King's Man and Thief Read Online Free PDF

long, thin fingers, and their eyes, a bright, knowing hazel, were the same. That, and their quick minds.
    "Do you know how much a pane of glass costs?" said Deveren.
    "I'll pay for it," Damir offered. "It's worth every penny just to have watched you sneaking about like that. You're slipping, Dev. If I had been waiting to kill you, I'd hardly have lit a candle to announce my presence."
    Deveren was so embarrassed he actually blushed. Of course. Any other night, he would have realized that at once. But so soon after the massacre, he was understandably on edge.
    "Pray tell, Ambassador Larath, what brings you to the fair city of Braedon?" he asked Damir, changing the subject as he led his brother out from the library into the dining area. "I'd heard that King Emrys wasn't doing so well, and thought you wouldn't be too far from his side. Come on, let's get something to eat. Sudden fear followed by intense pleasure always makes me hungry."
    He reached for a bowl of fruit on the table in the dining room, seizing a fragrant peach and biting into it. Deveren's dining room would more appropriately be called a hall. The table at which he plopped himself so casually would easily sit twenty-four, and it stretched grandly into the superbly decorated room. Despite the fine old furniture, the lovely statues of elf-maidens and noble warriors, and the high, vaulted ceiling, the place, like its owner, was friendly rather than overwhelming. Damir, used to even more sumptuous surroundings than his brother's abode, followed his sibling's relaxed example. He eased into a plush chair, studied the bowl of fruit, and helped himself to a bunch of grapes.
    "Actually," Damir began slowly, fingering the fruit rather than plucking it, "you bring me here."
    Deveren nearly choked on his peach. "Me?" he mumbled. "Sweet Health, don't tell me your spies know about the election already!" Damir's position was, officially, that of an ambassador. Deveren knew that his brother's actual role in the function of government was far more important and far more dangerous. Damir had at his command a vast network of spies—though he liked to use the term "information gatherers."
    Damir arched a thin, aristocratic eyebrow. "Election? Why, no. You'll have to tell me all about it later. No, I came to make sure that you were ... all right." His eyes, bright as a sparrow's, met his brother's evenly.
    All traces of mirth and welcome vanished from Deveren's countenance. He was silent for a long, tense moment, and when he at last spoke his voice was like ice.
     
    "If you ordered that raid on the Whale's Tail Desdae night," he said slowly, "then you are not welcome in my home."
    "Of course not, Dev!" The undisguised hurt and anger in Damir's normally modulated voice was proof enough for Deveren, and his posture relaxed. "You know I have no say in matters of that nature."
    "But you knew it was going to happen, didn't you?"
His thin face still tense, Damir nodded. Deveren swore.
    "I have no control over... that branch of the government," Damir continued. "I didn't even know who was ... who had survived and who hadn't. I wanted to send you a mind-warning, but—" "Braedon is too far away," Deveren finished his brother's sentence. He knew the limits of Damir's mind magic. Damir nodded, his eyes searching Deveren's.
     
    "Gods, Dev, I couldn't even sense if you were still alive! I left home the minute I knew what they were planning. Maybe I shouldn't have bothered!"
     
    Deveren looked down at his reflection in the highly polished wood of the table. "Sorry. But Damir—I lost friends that night."
    The older man sighed and popped a grape into his mouth. "I realize that," he said in a calmer voice, after he had swallowed. "You wouldn't have if you'd stayed away from that group as I advised you to."
    Deveren suddenly seemed to develop a great interest in finishing his peach and fell silent. Damir narrowed his eyes. Deveren could practically see wheels turning in his brother's head as