Chapter Four The Bear and the Bard
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BEAR AND THE BARD
The city’s most popular tavern wasn’t in the colorful East End, the wealthy North End, the historical West End, or even the heavily trafficked city center. It was in the Heap. Or rather, under it.
Cloak flapping behind her, boots kicking up mud, and steam all but coming out of her ears, Reya tried to ignore the throbbing in her ribs and hand as she marched toward the catacombs’ only entrance: a pair of cellar doors at the end of a crooked alley guarded by an unassuming man.
He took a drag of his pipe as she neared, and the embers illuminated the lower half of his scarred face.
He hauled the door up by its handle and said, “He’s with a client. ”
Like she gave a damn.
Music spilled out of the opening, and Reya descended the stone steps into a narrow torch-lined passage that was long, winding, and walled with bones.
She’d slept for three days and wallowed for two more, rolling out of bed only to empty her bladder, shove food into her mouth, and reapply her mother’s tried and true healing salve.
Reya knew she was pushing the limits of her body, but the clock was ticking.
She had fifty-five days left to pay Lennox back, and every day she spent nursing her wounds was a day wasted.
The passageway opened into a chamber of connected tombs pulsing beyond capacity, where she was swallowed by a cloud of pipe smoke, body odor, and ale.
What started as a side business for Lennox had become the heart of the city’s underground, one of few places in Edris where assassins, escorts, and thieves could mingle freely with traders and the less scrupulous nobility.
Even the walls had ears here, a fact people managed to forget despite the pattern of skulls and bones that lined the ancient arches and pillars like watchful dead.
Somehow Lennox had made the Bear and the Bard feel cozy, with cushioned booths, glossy oak tables, and velvet curtains.
Those who recognized the set of Reya’s plum-colored lips gave her a wide berth as she wove through the maze of tightly packed bodies.
She wore all black tonight: skin-tight leather pants laced up the sides, a long-sleeve velvet top, and fitted leather gloves buttoned at the wrists.
Her fighting knives were strapped to her thighs the way some women wore jewelry, and sheathed at her waist were her sword and ruby dagger, the hilts purposefully hidden beneath her black jacket and cloak.
Dark. Wild. Sharp-edged. Everything she’d become after ten years in the underbelly of an empire.
Tonight, she’d left the Crimson Dagger at home. But Reya Connery was a force to be reckoned with on her own.
If she wasn’t still beaten half to hell beneath her clothes and cosmetics, she might have met a few sweeping glances, added weight to her steps in a way that made her hips swing, or accidentally brushed a few muscled biceps on her way to the bar.
She might have done all of those things anyway.
Any other night, she would have been here hours ago, taking someone for everything they had at dice before letting them take her up against the nearest flat surface.
Reya had planned on making an appearance here tonight, if only to show Lennox he hadn’t broken her, but now she was this close to attempting to run her father’s sword through her mentor’s chest in front of all his minions, clients, and associates.
The bastard had blacklisted her.
Her best clients and buyers wouldn’t touch her.
All night the Crimson Dagger had been in and out of their regular haunts, and all night she’d had doors slammed in her face.
All because no one wanted to make an enemy of Lennox Raulin.
She’d barely surpassed the urge to hurl steel, wanting to give all those rotting cowards something to truly be afraid of.
The raven-haired, red-lipped barkeep, Pia, shouted to Reya over the musicians, who seemed to be competing over who could finish first and loudest, “What’ll it be?”
“The usual,” Reya said, sliding three copper coins across the glossy bar top with her good hand. Moments later, an overflowing glass coasted across the wood, sloshing spiced mead over the sides.
Reya lifted the glass to her lips, eyed the berry color, and sniffed once before tasting, then spit the liquid back into the glass. “What the hell is this, P?”
“Blame his majesty,” Pia said defensively, tucking the coins into her corset. “Our usual supplier imports his spices from Delthia, and ships are struggling to get through right now, so we’ve had to buy elsewhere.”
Two weeks ago, the Rhiterran navy had sunk another Delthian ship in the Boreal Sea, claiming that it was being used to smuggle out magic-born refugees.
Only this one had a relative of the Delthian royal family aboard—a cousin.
It was all over the papers. Rhiterra had been courting war with its closest neighbor for years in its mission to wipe out the magic-born.
Now, the city was waiting with bated breath to see whether Delthia would finally respond—and if the magic-born taking refuge there would join them.
Reya thought of Stellene and wondered if whatever ship she’d chosen had made the crossing.
War was coming. Reya could feel it. But the lush mountains and cloud forests across the Heart Sea belonged to as mighty an empire as the one she currently called home.
Delthia would be no easy conquest for Rothmire.
With any luck, she would be long gone when war broke out, forging for the Delthian military and cheering them on as they gave Rhiterra a taste of its own medicine.
“Whiskey it is,” Reya said, setting the drink down like it had insulted her and sliding two more coppers across the bar. “Domestic.”
“Coming right up,” Pia said with a smirk.
After servicing the next few patrons, Pia passed her a smaller glass of amber liquid.
Reya took a sip, already keyed into the conversations happening around her, separating each voice like threads in a tapestry.
Nothing incredibly interesting. There were a few distinct moans coming from booths and shadowed corners.
She was pleased to hear several mercenaries talking about her over a game of dice.
This was how she worked. By listening. All day she’d walked the streets, the markets, the docks; she’d outmaneuvered the Silver Guardsmen stationed around every street corner, halting people at random to check their bags, papers, and faces.
No doubt looking for their missing Sage.
Reya had listened to butlers and housekeepers, merchants and traders, locals and foreigners, rich and poor.
She’d heard news of shipments, endowments, countryside manors being built and furnished, everyday gossip.
Everything was a lead—and even information could sell.
Sadly, nothing she’d gathered so far was worth even close to one hundred thousand golds.
Lennox was sitting in his regular corner booth across from a man she didn’t recognize, though she certainly wished she did.
Reya could only see the lines of his strong, stubbled jaw beneath the low-slung hood of his black cloak, but she knew a fighter when she saw one.
Despite the casual posture, he looked like he was ready for war.
Elaborate black leather armor and a wicked-looking sword came into view as he shifted—just the sort of steel and man she would love to get her hands on.
He eclipsed Lennox in height and breadth, which was probably helping him in whatever negotiation was taking place across the table.
She angled her head in their direction from her carefully chosen spot at the bar, close enough that she could overhear their conversation, but far enough to look like she wasn’t trying.
“You were quite insistent on a meeting,” Lennox said. “Show me what you’ve brought.”
A rustle of fabric, and then he said, “With this, no blade could find your heart.” The man’s husky baritone held a dangerous edge, each word both a challenge and a promise.
Lennox was silent for a full minute before replying. “There hasn’t been an Earth Star on the black market for seven years. I’ll need assurances of its authenticity.”
Reya’s brows rose. Earth Stars presented like diamonds but were priceless by comparison.
Diamonds had no magical properties, while Earth Stars kept their bearers from deadly harm, even poison.
Or so the legends claimed. Like fallen stars, they could land anywhere.
One could wash up on the coast or turn up in a sapphire mine.
In all her years of thieving, she had never seen one.
His reply was low and dry. “If you’d like a demonstration, I’d be happy to run you through.”
Reya choked on her whiskey. She liked this man.
Lennox only feigned amusement. “That won’t be necessary. Though, I’ll need to have an antiquary take a look at it before we can proceed with the sale. I can set up a meeting as early as tomorrow morning.”
“I’m here to trade, not to sell.”
“Trade for what, exactly?”
She lost the next few words over a nearby explosion of laughter. The next thing she heard was Lennox’s familiar chuckle. Her mentor leaned back, head cocked in that cool, calculating way of his. “What, may I ask, makes you think such a thing exists?”
The man in black ignored the question. He merely said, “Can you get me what I want or not?”
“I’m afraid I don’t trade in Faerie tales.”
Lennox slid what she assumed was the Earth Star back across the table.
Glancing over the rim of her lip-stained glass, she eyed the spot where it disappeared into the man’s cloak—and realized his head had turned ever so slightly in her direction.
Shit. She twisted as though engaged in conversation with whoever was next to her and knocked into a familiar, muscled torso.