As for the fire, the eunuch knew nothing of who had started it.
But he knew this much: As of late, someone had been making contact with the old retainers, whispering of a plan to "teach Rhaegar Thorne a lesson."
That person's name? Unknown.
His face? Never seen.
What was known was that each meeting had taken place at a gambling den in the eastern quarter of the city.
And that very night, the gambling house was surrounded.
It lay hidden deep within a narrow alley, its entrance marked only by two worn lanterns swaying faintly in the wind. From within drifted a chaotic mingling of sounds—shouted wagers, the rattle of dice, coarse laughter and curses blending into a restless din.
Rhaegar stood at the mouth of the alley, his dark gaze fixed upon those dim, flickering lights.
Behind him, Lance spoke in a hushed tone, "My lord, this is the place. The eunuch said each meeting was held in the rear courtyard—there is a private room set aside."
