Ghost Thorns by Jonathan Moeller

Ghost Thorns
    “The flower shall kill us all!”
    Caina looked up from her coffee in surprise.
    She sat at a table on the main floor of the House of Kularus, the Imperial capital’s finest (and only) coffeehouse. Servants in black livery hurried back and forth, carrying trays of coffee and pastries to the five levels of balconies encircling the main floor. Nobles and merchants came to the House of Kularus to do business, to plot and scheme, and to enjoy the coffee.
    But now every eye turned to watch the sweaty young man stumbling through the front doors. 
    He was no more than twenty, and his fine black coat and trousers hung off his bony frame like the clothes of a scarecrow. His black hair stuck up at odd angles, and his beady gray eyes darted back and forth.
    And if Caina was not mistaken, the young man’s name was Lord Marcus Orian, a minor noble of the Empire …and the son of Morius Orian, one of the magi of the Imperial Magisterium.
    “Listen to me!” bellowed Marcus, waving his hands. “The flower! Beware of the flower! Please, why won’t anyone listen to me! The flower will kill us all!”
    A gale of laughter answered his warning.
    Caina sipped her coffee, a suspicion rattling at the back of her mind, as footmen in black livery hurried to intercept Lord Marcus.
    “Selling flowers, young fellow?” shouted a merchant from the balconies. “You might have better luck at a brothel!”
    Another roar of laughter rang out.
    “Please!” said Marcus. “Listen to me! The flower…”
    The footmen seized his arms and hustled him away. He protested, but the footmen were former Legion veterans, and Marcus soon disappeared through the kitchen door. 
    The bustle of normal conversation returned.
    Caina sipped her coffee, black and bitter.
    “What was that all about?”
    A tall, hard-looking man with close-cropped blond hair and green eyes stood over her table, clad in the coat and trousers of a prosperous merchant. He wore a sword at his belt, but unlike most prosperous merchants, actually knew how to use it. His name was Corvalis Aberon, and he had once been an assassin of the Kindred. Now he masqueraded as Anton Kularus, but like Caina he was one of the Ghosts, the eyes and ears of the Emperor of Nighmar.
    And together they used the House of Kularus to gather secrets for the Ghosts.
    Caina smiled, rose, and took his outstretched hands. He pulled her close and kissed her on the lips, rather longer than propriety allowed in public.
    But that was all right. He masqueraded as Anton Kularus, and she pretended to be Sonya Tornesti, Anton’s Szaldic-born mistress. 
    The fact that they actually shared a bed, of course, only strengthened the disguise.
    “That was Marcus Orian, son of Morius Orian, one of Malarae’s magi,” said Caina. She made sure to speak with a thick Szaldic accent. “He thinks a flower is going to kill him.”
    Corvalis snorted. “If he thinks that, he needs something stronger than coffee to clear his head.” He titled his head. “You have that expression.”
    “What expression?” said Caina, looking at the kitchen door.
    “The expression,” said Corvalis, “that means you have an idea.”
    “I had heard,” said Caina, “a rumor about Master Morius and a flower of some kind.”
    It was an idle thought…yet perhaps not so idle. There were girls who sold harmless cut flowers by the docks. Yet some flowers were not so harmless, and skilled hands could transform them into deadly poisons.
    “Have a word with the footmen, will you?” said Caina. “I would like to speak with Lord Marcus.”
    “Very well,” said Corvalis. “But be on your guard. He might come at you with a flower.”
    Caina grinned, kissed him again, and went to the kitchen doors.

    ###

    Caina scrutinized her reflection in the gleaming copper pot, nodded in satisfaction, and stepped into the alley behind the House of Kularus.
    Two of the footmen waited with Marcus, thick hands wrapped around his arms.
    “I demand you