1. Griff #2
“How is poor Amelie doing?” High Judge Septima said, speaking for the first time since he’d arrived. Her disapproving gaze locked on Griff, making him feel like a naughty schoolboy. “I always liked her…as did your mother. She had quite the head on her shoulders.”
Griff didn’t quite manage to suppress his wince at the mention of his mother. “Amelie is fine. From what I hear, her business is booming back in Vantor.”
“It should be booming here,” the High Judge replied. “Such a shame what happened between the two of you. I always thought you two made the perfect couple.” Her eyes narrowed on the silver badge he wore pinned to his worn leather trench coat. “But I suppose things change.”
“They do,” he said a touch more brusquely than he’d intended. Usually, he didn’t let such obvious jabs get under his skin. He’d heard far worse in his line of work. He chalked the slip up to his already-frayed nerves from being the center of attention here.
High Judge Septima made a low sound in her throat that sounded like a cross between a growl and a huff.
“I know it’s not my place to speak on such matters, but perhaps she would consider returning if things were different.
” Her disapproving gaze roved to his belt, lingering on the Vantoric pistol and pair of pacifier cuffs he kept there.
“It’s been years since your mother died.
Isn’t it finally time for you to put away such reckless pursuits and return to your proper career? ”
His jaw tightened. “My mother didn’t die. She was murdered. And this is my career. It’s how I help people.”
High Judge Septima scoffed. “I’m sure you do. But you could do so much more good as a magister. You had a rare gift for the law, Griffin. And we both know that, had the Light been kinder, your mother would hold this prestigious office today instead of me. Why throw away such a legacy?”
“Because it’s not mine! It never was!”
The people around them quieted at his outburst, studiously looking every way except toward them. High Judge Septima glared at him. He met her glare with one of his own.
High Scholar Vesalain, who’d been wise enough to stay out of the argument, glanced between them, then awkwardly cleared her throat.
“You know, Inspector, there will be a gala next week to celebrate our alliance with Vantor. I’ll make sure an invitation is extended to you.
After all your hard work, you’ve earned the chance to relax.
And who knows?” She winked. “Perhaps you’ll find a lovely new lady to catch your fancy. ”
Griff seriously doubted it. And even if he did meet an enticing man or woman, he’d warn them to run the other direction as fast as they could. If he’d learned anything from the disaster his and Amelie’s marriage had become, it’s that he wasn’t cut out for love. He had his cases—that was enough.
“That is most generous of you,” he said carefully. He was still searching for a way to graciously decline when furious shouts broke over the general din of conversation.
His hand jerked to the butt of his revolver as he scanned the small crowd for the source of the commotion. It didn’t take long to spot High Commander Pern and High Merchant Teodoro. A small space had cleared around the two red-faced men, who appeared on the verge of devolving into a fist fight.
“You would sell your own mother out if it meant another gold gallant in your pocket!” the High Commander roared.
The High Merchant’s fists tightened at his sides, his mustache trembling as his lip quivered with rage. “And you would lead this nation straight into the meat grinder just to satisfy your own bloodlust! These new trade deals with Nalax will enrich both our nations.”
“The only thing those Nalaxian warlocks understand is violence!” High Commander Pern retorted. “I don’t crave war. But mark my words, if we don’t seek to prevent it now, it will come for us sooner or later whether we crave it or not!”
From beside Griff, High Scholar Vesalain released a billowing sigh. She shared a knowing look with High Judge Septima. “Looks like they’re at it again. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better go run interference. I hope you both enjoy the show.”
With a slight bow, she hurried toward the pair of arguing councilors. Griff watched her go, not sure whether to laugh or weep that these were the glorious men and women their respective guilds had elected to the Pentarchy to represent the nation.
The Light help us all.
High Scholar Vesalain’s abrupt departure left him standing alone with the High Judge. Her strict expression softened a hair as she regarded him.
“I spoke with your father the other day. He misses you.”
Griff’s jaw tightened, a complex wave of emotion churning his stomach. “Then he knows where to find me. Excuse me.”
With a stiff bow, he strode through the crowd, heading toward the exit. He could feel the High Judge’s stare burning a hole in his back, but he didn’t care. What happened between him and his father was none of her Light-blinded business.
After more reluctant smiling and bowing to other dignitaries who all wanted to congratulate him or shake his hand, he finally made it to the door that led from the private balcony out into the hall encircling the theater’s upper level.
He puffed out a breath, reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt that suddenly felt too tight.
He definitely wasn’t cut out for this. If he hurried, he thought he should still have enough time before the curtains rose to sneak some fresh air. Maybe that would help him survive the rest of the night unscathed.
Some of the tension bled from him when he saw that it was Sasha standing watch by the door.
The affable protector had been one of the first on the scene after his mother’s murder and had played a key role in bringing the perpetrator to justice.
They’d advanced through the ranks of Derimay’s City Watch together, cooperating on more than one case over the years.
But while Griff had stagnated as an inspector, Sasha had risen to become High Commander Pern’s personal aide.
Sasha greeted him with a slanted grin. “How’s it feel to be the man of the hour?
” Griff grimaced, and Sasha gave a knowing chuckle.
“Aye, that’s about what I expected. Honestly, Griff, you need to learn how to relax.
I mean, look around!” He swept a hand out to indicate the intricately carved wood and fine silken banners that filled the extravagant space.
“How often do you get to experience this sort of luxury?”
“I’ve arrested enough of the extravagantly wealthy to know that gallants don’t buy happiness,” Griff said.
“True,” Sasha conceded. He cast another longing gaze over the assembled members of the city’s elite before winking at Griff. “Still, it doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Griff gave a noncommittal grunt. Honestly, he’d never understood what drove some people to commit the kinds of crimes he investigated.
In a way, the murderers made more sense to him than the thieves.
For a moment, he flashed back to a distant night in his mother’s office, and his jaw tightened.
Losing control in the heat of the moment for passion or revenge?
That he could relate to on at least some level, no matter how heinous.
But to risk all for mere greed? Some people just refused to ever be content.
Griff nodded toward Sasha’s leg. “How’s the knee?”
Sasha grimaced, reaching down to rub it. “Better. But it always hurts like the Void when it rains.”
Sasha didn’t like to talk about it, but from what Griff had heard, he’d acquired the wound some years back while fighting overseas in the Razakethi jungles. That had been before he’d retired his commission and joined the Watch. Griff admired his continued dedication to keeping Sanjarka safe.
“And Lucile?” Griff asked.
Sasha’s eyes lit up like they always did whenever he talked about his daughter.
“Still running mental laps around her father. I swear to the Goddess, that girl reads books faster than I can buy them. With any luck, I’ll be able to hire a proper tutor for her soon.
” He nodded toward the Vantoric relics on Griff’s belt with a grin.
“Who knows? Maybe by the time she’s old enough, the Vantoric artificers will have relaxed their restrictions on accepting foreign apprentices. ”
Recalling how protective Amelie had been of her inventions, Griff gave a quiet snort. “Perhaps.” He started past Sasha. “If anyone asks, important business required my immediate attention.”
“Understood,” Sasha said. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you.” He glanced toward where the High Commander and High Merchant were still arguing, his voice heavy with disapproval as he added, “Though right now, I doubt anyone will notice.”
Nodding his thanks, Griff went to slip past Sasha, only to pause when he felt a hand on his back.
Turning, he found a silver-haired older gentleman standing there, leaning on a cane.
Dressed in a traditional Sanjarkan tunic made of flowing silk and dyed a modest series of blues reminiscent of lapping ocean waves, the man fixed him with a polite smile.
“Excuse me. Inspector Denton, right? I was hoping I might steal a quick word.”
Griff cast a longing look toward the door.
Then, muffling a sigh and ignoring Sasha’s smirk, he nodded at the man.
“Of course…” The man looked vaguely familiar, and he searched his mind for why.
He rarely forgot a face, and the name came to him after a moment from earlier introductions when he’d first arrived.
“…Lord Heneford. This is a lovely theater you have.”