The stairs leading to the Royal Box were carpeted in velvet so red it looked like a fresh arterial spray. Valeria climbed them with a steady rhythm. Her boots sank into the plush fabric. Beside her Duke Garius walked with the heavy tread of a man marching to the gallows. He was sweating. The scent of brandy oozed from his pores and mixed with the cloying perfume that drifted down from the nobility above.
"They are all there," Garius whispered. He wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "The High Council. The Guildmaster. The Emperor. They are waiting for the show. They expect a slaughter, Valeria. They expect to see my head on a spike by sunset."
"Then let us disappoint them," Valeria said.
