Raven’s employ used to describe anything that would result in blood being spilled. Silas didn’t even suck in a breath in reply. One minute he was listening to Weasel talk, then the next the man’s tattered sleeve was pierced through on both sides, the hilts of Silas’ daggers glowing in the lamp light.

“And you would do well to not worry yourself about what I do or don’t.” I heard his father’s steel in Silas’ voice. “Whatever training you think I received or didn’t, let me assure you that I gained plenty of experience in… wet work.”

To prove his point, he slid his finger through a thin scratch on Weasel’s wrist, the man letting out a thin whine when he saw the red blood.

“No, don’t move.” I knew that almost conciliatory tone. Silas used it with every man we’d been forced to interrogate. He was always the softest, right before he was going to hurt them the most. “A little twist to the right and you’ll be bleeding out all over this table.” Chairs were shoved back, but he turned to face Weasel’s cronies. “Sit down, gentlemen, and remain very quiet. I have plenty of other knives and I can assure you I won’t be anywhere near as careful if I’m forced to throw them.” He glared when they paused. “Sit. Down.”

I chuckled. “Looks like you’re ready to have a sensible conversation now, me old mate, so here it is. We need something that will cause a terrible fall from horseback, that can’t be traced back to us or anyone. Something that will look like an accident, that is very, very important. Anything that could potentially look like foul play would mean great trouble for the Raven.” For us, much more likely. “What do you suggest?”

“A girth cutter.” Weasel looked sharply at one of his men. “Ken, you’d have to have one.” The man in question dropped several flat pieces of metal onto the table. “Cunning things they are.”

I could see that as I raised one up to look much more closely at it. Most razors had their cutting edges on the outside of their blades, but this looked something like a paperclip, the sharp edge on the inside of the loop.

“Slide that on a girth strap and it won’t cut it right away. The horse won’t feel it, neither will the groom if you put it up high enough. No harm to the beast to alert someone that foul play is at work. Won’t even cut the girth neatly. Each movement will force the blade to cut deeper, leaving a slowly widening cut with ragged edges, as if the thing weakened of its own accord.” He snorted. “Gotta make sure the rider is moving at speed though to achieve your aims. At a race perhaps?”

Or a hunt.

I didn’t say that, collecting up some of the butterflies and the razors in one hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said as I got to my feet. “Needless to say we expect discretion.”

“Who am I gonna bloody tell, the Raven?” Weasel asked bitterly, not aware of the icy cold finger that slid down my spine at his words.

“The Raven is well aware of what we are up to, as he is what you do,” Silas replied. “We will let him know that you have been very helpful in this regard.”

“So where to now?” I asked, once we got outside of the inn, but I knew the answer.

“The Duke of Fallspire,” Arik confirmed. “We need to go past the barracks and pick up the communications Silas’ father left with one of the compromised officers to justify why we would visit his house. Ostensibly we are doing everything the Raven asked—”

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