Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“Lord Patin.” Aoife turned, setting down her untouched wine.
He was a tall man of fifty with small eyes, thin lips, sharp cheek bones, and long fingers that reminded Aoife of claws.
His beard had been shaped and styled to the point that it was nearly a goatee.
Aoife couldn’t help feeling that particular facial hair was out of place.
It looked far too young to be worn by a man of middle age.
“Lok’nara et a be hesna,” Aoife said with a curtsey.
The words meant “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance” in the Language of Blood.
Or so Aris had said. Aoife had practiced the words again and again and again in order to get the accent right.
She knew from her childhood moving from country to country that even if she didn’t speak much of a language, as long as what she did know was said convincingly, then people assumed she was more legitimate than she was.
Lord Patin returned the greeting with a shallow bow, stumbling awkwardly through the words.
His mouth twisted, the red in his cheeks telling Aoife he was not a man who handled embarrassment well.
Immediately switching back to Selatian, he said, “Forgive me if the refreshments are not my best.” Lord Patin stepped closer, his diamond laden slippers soundless against the floor.
“I had to rearrange my schedule and alert my staff in quite a hurry to greet you, My Lady.”
“The imposition is ours, please forgive us.” Aoife let her hand flutter to her chest in abject apology.
“We meant to send word days ago, but I’m afraid there was trouble on the road and our messenger, who would have delivered word, was killed.
Along with the rest of my guard.” Aoife tried to accent her words, to make herself sound like a non-native Selatian speaker.
But considering that, in her mind, she was speaking English when she spoke Selatian, she had no idea what her accented speech sounded like to Lord Patin.
To her mind, her accent was sounding a little bit Scottish mixed with a lot of South African.
“How awful.” Lord Patin clapped his hands once and a servant hurried into the room to pour him a glass of wine. “You’re not hurt, I hope?”
“Thankfully not.” Aoife did her very best sigh of relief. “My guard,” she motioned to Aris, “protected me well.”
Aris nodded to her at the compliment.
“I’m grateful to hear it. And honoured you’ve chosen to seek my acquaintance. But what brings you to my home? My valet was a bit unclear.”
Aoife’s conversation with Hallus flashed through her mind.
Hallus insinuating she should betray Shadach.
Him making a deal with her to get her in to see Lord Patin.
All things she could never, would never, reveal.
No. Aoife had a different story to tell, one she, Hallus, and Aris had concocted together.
“Trade,” Aoife said, wondering how many Shadows she would make by the time this day was through. “We are beginning to look for trade partners in the Kingdom and Everglade City, under your guidance, is a hub for some of the most extensive trade routes in the Kingdom.”
“My reputation precedes me, I see.” Lord Patin’s smile dripped with self-congratulation.
“It certainly does. And we are particularly interested in the trade of precious stones, of which I hear you are quite the collector.”
“My collection is formidable, it’s true.” Lord Patin smiled as he took a sip of wine, a bit of red staining the bristles of his goatee. His gaze lingered on Aoife’s form, looking her up and down piece by piece. Aoife tried not to gag.
“Tell me, Aoife.” Her stomach twisted again at the way he said her name. He stepped close, his eyes as dark as they were lecherous. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Aoife was too slow. The knife was at her throat, her back pressed against the wall before she could finish blinking. Aoife looked for Aris, waited for him to step in … but he was gone. Aoife couldn’t see him anywhere. When had he stepped out?
“Everglade already has trade with the Fields of Blood,” Lord Patin growled with a sickening smile. “Black market, of course, but any denizen of Blood would have known that.”
Black market. The Fields of Blood had black market trade with Everglade? Aoife’s stomach lurched. There was someone else, someone other than a denizen of Blood, who would have known that. Son of a bitch, Aoife cursed Hallus in her head as a sliver of blood trickled down her throat.
“And what is that dress?” he said. “It looks cheaper than what my servants’ servants wear.”
Aoife hadn’t thought it was all that cheap looking.
Maybe Hallus had. Maybe all his “preparations” had been as much about fooling Aoife into thinking he’d been trying to help as they had been about making sure Lord Patin wouldn’t be fooled.
Aoife had known Hallus being a two-faced backstabber was a possibility.
Of course she had. But she had hoped for the best because she’d had no other choice.
She was about to die for that mistake.
“Why I let you in here,” Lord Patin pressed the knife harder into her neck. Any more and he’d slice through, “is to find out why you created this ridiculous farce in the first place.”
That was an excellent question. To which “to help my one true love steal your wealth” was not an answer likely to keep her alive.
“He sent me,” she said, the sentence spilling from her mouth faster than her blood was about to spill from her neck.
Uncertainty flashed through Lord Patin’s eyes, but he did not lower the knife. “‘He’ who?”
Another excellent question. “I never got his name.” Lord Patin had to have enemies. A man of his power and wealth always had enemies. Maybe it could have been one of them?
“And what does ‘he’ want?”
“To destroy you.”
Lord Patin’s laugh was harsh enough to make a stone cower. “He can get in the queue.” Lord Patin moved to dig the knife into Aoife’s throat.
In a panic, she grabbed his hand. “Please, spare me!”
He paused. “Why should I?”
“I … never wanted to do this. Please.”
“And your poor decisions are my fault?” His lips were set hard, his eyes merciless.
“No, of course not, but …” She needed a reason for him to not kill her. A good reason. Lord Patin likes things that are rare, Hallus had said. Had that been true? Or just another lie.
Aoife closed her eyes as she stumbled out the words, “I’m not from this world.”
Silence. And then, “Excuse me?”
Aoife opened one eye and then the other. “I’m not from this world. This dimension. I was tricked into trying to use you. Please.”
Lord Patin cocked a disbelieving eyebrow, but the knife loosened on her throat ever so slightly. “You expect me to believe that hogwash?”
“Would somebody from this world actually have believed this dress and a fake accent would have fooled you?”
Lord Patin gave a floss-thin smile. “I would certainly hope not.”
He quizzed her then. How did she get here?
A magical gate.
Why did she come here?
To find her true love.
Had she found him?
Yes. But it was complicated and they’d been separated.
What was her world like?
Very different from here. There was electricity and cars and aeroplanes.
What were those things?
Magic light that powered the world, horseless carriages, and metal tubes that flew people through the sky.
Lord Patin stared her down, sizing her up. “Well,” he said. Finally. “You’re either telling the truth or you’re an absolute nutter. And I’m not in the habit of killing the mentally impaired.” He lowered the knife and Aoife exhaled a “thank you” of deep gratitude.
“Tell me,” Lord Patin said, stepping back. “Did someone help you with this ruse?”
Aoife rubbed at her throat. “Maybe?”
“Might I suggest they are trying to get you killed.”
“So it would seem.”
Lord Patin’s answering smile was almost pleasant. He sat on something akin to a fainting couch, swiping Aoife’s untouched wine and taking a long drink. “This metal tube that flies through the air,” he said. “Tell me how it works. I’m somewhat of an engineer myself.”
Aoife sat in a chair opposite, her heart still tripping over itself after nearly dying, again, and explained how aerodynamics worked. On Earth, at least.
“And this magic light? How does it work?” He leaned forward, arms on his knees.
Aoife explained as best she could remember from school.
Electricity worked due to electrons moving and creating a current which had negative and positive charges that were attracted to each other …
something like that. Aoife wasn’t an electrical engineer.
Which she explained, but Lord Patin did not care.
He asked question after question after question, beaming like a child at Christmas.
How were the currents created?
What exactly were these so-called “electrons”?
What was that she’d said about horseless carriages?
Aoife felt her shoulders grow heavy. Her science brain was being pushed to its limit.
“Fascinating.” Lord Patin swept to his feet, just as energised as she was exhausted.
He went to a small desk and pulled out a pad of paper and a knob of coal then sat back down.
He worked away to create sketches of how he imagined Aoife’s world looked and functioned, every now and again asking Aoife to point out where he’d gone wrong.
After a few moments of silence while Lord Patin sketched his vision of a car, he said, “Was it Grennen that hired you?”
“I’m sorry?” Aoife rubbed her temples, her mind foggy and her eyes bleary from explaining everything under Earth’s sun.
“Grennen.” Lord Patin spoke without looking up from his sketch. “I know that bastard is stealing from me. Trying to siphon my money and my influence.” The sketch strokes grew harsh. Angry. “I just can’t prove it.” He paused, looking up. “If you could help me, I would be very, very grateful.”
Aoife wanted to say “yes” if for no other reason than ensuring Lord Patin didn’t change his mind about sparing her life. But she had no idea who Grennen was. Besides, no one had actually hired her.
“Like I told you,” Aoife said, “I don’t know.”
Lord Patin sighed, but asked no more. Not about who had hired her anyway.
Aoife spent a while longer discussing cars before moving on to computers, something she was more familiar with.
Finally, and only when Lord Patin was nearly dragged away by one of his valets for a meeting, Aoife was allowed to leave.
As she walked the streets back to the Halcin enclave, she felt unbearably heavy.
Not to mention emotionally dejected. She’d trusted Hallus, risked her life, managed to survive …
and had nothing to show for it. Aoife looked to the sky.
The daylight was dimming, the sun leaving the sky as the bloody stars began to rise.
Their time was almost up.