Free Game of Souls by Terry C. Simpson

some of them indispensable for the moment.
    Shaz stepped from the shadows like a black cloak unfurling. The act made Ainslen suppress a sigh. Always one with a flair for the dramatic, Shaz bowed, dark hair spilling from the hood’s edges. When he raised his head to meet Ainslen’s gaze, the assassin’s eyes glinted in the dark.
    “Enough already,” Ainslen said through clenched teeth. “If I wanted a performance, I’d send for Felius. Now, answer my question.”
    Shaz made a sweeping bow. “As you wish, your lordship.” He threw back his hood to reveal his scarred face and drooping eye. The other eye carried the acute slant attributed to Marishmen. “The boy was lying.”
    “Well, I knew that already.”
    “Did you also know he’s grown stronger? Much stronger?”
    Ainslen pressed his lips in a tight line. His siphoning hadn’t indicated any such change in Winslow.
    “Ah,” Shaz said, “so your little insects haven’t made you aware of the change.”
    This time, Ainslen barely managed to hide any hint of surprise at Shaz’s deduction, keeping his expression flat. Shaz’s knowledge of the mosquitoes was troubling and would have to be dealt with in due course. For now, he needed to discover exactly how much Winslow had developed. “Do not worry your little head over them. Tell me what you saw.”
    “Very well. His essence has collected in amounts to match someone three times his age who have never tapped into its depths.” Shaz clasped his hands. “His sintu is thick enough that if he knew how, he could tell when a person near him touches their own energy. By the look of things, he’ll only become more powerful. Maybe enough to rival his brother.”
    The underlying tone and the way Shaz eyed him gave the count pause. The assassin was too smart for his own good. Out of habit, Ainslen glanced at the picture hanging near the hearth.
    Marjorie. The thought of his wife sent a shiver through his body. Easing his eyes closed, he inhaled deeply to calm himself. Far’an Senjin was unforgiving, but to have the light she’d brought to his life cut short by a former King’s Blade was inexcusable. Ever since that day, he’d sworn vengeance. And he would have it. The moment was so close he could almost taste it.
    In the past, his days were torn between regret for losing her and what he’d gained. Too bad Kenslen died so young, his body and mind too fragile.
    The count sifted through Shaz’s words. Winslow’s development might mean he couldn’t touch the boy’s soul without his knowledge. A more than worrying predicament.
    “Tell me, Shaz, is there anything you do not see?”
    “If I missed much, I wouldn’t be such a coveted man.”
    The smug tilt to Shaz’s lips spoke of the Marishman’s arrogance. It was his flaw. Although not of noble birth, Shaz was so absorbed in the game, so wrapped up in the many ways his employers used him, that he thought he could match wits and blades with anyone. Such a belief would get him killed one day. However, today was not that day.
    “I need you to keep an eye on Winslow. Find out as much as you can about this boy he met.” Ainslen had always suspected there would be others like his son. Not encountering any since the woman they discovered during the Night of Blades hadn’t convinced him they were nonexistent. The absence made him more wary.
    “Yes, your lordship.”
    “Now, what news from Antelen Hill?”
    “Count Rostlin’s been mustering as much funds as he can. He’s sent traders all the way to Thelusia, Marissinia, and back. He’s also garnered a partnership, or at least the promise of one, with House Humel and House Keneshin.”
    Ainslen nodded as he contemplated the situation. “So he’s gathered quite a force.”
    “Yes, apparently even Cardinton was interested for a time.”
    “Really? What happened?”
    Shaz shrugged. “My people don’t know for sure, but it seems Cardinton wasn’t overly impressed when he visited.”
    Ainslen tilted his head,