“What whisperings?” she prodded.
“There are some that say,” unconsciously, he glanced
quickly from side-to-side, “the Baron has become aware of
your activities and has begun to make inquiries.”
“If he is only now making inquiries,” she smirked, “it is
already too late.” She put her arm around Coutec’s
shoulder and pulled him in close to her. “Here is what I
need you to do.”
Four decades, she had waited. Biding her time, awaiting
the right moment. Watching. Watching, had become the
key to her existence, for she knew that to miss the window
of opportunity once afforded her, would mean her
destruction. And that window, appeared now, to be
opening.
Two nights later, Adriene Napier, the Baron’s most senior
advisor, sat before her, stripped to the waist, arms and legs
bound securely to the heavy oak chair. They were alone.
“Do you know who I am?” he demanded angrily. Napier’s
reputation was nearly as brutal as the Baron’s. But Napier
had a peculiar fetish. He preferred the blood of young
boys, specifically, fraternal twins. Such a refined palette
had only made him easier to ensnare.
“I don’t care who you are.” Lisle said quietly. She rose
from her seat and went to the fireside. She plunged the tip
of the iron poker deeply into the bed of embers, twirled it
a few times and left it there to heat.
12