Flay huffed. “No doubt. Cesare has spies everywhere.”
“Even in Equatoria?”
“Of course. You knew one, Lord Kelvin.”
Gareth nodded and started down the steps with Flay at his side. He tried to sound only vaguely interested in what she was saying. “Kelvin is dead now, thanks to you. And so is Lord Aden. Thanks to me.”
“He is?” Flay glanced at him with surprise. “Why would you kill him? He could have been useful to you.”
“I don't like traitors who are loyal to Cesare. How could I have ever trusted him?”
“C'est la vie. The only excuse for betrayal is to be on the winning side.” She risked a hard glance at Gareth. “Isn't that why you've given up your mask, Greyfriar?”
Gareth froze and slid his eyes slowly to her. She flinched, fearful she had overplayed her hand. Then he laughed and nodded at her brutal sagacity. “Speaking of my alter ego, have you told anyone other than Lord Aden about the Greyfriar?”
Flay smiled seductively with renewed confidence. “No, my lord. I told you in the crypt underneath Alexandria that I would use that particular piece of delicious intelligence for my own gain. I shouldn't have told that human, but I was angry. And I was only going to tell Cesare when I was ready to destroy you.”
“How fortunate you didn't, Flay. Now we both have a brighter future.”
Flay leaned toward the prince, as if expecting him to touch her. However, he kept his attention straight ahead and continued a slow stroll down the broad steps. The war chief snarled, “This place stinks like humans.”
Gareth shrugged and waved his arm. People moved around them, even though it was well past dusk.
Flay sneered. “Perhaps if Lothaire wasn't so consumed with making little French vampires, he could clean out this rat hole.”
“His Majesty is in agreement with our plot. He will support Cesare's demise, and my coronation.”
The war chief didn't seem overjoyed.
“Don't fret.” Gareth allowed his voice to drip entitlement. “I'm Dmitri's eldest son.”
“You have been away a long time. Whom can you count on? You were once popular with Lord Ghast, but he's dead. Princess Adele killed him.”
“Yes, I remember.” Gareth pretended to eye Flay, angry at her doubt and complications as he tapped his finger on his chin. “What about Lord Raglan? He still has York, doesn't he?”
“Fine, there's one.”
“Well, how about…no, he's dead. Perhaps Lady—mm, no. Not her.”
Flay worked her jaw side to side with impatience. “Perhaps we should name lords who hate Cesare rather than those who like you.”
“A longer list, I'd guess.”
“Much.”
“Even so, should we reach out to them now? We can't afford for Cesare to suspect we're polling the clan before the coven.”
“You're right.” She stopped and turned toward him. “This won't be a simple matter.”
“You're here to make it simple, Flay,” Gareth replied sharply. “Politics is a matter of killing the right people at the right time.”
She eyed him hungrily. “Yes, but we must tread carefully. There is always the threat of civil war. The clan could shatter. Remember, King Dmitri had brothers, and they have children. Newcastle. Cambridge. Even the lord of Bruges is married to a cousin of yours. Any of these opportunists could proclaim you a usurper.”
“Unlikely.”
Flay shrugged. “Yes, but not impossible. I will sound out the clan and find several allies who will support you. And there are a few die-hard Cesare loyalists whom I can target for elimination. With proper preparation, we should be able to make you king with only the desired amount of bloodshed. You must prepare for everything. You must think on a wider scale than ever before.”
Gareth stifled a laugh, remembering the similar advice he'd given Adele during their fencing match. It gave him a chill to think he and Flay had mirror worldviews.
He saw a glint to his left and began to spin as a knife slid into his upper rib cage. He grasped the wrist of his attacker. There was no fear in the human's eyes, only determination. Another flash forced him to duck, and an axe swept past his head. He heard pops from above and something punched him in the shoulder, chest, and back. Gunfire came from the roofs above on both sides of the stairs.
Flay leapt into the air and rose toward the flashes from the rooftops. Bullets struck her too, and her weightless form went spinning.
Gareth reached for his rapier, but grasped empty space as the axe slammed deep into his shoulder, missing his neck by a few inches. He pulled the man with the dagger along with him as he backed against the wall to seek cover. Bullets ticked off the wall.