"You're crazy," Kesley said shortly.
Miguel paled, and Santana crossed himself rapidly several times.
"You don't talk like that to your Duke," the Archbishop said.
"My Duke? But—"
Don Miguel regained his composure and put one hand on Kesley's shoulder. "I ask you to join me and perform this service. I am prepared to pay well for it."
"The price?"
"My daughter," Miguel said. "Kill Winslow, and she's yours."
"Your daughter? But I thought—"
"Adopted daughter," Miguel said smoothly. "My ward. The girl is but twenty-two, and lovely. Kill Winslow, and she's yours."
Kesley felt perspiration dripping down his body. Kill Duke Winslow? Upset the balance of the Twelve Empires, break the fragile harmony on which the world depended? It was impossible!