ONE #2
The inspector kept his grip on her wrist as he slid his left hand between them, his fingertips brushing over her abdomen and sending shivers through her as he reached for his right pocket. “I haven’t got it on me.”
Aly lifted her chin. “Then how am I to know you’re a copper, and not a common thief?
How is anyone to know as much if I scream?
” It was a risk, threatening a guard like that, but he hadn’t hit her yet, hadn’t done anything to her other than grasp her wrist to keep her from escaping. She didn’t think he would now.
She was right. He let out a slow breath, then released her and stepped back, leaving her chilled in her damp clothing. Without another word, he stepped around her and strode off.
Grant’s rooms were exactly what Aly would have expected of a corrupt crime lord, an interpretation of the décor of the wealthy designed for the eyes of those who had little exposure to the real thing.
Where Edzan’s house had stark walls and bare floorboards and nothing to keep the magically generated heat in, Grant’s walls were covered with thick, richly coloured tapestries, his floors layered with plush carpets that muffled Aly’s footsteps as she walked over to his desk.
The desk itself was large and heavy, ornately carved from a deep red wood.
As with the bare windows in the burgess’s home, their dark glass reflecting the bright lights within, Grant’s rooms were a display of conspicuous consumption.
The difference was that his was of material goods, not magical ones; it was the sort of design that had been the height of fashion several decades ago, before scholars in Vaedhoun had invented magically powered heat, but had fallen out of favour amongst the wealthy.
As with the lighting in Edzan’s house, enchanted heating required no effort or expenditure of energy once it got going.
The transfer of energy—to light a candle, to start the heating—was the simplest magic, the kind everyone in Mossburgh could do.
Imbuing objects with magic so that they could be activated by anyone with a basic education, on the other hand, was a rare—and therefore expensive—skill.
Such items weren’t even made in Mossburgh itself, or even in Eskalan, and were imported from Vaedhoun, famed worldwide for its magical innovation.
The magic needed to develop them was unheard of in Mossburgh, ever since a wealthy inventor with too much time on his hands had attempted alchemy and caused a release of energy so intense it left a crater where his house, and a dozen in every direction, had stood.
The city had largely kept itself to the safe, predictable energy manipulation since then, not teaching anything further in schools, and anything imported from Vaedhoun had to be thoroughly researched and approved—leading, of course, to a roaring trade in illicit magical items from Vaedhoun that the rich and powerful wanted but which had yet to be approved.
Grant didn’t look up until Aly reached the desk and hoisted herself up, her thigh brushing his shoulder as she crossed her legs. The fire behind him warmed her bare knees, thawing her flesh beneath her sodden clothing.
“Did you get it?” he asked.
Aly pulled the box out of her pocket, but didn’t hand it over. “You never told me what was in it.”
Grant held out a hand. “And I shan’t.”
Aly chewed on the inside of her lower lip, hesitant.
Grant twisted in his chair so his arms were on either side of Aly’s legs, his hands coming up to cradle her sharp hips.
His thumb rubbed circles on her hipbone, sending warmth through her.
The image of the copper she’d tried to rob flashed into her mind, unbidden, the idea of his hands on her hips making her breath hitch.
She bit down on her tongue to banish the thought.
“Look at me, Aly,” Grant said. And she did.
She took in his amber eyes and his chestnut hair, the aching beauty of it all, the kindness and viciousness that face expressed in equal measure.
“There’s a vote coming up soon in the burgh council.
A vote to expand the powers of the guilds further.
If it passes, it will leave even more people unable to support themselves. ”
Aly’s skin went cold despite the heat from the fire.
The guilds were already too powerful by half.
For the simple crime of earning some extra money to pay her rent without going through the appropriate guild, Aly had been dismissed from the Guild of Brewsters and blacklisted from applying to any guild for the following five years, or even seeking employment under any guild member.
She’d had little choice then but to take up with criminals, when all legal avenues for earning an income were closed off to her—and returning to her mother’s house wasn’t an option, not after the way the two of them had parted.
Her fingertips tugged at the copper curls in the tassel of her plait.
“Wouldn’t that be to your benefit?” More desperate people meant more people turning to crime lords and the things only they could offer.
Employment, for some, and selling magic—salching—for others.
Those who lacked the skills to use magic themselves could often still sell it, and there were always wealthy folk eager to chase the high that came from consuming another person’s power.
“You’d think so”—Grant shook his head—“but no.”
Aly said nothing, waiting for Grant to expand upon his statement.
“You think I thrive on despair and misery, but that’s not true.
I’m simply offering people something they need and cannot otherwise obtain.
Take yourself, for instance. You were living hand-to-mouth when I met you.
” Aly didn’t point out that she still was, because Grant’s payments so frequently had large sums deducted to pay off her debts to him.
“I could have punished you for stealing from me, but instead I offered you a job and the security that comes with it.” He leant forwards, his expression plaintive.
“I help people, Aly. People like yourself.”
Aly stared at him, wondering if he believed it himself.
He profited off people, used them until they were worn out and then cast them aside.
She knew that one day she would be one of those people, but when she’d been picking pockets and burgling and barely scraping together enough to pay her rent on a small garret flat, he’d offered her a stable income and a home.
More than that, he’d made her feel wanted, in a way no one had since her father had disappeared ten years ago.
He’d praised her skills, and the very abilities she’d found so shameful when she was using them to barely subsist on stolen trinkets became a source of pride when she saw them through his eyes.
She’d started as his thief, turned into his mistress, and then, when she knew too much of his affairs, become his deputy.
The position brought her a level of independence and respect that would have taken decades to attain in the Guild of Brewsters.
He hadn’t told her that he would dock her income for clothing he wanted her to wear, or turn the heat off and leave her shivering, but he hadn’t lied either.
That was what she reminded herself of now. He didn’t lie. He drew people in with pretty words, dangling them like sweets before children, but he relied on their own desire to believe to fill in the gaps. He never outright lied. He didn’t need to.
Her fingers tightened around the carved wood. “So, you’re telling me that whatever’s in here, you’ll use it to make sure the Council doesn’t vote to expand the guilds’ powers?”
Grant held out a hand for the box. “Yes. I swear to you, Aly, that is the only purpose I have for the contents of that box.”
Aly eyed him, considering, but there was no ambiguity in his statement, no way she could see that he could be hiding anything, and so she passed it over to him, feeling the imprint of the roses on her fingers long after she’d released the wooden case.