Atherton entered and quickly strode up to her throne.
'My lady...' he began, but she cut him off.
The old steward stared at his feet as he spoke. "My lady. Felix Scatheworthy is dead."
Yantris frowned, a numb memory of pain in her jaw from when Felix Scatheworthy broke it with his armoured fist. She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on her advisor.
She could almost hear Atherton whimper, as if he'd desperately hoped she wouldn't ask.
'All of them, my lady. Magpie, Blackjack Prescott, the Moreau brothers...'
'Who did this?' Her voice was like a razor made of the coldest steel.
'We... we don't know, m-my lady.'
For the briefest moment, she hid her face in her hands. When she looked at him again, a grim determination marked her features.
'Gather the men. We're going hunting.'
'At once, my lady!' Atherton saluted, and was about to turn to leave when she spoke again.
'Find Bloodletter,' she ordered.
'B-but my lady, noone has s--'
'He must know.'
'A-as you will.'