The rogue leaned forward in his seat, resting his hands on the table. He took a deep breath, thread his fingers together, then began speaking, “Fate is a cruel mistress, but not as cruel as mine. My former mistress, now, I suppose.”
It was eerily quiet in the dark manor house that the Empire spies were using as their base of operations in a middling section of the upper ward; they’d gotten it cheaply after the untimely death of the original owners. If by cheaply, you meant free. Of course, no one knew the former homeowners were dead, or that they’d been half buried in the unfinished root cellar.
Echo had done that; his Mistress probably would have left them to rot in their beds upstairs. He’d managed to dig the shallow graves and roll the bodies into them before she found him. She’d for
