Maylien took a long pull from the leather water bottle, then gave a sip to Bontrang before hanging it off the back of her camp chair again. “Or any of my more prominent allies or lieutenants for that matter?” It was a good question. “I don’t know,” I replied. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. Six weeks had passed since the Jade Council massacre, as it was now being called, and despite more than one slipup on my part, no other Blade had yet made an attempt on Maylien’s life. Nor even come sniffing around, as far as I could tell. Six weeks filled with minor skirmishes—more in the way of street fights and roadside ambushes than battles, though the effectiveness of those had been going up since Prixia had started organizing the campaign. I got up from my place at the little table and began to pace back and forth in the limited space. My footsteps echoed hollowly in the back gallery where Maylien had set up her temporary offices, and raised the smell of damp stone and old ashes.
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