Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
She caught up with him within seconds. “You’re ignoring me.”
“I’m working,” he replied.
“As am I.” Calya kept pace with him. “We both agree that something is wrong here.”
Lowe grunted, which she took as concurrence.
“It’s all too neat,” she continued. “Brint and the mayor are far too friendly, and those supposed mages?”
Lowe’s gaze flicked toward her and then as quickly away, but now his head was inclined the slightest bit in her direction.
The corner of Calya’s mouth curved up. “Definitely not from Sylveren.”
“Because you know the school so well?” Lowe said, though there was no bite behind the words.
“I know Grae Port,” she replied, naming Graelynd’s capital. “I know Central District. Those mages, Treen and Aylton? I can believe they’re here conducting research on something, somewhere, but they’re not reporting to anyone at the university. Any university, for that matter. Not first, at least.”
“Who do you think they are?”
“What did you find when you delivered the tea?”
“Not much.” Lowe remained impassive, his face a mask of neutrality. “The assistant showed us around, and then Nevin and Zhenya found what was left of a greenhouse setup, so I left.”
“You don’t find that odd?” Calya asked, her exasperation plain. “That office was practically empty. If research has been conducted here for years, shouldn’t there be more people? More—more… stuff?”
Lowe stopped and faced her. “What are you asking of me, Miss Helm? I’m here on Sentinel business.”
“Oh, am I Miss Helm again?”
“A few hours ago, you were ready to jump off the boat to put distance between us.”
“That’s a bit dramat—”
“You backed away,” he said quietly. “You told me not to trust you. Already change your mind?”
“It’s called pivoting.” Heat rose in her cheeks. She turned away and resumed walking.
Fortunately, he fell into step beside her.
“I said what I said,” she continued. “But in this, our business interests align.”
Lowe shook his head. “And you’ll work with me up until they don’t anymore, at which point you’ll act in whatever way serves you and your company, isn’t that right?”
“My duty is to HNE first, that’s true.” She ignored his wry smile. “But HNE isn’t in the habit of treating its partners poorly.”
“How good of you.”
“It’s good business practice.” Calya spread her hands before her.
“A gesture of goodwill. A shipment of the wards my sister makes were supposedly requested and supposedly delivered here. But the man who requested the shipment has conveniently up and quit the entire field of study. When I spoke of my intention to question the dockmaster, Mayor Krowe tried to intervene.”
He nodded at her to continue.
“There should still be records of goods received at the port, especially in one this small.”
“Maybe,” Lowe said cautiously.
“And Brint. His old project out here that he fucked up is supposed to be under new direction. How is he allowed to just, just be here and those mages are okay with it?” Calya gestured emphatically, hands cutting through the air. “Something, many somethings, are wrong here!”
Lowe stopped again, frustration writ large across his face. “What do you want me to say, Calya?”
“Work with me to fix it,” she said at once. “I’m not asking you to forsake your duty to the Sentinels, but our reasons for being here, there’s a connection.”
Lowe continued to stare at her, his frown solidly in place.
“You’re scowling,” she said.
“My face has a tendency to do that when it comes to you.”
She lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. “I do have that effect on people.”
He ducked his head, one hand coming up to press against his jaw. Not quick enough to hide his smile.
A gust of wind set the edges of their cloaks flapping, and a lock of hair was blown across Lowe’s face. A crackle of golden sparks swirled between them before fading.
Their eyes met.
“Tell me,” Calya murmured, fingers waving gently through the air, “what does the wind say?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in auguries,” he said.
“I’ll make an exception.”
He sighed.
“Why are you so opposed to working together?” she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. “We both benefit.”
“The wind is… It’s not the future. It’s possibilities. Keep asking after the same thing, keep chasing one path out of many, it influences the outcome.”
“Risks your bias,” she said quietly.
He nodded once.
“Your wind, does it keep telling you about…” Us? But she couldn’t ask about that. Wouldn’t let herself start to care about what his answer might be. “This?” she whispered.
“Like you said, something is wrong here. A lot of connections.” There was something pained in his smile.
“I don’t like to use my magic this way. Calling on the wind so much for the same thing.
It’s… It doesn’t go well.” He cleared his throat, any hint of vulnerability banished.
“There’s enough going wrong here as it is, don’t you agree? ”
Calya considered his words. His reticence. His… fear? No, wariness. Caution, well-justified. She wondered what had happened to make him so guarded. Wondered if she could coax the answers from him.
But that was too much like sentiment. Like asking for trust. Which he would never give without asking the same from her in turn. And that, she could never do, even if nascent threads of temptation were beginning to form.
It’s only business, she reminded herself.
“Then forget the wind.” Calya took a step closer, sliding her fingers along the edge of his cloak, but not closely enough that she touched him outright. “You don’t want to be rid of me so easily.” She hummed softly to herself as he stilled. “Not when we seem to have a rapport.”
A ragged puff of laughter escaped through his teeth. “Do we?”
She tapped his chest. “Unruffle your feathers, ranger. What will it take to soothe your bruised ego?”
“My bruised—” He shook his head.
“Let us bargain,” Calya said. “Name your price. But don’t you dare try to cheat me.”
The corner of his mouth curled up, a sly gleam in his eyes. He leaned toward her. “All right. By the end of the day, I want a compliment from you—”
Calya scoffed.
“—and you have to mean it.”
“Bold of you to presume such a thing exists.”
“You have to mean it. No faking.”
“It’s cute that you think you could tell the difference.” She sidestepped him, fingers fluttering. “Come on, we’ve a dockmaster to—”
Lowe caught her by the arm, swinging her so she faced him again, and cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his.
“Oh, I know I got the real thing out of you.” He stroked one finger down her cheek. “I felt it.”
A frisson of energy ran from where his fingers held her skin straight to her clit, an involuntary shiver running down her spine. Which, of course, he noticed. The smug bastard.
“Start practicing your delivery, sweetheart.” Lowe released her and strolled onward.
Calya stared after him for a moment, then gave herself a mental slap. Stopped herself from gawking like a godscursed fool. What the fuck was wrong with her, getting all aflutter over some arrogant ranger?
“Going to make you grovel,” she muttered.
The sound of his laugh trailed back to her. “By the end of the day, Lady Heartless.”
Dockmaster Gormund was firmly in Mayor Krowe—and thus Brint’s—pocket, but he couldn’t outright deny Calya access to the shipping manifests for her own damn company. He did, however, insist on accompanying her to review the documents, citing port security.
A bullshit excuse, but Calya determined it wasn’t a battle worth picking. Not yet, at any rate.
“I can only spare a few minutes. Busy day, you understand,” the dockmaster groused. “Be quick, please.”
“I’ll do my best,” Calya said, flashing him a bland smile. She sat on the opposite side of his desk and picked up the sheaf of papers he offered, ignoring the way he consulted his pocket watch.
It didn’t take long to thumb through the shipment receipts.
At this point in the season, Helm Naval didn’t have many routes going up the coast, preferring their rivercraft for northern transport.
She found the page that matched up to the date Anadae had supplied her wards.
And there, added at the bottom, was the line noting the crate as cargo.
Not an amendment, but written like it had been an original entry, bearing the logistics manager’s signature—and the initials CH in pointed letters.
Calya stifled a gasp, but her hands shook. Seated next to her, Lowe glanced over. “Find it?”
“Yes,” she replied, forcing herself to slide the papers back across the desk. “It matches what we have back at the Renstown office as well. I’m so sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Gormund.”
“Yes, well, I told you we keep our paperwork in order,” he muttered, showing them out.
Lowe waited until they were halfway back to the inn before asking, “What did you really find?”
“It’s a forgery,” Calya growled, mind flashing back over her logistics manager’s precise lettering.
The sharp lines comprising the C and H of her supposed initials.
“Or rather, the document is real enough. My sign off is not.” She dragged a hand through her hair, thoughts careening.
“I knew Anadae couldn’t have made a mistake.
Someone drafted a new manifest after she made her request and sent that with the shipment. With my initials.”
Lowe mulled over her words. “Who has the authority to write up and file a new order?”
“Me,” she said. “And Wembly.”