Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) Read Online Free PDF Page B

well.
    Because the next time he saw the Red Huntress, Kylon was going to kill her. He would strike her down without mercy or hesitation. Kylon had no doubt that the vile creature had earned such a death a hundred times over before he had been born, before even his parents had been born. 
    But for now, the headman’s hall was quiet.
    Kylon moved in silence through the great hall, the flagstones cold beneath his feet. He passed through the rear door and onto the broad terrace where they had eaten breakfast with Strabane. The clouds had passed and a hundred thousand stars blazed in the darkness overhead. Kylon stared up at them, remembering all the months he had spent at sea looking at those stars.
    Something cold and hard brushed his arcane senses.
    “Can’t sleep?” 
    Kylon turned, starting to draw the valikon from over his shoulder. Morgant leaned against the stone wall, a dark shadow in his black coat, his arms crossed over his chest. Kylon let out a long, irritated breath and slid the valikon back into its sheath. Part of his mind noted that the weapon’s blade was dark. The sigils carved into the ghostsilver blade only burned with white fire in the presence of spirits, which meant the Huntress and her nagataaru were not nearby. 
    Unless, of course, the Huntress was wrapped in her shadow-cloak. 
    “You shouldn’t startle a man carrying a sword,” said Kylon. 
    “You should pay better attention,” said Morgant amiably. He pushed away from the wall and strolled over, moving in utter silence. “I’ve surprised a lot of men carrying swords, and their weapons didn’t save them.” 
    “Is that friendly advice, or is that a threat?” said Kylon.
    “Why, neither,” said Morgant. “Just an observation. You may do as you like. I am, after all, not your master.”
    “No,” said Kylon. He started to turn. The last thing he wanted to do right now was listen to Morgant’s never-ending stream of barbed remarks. Caina always had a clever answer for him, but Kylon was not so quick with his tongue. 
    “Though I am surprised to see you here,” said Morgant.
    Kylon stopped and sighed. “Why?” 
    “I figured that you and the Balarigar would be tangled together in a pile of sweaty limbs,” said Morgant, “or lying in an exhausted stupor after your exertions.”
    Kylon just stared at him. 
    “Oh, don’t deny it,” said Morgant. “That is obviously what you two were doing. The others might have been too polite to point it out…”
    “But you are nowhere near polite,” said Kylon in a flat voice. 
    “It’s one of the many benefits of my great age,” said Morgant. “I can indulge in candor and claim it is wisdom.”
    “Go find some Kaltari youths and lecture them,” said Kylon. “I’m sure they will be delighted to listen to your wisdom. Likely they will find some clubs and use them to express their deep appreciation.” 
    Morgant barked a laugh. “Better! Your wit improves, Kyracian. I am impressed. I didn’t think you would have enough blood left in your brain for rational thought after what…”
    Kylon let out a disgusted sound and turned towards the hall. He feared for Caina, yes. He didn’t know if he could protect her, didn’t know how to stop the Red Huntress if the murderess returned. Yet he did not want to discuss that with Morgant the Razor. He started walking away…
    And stopped, something occurring to him.
    He could sense Morgant’s emotions. The assassin’s emotional sense always felt a bit…off to Kylon, older and harder and colder. Like an ancient oak that had hardened to the strength of cold iron. Or determination that had grown into something more unyielding than mere human emotion. There was malicious amusement in his sense, of course. There almost always was. 
    Kylon was sure that Morgant wanted something. 
    “What do you care?” said Kylon at last.
    “She turned you down, then?” said Morgant. “That is surprising. The way she chased after you at the Ring of