CHAPTER 17
Outside my window the sun was setting. Somewhere in the distance bells rang eight times. The Magnars had been gone for two hours. I heard footsteps and looked up. Clover appeared in the open doorway and knocked on the doorframe. “Are you sure you don’t want any dinner?”
Shana had cooked the whole dinner before she left, complete with dessert, but I couldn’t stomach a single bite. “I’m not hungry.”
“Snacks? You didn’t even have any sambocades.”
“I’m good. But thank you for thinking of me.”
She frowned and left.
Last night, after Reynald and I talked, he had gone out.
In the morning he informed me that the errand was taken care of.
Reynald’s friend moved fast. I’d sent Kaiden out to the wharf just after noon for general reconnaissance, and according to him, men in armor in black and purple tabards had swarmed the Yolenta warehouse.
He couldn’t even get close. Hreban had people in the wharf.
By now he would know that the warehouse had been raided by the Justice Chamber, and he would deduce why.
We’d made enemies of two Great Families today and if they ever found out about it, there would be hell to pay.
And yet it didn’t bother me. All of my anxiety was going toward the Magnars.
Filderon was overjoyed that Gort had changed his mind and had invited the Magnar family to join him for dinner at the house he leased.
They had put on their mercenary garb. I wished them to “Survive, get paid,” which was an old mercenary saying for good luck.
Lute and Will laughed at me and then they left.
I’d set this in motion. I had known exactly how it would go if I told the Magnars about Falcon Point. It was too late for regrets. I’d sent four people to either kill someone or get killed, and I desperately hoped it wouldn’t be the latter.
I had to get out of the office. Sitting here was just making me stir-crazy. I took my desk lantern and went outside.
Instead of a typical roof, our square of a house was topped by a battlement like a castle, a flat stone walkway bordered by a waist-high parapet on both the outer and inner sides. The floor was slightly slanted, allowing the rain to run toward the drain holes in the outer rampart.
In the northeastern corner of the battlement, someone had set up a table, two benches, and a triangle of canvas that you could stretch over the table and attach via a hook to a ring embedded in the rampart.
To get to the battlement, you had to take a flight of stairs from the courtyard, which was exactly what I did.
I sat at the table. The evening sky glowed a beautiful lavender washed with gold. Beyond the wall, the Virka flowed, its waters olive-green from the silt. The dying sunlight reflected from the calm surface, and in places the river shone like a jewel.
Across the water, an attendant lit colorful glass lanterns on the roof terrace of the Taryz Teahouse. The evening breeze stirred the bright green triangles of canvas that shielded the patrons from the sun and rain.
A flock of small draga birds flew above the river.
Bright white, they looked like a cross between a heron and a hawk that somehow had stolen a white pheasant’s tail and dip-dyed it in sunset clouds.
Beneath the birds, a boat loaded with barrels floated by, guided by a single helmsman with a large oar at the rear of it.
The world looked like a magical painting.
“Enjoying the scenery?” Reynald said.
I almost jumped. Damn it.
He smiled at me and set a platter with a teapot, two cups, and a dish of triangular pastries on the table.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you.” He sat in the other chair and nudged the platter toward me. “And I brought Shana’s sambocades.”
The sambocade was a medieval elderflower cheesecake. I’d never tasted one, but a dedicated group of fans had once made all the recipes from the books, and I remembered the pictures. Sambocade looked kind of like a pumpkin pie with some berries on top. This looked more like a pocket of dough.
I took one of the triangles and bit into it.
Oh. Oh wow.
The pastry was buttery and flaky, and the filling was light and creamy, with a subtle berry taste that reminded me of a ripe, sweet blackberry without any seeds. It was light, fluffy, sweet, and it melted on my tongue. I should have never tried one of these because now I was ruined for life.
Reynald poured the tea. I drank from my cup. It was a different flavor this time, a light aromatic brew that tasted faintly of honey, jasmine, and something fruity with a hint of whipped cream.
“What is this?”
“Night blossom. It’s a tea rich people drink before bed.”
“Did this come out of Clover’s ‘for the guests’ stash?”
The need for a superior tea option to be served to future clients had been explained to me a couple of days ago at great length.
“Possibly. Better drink it before she catches us. I tried to find wine, but we have none. I would’ve thought we had inherited some from Derog.”
“He was adamantly against spirits or wine of any sort. If one of his employees showed up smelling of ale, he would kick them out.”
“Ah,” Reynald said. “Explains things.”
I sipped from my cup. The tea was delicious.
He watched me. “It will be fine, Maggie.”
“Filderon is a shrewd, suspicious bastard,” I said. “He will be protected.”
“The Magnars knew that going in.”
I looked at my tea. There was a tiny white flower floating in it.
“You’re a worrier,” Reynald said. It didn’t sound like criticism, just a statement of fact, but I felt the need to defend myself anyway.
“If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t be doing what they’re doing right now.”
“If it wasn’t for you, Gort would be marching to his death in a few days.”
I ran my finger along the rim of my teacup. “He wouldn’t. You convinced him to abandon Filderon and come work for us.”
“Which would never have happened if you hadn’t sat at my table at Taryz Teahouse.”
Technically true.
“Breaking Ulmar and Indora’s budding alliance will leave Hreban without his source of arms,” Reynald said. “But the mercenaries didn’t have to be a part of it. You could’ve kept quiet, and nobody would’ve ever known. Instead, you stuck your neck out for people you’ve never met.”
He was right. I could think of half a dozen ways to quietly shatter that link, the most obvious of which would be writing a letter to Dreantia about what her niece was doing. Now Dreantia would find out when Filderon’s mercenaries failed to show up, leaving her inspector to discover the contraband.
I sighed. “Yes, preventing the slaughter at Falcon Point didn’t have to be a part of it.
It might’ve been better if it wasn’t. There is a risk that the Magnars will be found out, and that may draw attention to us.
Indora will survive this mess—she’s too shrewd—and she will be looking to get even.
Especially since we had the warehouse raided.
Right now, she doesn’t know we exist. After Filderon dies, who knows? ”
He gave me a long glance. “Why did you do it?”
“My father was a soldier. When I was a child, he would leave to fight in wars. I was young, so I didn’t always understand where he went, but I remember being scared that he might not come back. His death would’ve crushed my little world.”
Trying to put childhood anxiety into words was surprisingly hard.
“I’m not sure if we can stop Hreban and prevent the civil war. I will do everything I can, I just don’t know if it will be enough. But I can save these people today. I’m still worried about the consequences, but was it even a choice?”
“No,” he said. “Not for you. Although some people would’ve let them die and never lost sleep over it.”
“I’ve barely gotten any sleep in the last few days. I can’t afford to lose any more.”
Reynald studied me for a long moment. “Let me tell you a secret that everyone knows. Mercenary brokers like to talk about rules and traditions, but they are soldiers for hire. They serve the coin and pray to the Hireling. The very Aspect they worship sells his services for money. If they were truly fond of rules and traditions, they would choose a lord or a city and swear their allegiance. Instead, they work for the highest bidder.”
True.
“When I convinced Gort to aid us, he told Filderon he wasn’t interested.
His name isn’t on any roster. Nobody will suspect the Magnars, and even if they do, nothing will come of it.
No matter how connected Filderon is, no one will risk their neck to avenge him.
He will be dead. Do you know what a dead mercenary is worth? ”
“Two boots and a sword?” Gort said this once in the books.
“Their boots are garbage, but yes. You can take his sword so you will have a spare. That’s it. And if someone chooses to make an issue of Filderon’s death, I will take care of it.”
He said it in a very final way. Don’t worry about it, I will handle it. And he would. Reynald didn’t make empty promises.
“You have me, Maggie,” he said. “I don’t know the future, but I know the present, and I’ve decided to walk this path with you. As long as you will have me by your side, I won’t allow anyone to harm you.”
The most precious commodity in Kair Toren—the trust of Reynald Karis. I finally had it. Not for now, not conditionally, but for however long it took.
I’d thought I had to deliver the contraband iron to earn it. Instead, it was saving the eighty mercenaries that did it. The deadliest blademaster in the city would lend me his sword. Now I just had to decide what to do with it.
I had worked so hard for this moment. We’d scored a hit against Hreban, we stopped the rebellion and the needless loss of life, and we’d prevented the death of the mercenaries.
The Magnars should be able to handle Filderon.
The next pivotal event in the storyline wouldn’t happen for months. Plenty of time to prepare.
I should’ve been relieved. Instead the unease wrapped around me like a heavy, smothering blanket.