Chapter Four
When Mavis arrived back at the suite at the Abalone Hotel that had been home for the past few weeks, Rafe and Leif were in the sitting room.
Leif looked up from the book he was reading, sprawled out in a pink velvet armchair, while Rafe stood near the open window, glancing back at her as the sound of waves crashing against the shore four floors below echoed in the otherwise silent room.
On the low table between them, two bottles of champagne were waiting in a silver bucket of ice, still corked.
The Hartweiller brothers were so close in age that they used to be mistaken for twins when they were children, before Leif, just over a year younger, overtook his brother in size and Uriah Minstead—never one to let an opportunity go unexploited—decided Leif’s talents would be better served in the boxing ring than on the street, picking pockets like his other urchins.
The brawls had left Leif’s nose crooked and with a jagged scar along the left side of his face, and now only a fool would mistake them for twins.
Though how many people had easily believed Rafe and Mavis were siblings over the last five years?
Never mind that they couldn’t look more different, Mavis with her skin pale and freckled, her hair its distinctive copper, and Rafe with his tawny skin and close-cropped black hair.
Coloring aside, Rafe’s face was hard angles and a broad square jaw, his hazel eyes deep set and hooded.
Mavis, on the other hand, had always had a soft face, even when her body had been little more than skin and bones.
It was why she’d been the front of their cons, from the time those cons involved her forcing tears from her eyes to tell a well-dressed couple she was lost and couldn’t find her parents while Rafe and Leif used the distraction to nick their valuables, to now, when the con was much longer, the layers diving ever deeper.
Leif’s attention dropped to her left hand, his sharp hazel eyes fixing on the ring there.
He set his book aside and reached for one of the champagne bottles with a grin, setting to work uncorking it.
It was funny how intimidating most people found Leif, because anyone who knew him knew he loathed violence nearly as much as he loved novels, that the fights he’d been forced to partake in were a chore he dreaded.
The book beside him now was an old favorite, with well-worn pages he likely knew by heart.
She’d lost count of the number of times he’d tried to convince her to read one of the novels he carried with them from hotel to hotel, but she always refused him.
She would always be grateful to Leif for teaching her how to read, but she had no time for the made-up stories of others when she had too many of her own to keep straight as it was.
“The stone isn’t as big as the one you got from Salavaar.” He paused when the cork popped free from the bottle and fizz rushed to the open mouth. “But it’s still an impressive piece.”
Mavis twisted the ring around her finger, noting Rafe’s silent presence at the window.
The mistake most people tended to make was in fearing Leif and overlooking Rafe.
While Rafe lacked his brother’s size, he more than made up for it in ruthlessness.
If Leif was a bear, Rafe was a scorpion, and while you didn’t want to find yourself facing either in a fight, Mavis would take her chances with the bear every time.
“There’s more,” she said, telling them about the arrangement of jewels Thaddeus had presented to her before the ring.
He’d promised to have them wrapped up neatly and delivered to her so she didn’t have to carry them home herself.
“I lack your eye for finery, Leif, but I’d wager it’s at least another five thousand solas. ”
Rafe let out a low whistle. “Well done, Magpie. Though that doesn’t explain why you look like a cornered mouse.”
Mavis straightened her spine, fixing Rafe with a glare. “I am not a mouse.”
“No, you aren’t,” Rafe agreed, starting toward her as Leif poured the champagne into three flutes.
It occurred to Mavis, not for the first time, that he had no more trouble than Thaddeus did in pouring the champagne into the three waiting glasses, even without magic.
There were some exceptions, but most of the Lusters’ gifts were like that—more decorative than practical.
When Rafe took his glass and passed Mavis hers, he leveled her with a look that made Mavis’s skin itch, like he could see straight through her.
“Which is why the fact that you look like one now is cause for concern.”
Mavis gritted her teeth, taking the champagne flute and downing the entire thing in a single gulp.
The crisp taste and pleasant fizz didn’t take away her worry, but it did buy her a few seconds to mull over her words.
When she lowered the flute, she braced herself before speaking. “Arden Ryskamp is in Garlin.”
For a moment, the only movement in the room came from the curtains billowing in the sea breeze and the tiny bubbles of champagne fizzing in Rafe’s and Leif’s glasses.
“Fuck,” Leif said finally.
“My sentiments exactly.” Mavis plucked the bottle from his hands and began to pour herself another glass before thinking better of it and taking a long swig directly from the bottle.
Rafe set his glass down, his jaw tense as his eyes darted around the room. “Pack quickly.”
Leif was already on his feet, but Mavis didn’t move to follow his orders. Not this time.
“It isn’t necessary,” she told them.
Both brothers stilled, staring at her as if she’d grown a second head.
“You’ve been recognized, Magpie,” Leif said slowly. “Running is necessary.”
Mavis drained the last of the champagne in a single gulp. “I don’t believe Arden Ryskamp is a threat.”
It was Rafe’s turn to curse. “You don’t believe? Only a fool wouldn’t see that man as a threat to us.”
First she was a mouse, now a fool. Mavis wasn’t sure which was worse, but she knew she was neither, and Rafe knew it too.
“Give me a bit of credit, Rafe.” She forced herself not to snap the words. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s reading people. Arden Ryskamp won’t turn us in—not tonight, at least.”
Rafe and Leif exchanged a glance, but while they didn’t say a word, Mavis felt their skepticism, and it bristled.
“I’ll acknowledge that you had Ryskamp wrapped around your finger five years ago,” Rafe said. “But as good as you are at what you do, Magpie, I doubt he still looks at you with moony eyes like he did back then.”
Mavis studied the champagne bottle rather than answering, even though she could still feel the weight of the way Arden had looked at her in that dark cloakroom.
Not with moony eyes, as Rafe put it, but not with the hatred she expected either, at least not entirely.
There had been lust there too, and a desperation that drowned out nearly everything else.
When she closed her eyes, she was back in that cloakroom with Arden standing so close she could smell the spearmint clinging to his skin just as it did in her memory.
She could still feel the way his body caged hers—despite the threat he posed, she hadn’t felt afraid.
She’d felt strangely safe, and safe was not something Mavis was accustomed to feeling.
It was an illusion—Mavis knew that now even if she’d forgotten it once. Arden Ryskamp was not safe; Arden Ryskamp was the enemy, and no matter what agreement they came to, that was a lesson she would not allow herself to unlearn.
She pushed the thought away. “How he feels about me doesn’t matter. He can hate me all he wants, but he won’t turn me in—turn us in. He can’t afford to, and I do mean that literally.”
“The Ryskamp family can afford just about anything,” Leif pointed out.
Mavis shrugged. “Not anymore. He isn’t here because he tracked me down—he was every bit as surprised to see me as I was him.
He’s in Garlin because he’s broke and he needs to convince his dying aunt to name him her heir.
Which means the last thing he needs is a scandal attached to his name, and accusing me of being a con artist would cause him a scandal, whether or not his accusation has merit. He’s too desperate to risk that.”
Rafe scoffed. “The Ryskamps have more money than ten families could spend in twenty lifetimes.”
“They had more money than ten families could spend in twenty lifetimes,” Mavis corrected. “But this isn’t the first time we’ve seen Luster families fall from grace—it’s happening more and more.”
“It’s been almost a century since the accords passed, but even before that, Lusters weren’t getting the same taxes and tributes from us Lacks as they used to,” Leif added.
“Families have had to either invest the money their ancestors passed down well or else build an active income stream. Some have done neither, seeing discussions of money and work as crass and lacking any understanding that their money is not, in fact, an infinite resource.”
“The Ryskamps weren’t one of those families, though. Wasn’t there a shipping business?” Rafe asked.
Leif inclined his head. “And the elder Mr. Ryskamp had invested wisely. But even the wisest investments can sour.”