“The bandit’s blade was Vhranian; the arrow pretended to be. I want to know why, and I have friends there. If the practitioner learned his craft across the border, my friend would know. And you know how to find Aether. I don’t like putting you at risk again, but you have an undeniable set of skills.”
Galen muttered something.
There could be danger, but there’d be danger even if I stayed. And my hunger to leave the stronghold—and see what lay beyond it—was powerful.
I knew Wren would object. I’d be crossing a border with imperial guards, entering a foreign land where I didn’t speak the language. If something happened, I’d have no one but the prince’s soldiers to rely on. And gods only knew how reliable they’d be.
But I still had cards to play. “I want to bring Wren.”
“Why?”
“She has skills. And she speaks Vhranian.” Mostly insults and curses, but it wasn’t exactly a lie.
“All right,” he said.
“The Lady’s going to want a lot of coin. More than today, since it will take longer and Wren will be gone, too. Send her a message and make it fancy. Put—I don’t know—a seal and a ribbon on it.”
“Soldiers don’t do fancy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then borrow the prince’s seal, or have him send it. If she thinks she’s doing the prince a favor, she’s more likely to say yes.”
Because dangers be damned: I would absolutely ride out of the stronghold tomorrow.
Seven
“You aren’t leaving the stronghold.”
Hope, so fragile, shattered. Which was especially a shame since I’d spent entirely too much time trying to convince Wren that it was a good idea. Windblades had several mentions.
The Lady was perched at the edge of an overstuffed chair in her receiving room. She did a lot of edge-perching, like a bird preening for a mate that wanted to be seen from a very particular angle.
Her hair was loose today, falling nearly to the waist of her pale green dress, and she brushed it through with a carved wooden comb. Oily smoke that smelled of heavy blossoms wafted from a golden censer on a nearby table. It was cloyingly sweet and made the air feel thick and sticky. Beside the censer was the leather pouch Nik had given me for today’s work, minus the coins we’d kept for ourselves. Hefty as it was, I knew it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her; I wasn’t sure the world held that much coin.
“He’ll pay us well.”
She shook her head. “Nothing good comes from your cavorting with common soldiers. Gods know what rumors that would start.”
I wasn’t sure how that was less socially acceptable than scrubbing courtesans’ dirty linens, but bruises had long since taught us not to argue with the Lady.
The door opened, and Besha slipped inside, carrying a parcel wrapped in heavy, gleaming fabric. “Madam, a messenger from the palace just delivered this.”
That had the comb stilling. The Lady slowly, demurely turned her head to glance at the package. Her body was still, but avarice put a gleam in her eyes. She placed the comb down and gestured Besha closer. And when she was close enough, the Lady ran a fingertip across that silken fabric.
“Hmm” was all she said. And hope blossomed again.
“How much coin has he given her?” Wren murmured.
“I told him to make it look official. And fancy.”
The Lady unfolded the fabric, revealing a gleaming wooden box inlaid with flowers. She lifted the lid, a carefully groomed eyebrow arching upward as she pulled out a sealed letter. She ran a thumb over the silver wax.
“The prince’s seal,” she said quietly, in the same tone I saved for gold coins.
Good boy.
She lifted it carefully and unfolded the letter, her gaze dashing across thick paper that probably cost more than we earned in a day. She glanced inside the box and found something that had her eyes widening. And then it all went back into the box, which she closed with a snap and snatched from Besha’s hands.
A lot of coin, I guessed.
