Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Eight
Funeral
Shadach waited.
He stood in a room in Lord Patin’s home surrounded by such grotesque wealth and glamour that any normal Halcin would have been jealous.
The chairs had jewels encrusted on the legs and the paint on the walls was flecked with gold.
Shadach wondered if Lord Patin had chosen this room before he’d known he’d be speaking to a Halcin.
Slipping his hand into his pocket, Shadach felt for the invitation Hallus had given him.
It was the only reason he’d been let through the front door, and even at that, the invitation had been scrutinised and dissected by at least ten of Lord Patin’s attendants to confirm it was Lord Patin’s signature on the parchment.
Lord Patin may not have known Shadach was a Halcin when he’d sent the invitation, but he most certainly knew now.
Shadach waited.
What was this room used for? Entertaining?
Lounging? Shadach couldn’t tell. It felt sterile, from the furniture’s harsh lines and the sharp edges of the light fixtures, but also luxurious with its opulent rugs and cushions.
Shadach walked about the room, trying to calm his nerves.
He would have very little time to convince Lord Patin not to kill him.
Shadach waited.
He sat in one of the chairs. Stiff. Uncomfortable.
A series of painted portraits stared down at him from the wall, an unbroken line of Lord Patins going back hundreds of years.
They all had the same small, vicious eyes.
Shadach’s gaze paused on the portrait of Lord Patin IV, the Lord of Everglade during the Dark Times.
A feeling like acid burning through his stomach bubbled inside him.
Lord Patin IV oversaw the quarantining of Halcin in Everglade and its surrounding regions, and then promptly took all their property, wealth, and possessions for himself.
This included the Diamond of the Blue North owned by a prominent Halcin lawyer who’d had a holiday home in Everglade’s surrounding countryside.
He’d thought hiding in his country home would keep him safe from the paranoia and chaos of the cities. He’d been sorely mistaken.
Before the Dark Times, the Patins had been an insignificantly titled family ruling over a city barely worth mentioning.
After, their wealth and power rivalled that of the Emperor’s favourite lords.
The truth was the bad blood between the Patins and the Halcin went back centuries, and the Halcin attempts to steal his collection of jewels was mostly about the money, but also a little about revenge.
Shadach shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the thought of helping Lord Patin keep his power when Lord Patin the IV and the Lord Patin of present were not so very different. But he had no choice. Not right now.
Again and again, Shadach replayed in his head what he would say. How he would convince Lord Patin to trust him. It would not be easy. It would be—
Shadach waited for Lord Patin no longer.
A knife flew at Shadach’s head, missing him by a hair. Shadach’s instincts reacted before his conscious mind did and he shifted back just in time.
“You diseased little rat,” Lord Patin spat with scorching venom, “get out of my home.”
“Listen,” Shadach said, “I—”
Another knife was flung at him, this one furious where the other one had been calm and precise. Shadach dodged.
“Lord Patin—”
“How dare you say my name with that vile mouth, you inbred ingrate.”
Another knife. Was it a knife? A projectile of some sort.
How many weapons did the man have on him?
Shadach vaguely registered that Lord Patin was not alone.
He had brought three guards, but apparently wanted to be the one to slay the Halcin himself.
Lord Patin reached into his coat, but before he could pull out his next weapon, Shadach managed to yell, “I know how Grennen is destroying you.”
There was the tiniest of pauses and then Lord Patin said, “Liar.”
A throwing knife careened at Shadach’s head. He ducked, then said, “Oris and his textiles aren’t real.”
The projectiles stopped. Or they paused, rather. Lord Patin stared at Shadach, nostrils flared, teeth bared, the hatred for the blood coursing through Shadach’s veins seething from his every fractious breath. For a moment, Shadach thought Lord Patin’s revulsion might outweigh his hatred of Grennen.
Then Lord Patin said, “Explain.” His jaw was so tight his lips barely moved.
“You use a man named Oris for textile manufacturing, yes?”
Lord Patin nodded begrudgingly. One of Lord Patin’s more lucrative ventures was the buying and selling of textiles throughout the Kingdom.
“Oris isn’t real and neither is his business.
” Shadach straightened out of the defensive posture he’d adopted to dodge Lord Patin’s knives.
He relaxed his shoulders, making himself formidable without tempting Lord Patin into trying to kill him again.
At least, that’s how he hoped he seemed.
“It’s a front for siphoning your money.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’ve met Oris. And if he were a fraud, my accountant would have noticed.”
“Not if your accountant is in Grennen’s pocket, too.”
Lord Patin’s eyes shone with dark interest, but his body remained rigid. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I thought it was something you wanted to know.”
“I do.”
“Excellent. Then we both have something the other wants.” Shadach relaxed his posture even more, spreading his arms in a nonchalant manor as he said, “Let’s make a trade.”
“I don’t make deals with insects,” Lord Patin hissed. The guards behind Lord Patin put their hands at their waists, ready to grab their swords if Lord Patin demanded it. Shadach pretended not to notice.
“Fine.” Shadach stepped past Lord Patin and his guards, moving towards the door. “I’m sure your pride will keep you very warm at night when Grennen has stolen everything from you. Right down to your clothes.”
Shadach put his hand on the door. He pulled. He opened it.
“Wait,” Lord Patin said. The word sounded like it physically wounded him.
Shadach turned, closing the door.
“What is it you want?” Lord Patin said.
“Your prized collection of jewels.”
Lord Patin’s laugh was scorching. “My jewels? You think I’m going to trade my jewels for a little bit of information?”
“No.” Shadach leaned his back against the closed door.
“I think you’re going to trade it for a lot of information.
Because if you don’t, you won’t have even one obsidian coin to your name by the time Grennen is done with you.
And if you had any other way to find out what I know, you would know it by now. ”
Lord Patin stood there, silent, the fury at a Halcin speaking to him as an equal making his hands shake.
The anger did nothing to veil the signs of age he was desperately trying to hide.
Lord Patin wore a tight tunic popular with men half his age, his wrinkles stretched, massaged, and oiled into non-existence.
It was no secret he was a man desperate to stay relevant in the youth capital of the Kingdom.
The Emperor’s City may have held the political and military power of the Kingdom, but the social power, the power of fashion, of trends, of popularity, this belonged exclusively to Everglade.
And its Lord was aging, losing his brilliant spark of youth to people younger and fresher. People like Grennen.
“I could just capture you,” Lord Patin said after a long, ruminating pause. “I could torture you until you tell me.”
Shadach cracked a wry smile. “When have you ever known a Halcin to talk under torture?”
Lord Patin’s jaw was so tight now Shadach thought it might snap in half. “Even if I agreed,” Lord Patin said, “how do I know your information is true?”
A knot in Shadach’s chest relaxed. Lord Patin was coming around.
“I will give you one piece of information now. One that can be verified immediately. If it proves true, and it will, then I write down the rest. I give you the letter, you give me the jewels.”
“Your letter could be full of shit.”
“It could be, but it won’t be.” Shadach checked the guards’ positions through his peripherals. They had lowered their hands from their swords, but hadn’t softened their stances. “Besides, I know you’ll kill every Halcin in this city if I cross you.”
Lord Patin’s jaw relaxed ever so slightly at the stroke of his ego. Yes, he was a man to be feared and respected. Indeed, he could bring savage destruction to the Halcin. Shadach wished a stroke of his ego were all those words had been.
“Tell me what I want to know.” Lord Patin straightened his shoulders, his chin turned up, bracing himself for the blow of fatal information that would expose how he’d failed to protect himself from his enemies.
Shadach told him. He told him about the two sets of books.
About the fake one that Lord Patin’s accountant kept in the office, and the real one the accountant kept under his mattress.
That he was in cahoots with Grennen. That this would prove Lord Patin was being betrayed and stolen from.
But not how. He would need Shadach for that.
The accountant knew a little, but not how Grennen’s ploy was ultimately working. Grennen was no fool.
Thankfully, Lord Patin didn’t hesitate to send one of his guards to follow up on Shadach’s claims. The hours were hurtling towards midnight and Shadach hadn’t a moment to waste.
Judging from the glint in his eyes, Lord Patin was half-hoping Shadach was telling the truth, and half-hoping he was lying so he could kill him.
Shadach and Lord Patin waited in tense silence for the guard to return.
Sure enough, two sets of books were found: one fake, one real.
“You could have planted this one.” Lord Patin flipped through the book found under the accountant’s mattress.