Chapter 20
Kurtz
Kurtz worked methodically, the steady rasp of the currycomb against Smoke’s dark coat falling into the background as he focused on his bloodvoiced conversation with Prince Oren.
We found a link, we did, between Verdot Amal and the Hamartano family, Kurtz relayed silently.
An invoice Cole swiped from Thusk’s office confirms it.
Thusk also ships boar for Erlichman. It’s all connected, it is.
He knocked the comb against the wall to free the accumulated horsehair.
And tonight, we learned Fenris Yarden murdered the entire Glodwood family, he did. Burned their house to the ground.
Prince Oren’s voice came sharp in his mind. Are you certain?
Certain enough, eh? Fenris took their gold—what he saw as his—then torched the evidence.
I’ll inform Lord Livna at once, Prince Oren voiced. He should know what his cousin has done.
The gelded courser flicked an ear back, shifting his weight as Kurtz leaned in to brush beneath his mane. We also have a lead on Ice Island and playing at the Boar, we do. I’ll keep you updated.
Arman be with you, Prince Oren said.
The connection faded, and Kurtz sighed, running a hand over Smoke’s neck. “Guess we just keep at it, eh?”
The horse snorted, flicking his tail in what Kurtz took as agreement.
He tucked the comb away. Ah, how he loved Fat Vandy’s. His skin buzzed, just being back. He’d spent countless hours as a young man dozing in an empty stall when he should have been shoveling.
Grinning at the memory, Kurtz left the stables. Outside, the sun had nearly set, a sight he’d never again take for granted after thirteen years in that Ice Island pit.
He was tired, had stayed up too late last night trying to enter the Veil. He knew better. He wasn’t suddenly going to develop a magical ability he’d never had. Yet he desperately wanted to track Careeanne—find out where she lived, what she was doing.
He couldn’t even sense her mind.
Maybe she’d learned to shield her thoughts. Maybe she was dead.
That thought didn’t bother him. That woman deserved death and more for what she’d done.
He needed to stop fixating on her and focus on something possible, like finding Kosotta Brovau.
Rilla had said the former nursemaid moved back to Tsaftown after King Axel’s death and was now working at a tavern, but she hadn’t known which one.
Their band had played six or seven already, and no one had heard of her.
Maybe Rilla was mistaken, eh? There weren’t many watering holes in Tsaftown left to check.
Kurtz stepped into Fat Vandy’s tavern. Warmth hit him first, then the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, followed by the low hum of conversation.
Unlike the Ice House, the Tipsy Taproom, or Belanna’s Barrelhouse, this wasn’t a raucous den of drunkards.
Fat Vandy’s was for travelers and families, it was.
A place where a hearty meal and a warm hearth mattered more than tankards of ale.
Just inside the door, he paused to let nostalgia wash over him.
Home. At least the closest thing he’d ever had to one.
Four years here had been a lifetime compared to the dozen he’d spent bouncing between that nightmare of a brothel and the chaos of life on the road with his father.
Fat Vandy’s had been his refuge, a flicker of light in an otherwise bleak childhood.
Arman knew the few months he’d spent with Gavin had been colder than the streets.
“Kurtz!”
Hargis Vandy rose stiffly from a table by the hearth, beaming as he crept toward Kurtz. Rilla had warned about his gout. “Fat” Hargis was as round as ever, his white beard too big for his head, his clouded eyes full of warmth.
Kurtz met him halfway, letting the old man pull him into an embrace that smelled of woodsmoke and pipe tobacco.
“You blasted fool,” Hargis said, cuffing his shoulder. “Why didn’t you come see us the moment you got off that cursed island?”
“Gavin said no,” Kurtz said. “Then Lord Livna was killed, and we had to move south.”
“The king really freed you?”
“That he did.”
“What’s he like?”
“Spitting image of his papa. Smarter. More just.”
“Arman’s chosen.”
“Without a doubt.”
Hargis chuckled, the sound rich. “Why come so late? Serra’s already in bed.”
“I’m with a band now. We had dinner up in the hills.”
“I know better. Eagan’s got you wrapped up in some mission, hasn’t he?”
Before Kurtz could answer, the door opened, letting in a gust of cold air. Zanna stepped inside, commanding without effort.
“Evening, Anna.” Hargis greeted her with the fake name she used around town. “Have you met Kurtz Chazir? Kingsguard Knight.”
“I’m not a knight, Hargis,” Kurtz muttered.
“Bah!” The old man waved him off. “Kurtz lived here four years before joining the army. He’s like one of our own, he is.”
“Yes, we’ve met,” Zanna said flatly. “When you have a moment, Kurtz, I’d like a word. I’ll be quick.”
“Certainly,” he replied, watching as she moved to a corner table.
Hargis leaned in. “That one would make you a fine wife, she would.”
Kurtz barked a laugh. “I’m not looking for a wife. And if I was, she’d be last on the list.” Though if he were honest, that temper and steel spine of hers had started to grow on him. Like mold. Or fire. Or something equally problematic.
“You were never practical. You know, Rilla’s still single. Though I don’t fancy you two together. Both of you, always chasing a warmer wind.”
Kurtz chuckled. “So I’m fickle?”
“Naw, just haven’t found the right woman to make you stay.” Hargis patted his shoulder. “Thirsty? I’ll get Loanna to bring you a mug of blackbrew.”
Kurtz’s mouth watered at the thought of Hargis’s famous dark ale. “I’d like that, thanks.”
Hargis limped off toward the kitchen.
Kurtz exhaled, scanning the small space. Zanna sat alone at her table, back to the corner, a bowl of soup before her, untouched. She leaned forward, arms braced against the table’s surface, assessing the other patrons beneath that ever-present scowl.
Objectively, she was a striking woman. Tall and toned, every muscle exquisitely perfected.
Thick, jet-black hair, braided into a single plait, framed skin darkened by the sun.
A few faint scars that only added to her appeal.
And something in her face, in those eyes, softened the vicious strength she projected.
Kurtz liked all kinds of women, but he preferred the ones with a backbone. He wondered, briefly, what she’d look like in a dress, hair undone, scowl replaced by…well, anything else.
The thought made him snort. ZolZan the Barbarian in a dress? Ridiculous. She’d throttle anyone who suggested it—him especially.
She caught him watching her, and that scowl zeroed in on him like an arrow finding its mark.
Definitely ridiculous.
Still, she wanted to talk, so he made his way over. He flipped the chair across from hers and straddled it.
She wasted no time. “You’ve been good for this mission,” she said.
Well, that was new. “Thank you?”
She frowned, leaning in until he could feel the heat of her breath. “You cheated that day.”
Kurtz released a low chuckle. This again? “And you still hate me, I see.”
“Tell me why, when you went to such trouble to avoid fighting me.”
Kurtz let his gaze trace her face like he was mapping enemy territory. “You knew I was trying to avoid a fight?”
“You couldn’t stand the thought of a woman defeating you publicly.”
“Oh ho! Certain you’d have won, are you?”
“Certain I wouldn’t have?”
He laughed louder this time. “What would have happened, then? Me losing to you before a crowd, or them watching me beat you bloody? Neither would have done us any favors.”
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”
“Hear me out, woman. Whether you won or I did, both outcomes meant ruin. A challenge of wits was our only chance to walk away unscathed.”
“So you wouldn’t be humiliated when I bested you.”
“Aye,” he said, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, “but also so I wouldn’t look like a brute if you didn’t.”
Zanna’s nostrils flared. She slammed her fist on the table, the bowl between them jumping with a dull clang.
“So that’s it, then? As long as you kept your coin and your cushy post, it didn’t matter who else got trampled?
You just had to keep the game going by making your jokes, chasing your pleasures, charming your way into every room.
And when someone else paid the price for your antics, you shrugged and moved on? ”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Kurtz said. “You’d made far too big a spectacle out of the matter, same as now.”
She shook her head, eyes flashing like parchment catching fire. “Then you admit you cheated.”
He met her glare, the space between them dangerous ground. “I made a calculated move. I did what I had to do to keep my position.”
“At my expense.” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “Lady Tanana’s mother was so embarrassed by the ordeal, I lost my position. Said I was a disgrace. That I’d sullied her daughter’s name by even being challenged.”
Fire and ash. Kurtz’s heart stilled as silence bloomed between them. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. And why would you have cared? You’ve always only ever thought about yourself.”
The accusation hit harder than he expected. He glanced down, exhaled slowly, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye,” he said. “You’re not wrong about that.”
She said nothing, but held her stare, unblinking.
Why had he always been such a selfish cad? “I’m sorry, Zanna. Truly. I never meant for you to lose your position, eh? Only wanted to protect mine. Doesn’t make it right. I see that now. I’ve got no excuse for any of it but my rotting pride, which I promise you is weaker today than it once was.”
Zanna studied him, her dark gaze flitting over his face, and somehow, he felt the fire between them dim. It hadn’t gone out, but she’d banked it. And the heat left her eyes. Finally, she nodded once. “I can see that,” she said. “A little.”