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“Yes. But he wants Fang to help him leave tonight. We obviously aren’t going to let that happen.”
“What’s your plan to capture him?” Liam asked.
Desfan glanced at Karim, who stood beside him. His friend was not happy about this plan, though he was resigned. “Members of the city guard—along with Karim and myself—will be disguised as Fang’s men. We’ll be in the warehouse when Sahvi arrives. We’ll wait to spring our trap until the warehouse is surrounded by my men, and Sahvi has revealed where Fang’s family is—and possibly why he’s in possession of my gold, why exactly he’s been bringing olcain into Mortise, and who in Zennor is giving him orders. Of course, if he doesn’t confess on his own, we can always secure a confession later.”
Liam pondered this. “That plan isn’t utter rot.”
Desfan snorted. “Thank you.”
“It could be improved upon, of course.” Liam resettled his shoulders against the back of his chair, making the wood creak. “You should use members of the palace guard, not the city guard. Sahvi and his men may have taken note of some faces on the streets and recognize them.”
Karim grunted, the sound a little too gruff to be considered appreciative.
Desfan tipped his head. “A good recommendation. Thank you.”
“Of course, by that same logic, you shouldn’t be there,” Liam said. “If Sahvi has been in Duvan for a while, then he might have glimpsed you at one of your public appearances.”
“I will be there,” Desfan said—quickly, so Karim couldn’t throw in his argument as well. “The light will be imperfect, and he won’t expect me. I’m not worried.”
Liam shrugged. “It’s your neck, Serjan. Of course, there are a few other issues with your plan.”
His brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“The fact that Sahvi is slippery as a serpent, for one—you’re not likely to actually catch him. Not unless you have a blade to his ribs when you spring your trap. You’ll need someone to get close to him, and that will be virtually impossible for all of you.”
“What would you suggest, then?”
Liam arched one brow. “Allow me to hold the knife.”
A laugh burst out of him. When Liam’s calm expression didn’t falter, Desfan’s eyes widened. “Fates, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He laughed harder, the sound ringing against the stone walls.
Liam sighed. “I’m glad I amuse you.”
Desfan still shook with laughter. “Fates! As if I’d trust you to just walk out of here and give you a knife?”
The spymaster’s lips pressed into a line. “I’m the only one who has a chance of getting close to Sahvi.”
“Why?” he asked, mirth still heavy in his voice. “Doeshetrust you?”
“No,” Liam said blandly. “But he’ll be surprised to see me, and that has its advantages.”
“Why would he be surprised to see you?”
Liam’s hand lifted so he could scratch his bearded chin. “We have a history. Not a good one. The last time we were in the same room together, I thought he was dead.”
Desfan folded his arms across his chest. “Were you the one who tried to kill him?”
“Not at that exact moment, no. But I assure you, the moment Sahvi sees me, he’ll be thrown off-guard. He’ll allow me close, and I can get a blade on him before his men can react.”
Desfan shook his head. “No. I’m not bringing you with us.”
Liam exhaled slowly. “I assure you, you’ll regret your choice.”
“I’ll cope. In the meantime, is there anything else you can tell me about Sahvi or why he might have some of the gold from my treasury?”
The prince frowned. “Well, that’s an interesting turn. I didn’t think Zennor was involved in that attack against you.”
“I thought the same. Do you have any idea why Sahvi would involve himself in raiding my treasury?”
