"And why is Ulfhild so concerned about who’s loyal to the Dróttning, and who’s not?” Bevin’s voice drops further, a dangerous note entering it. This is important.
“I know your suspicions. I haven’t been able to confirm them. I’ll report to you as soon as I do.”
“You’ve been helpful, but you’re a bedmate. Not trained to find things you shouldn’t.” I have to hold back a grimace at his words. If Bevin had to fuck someone like Aksell, he’d have a bit more respect for what Liv’s willing to do to get the information he demands.
Bevin’s gaze shifts to me. “Sifa is exceptionally good at finding things. Perhaps she can help.”
His eyes lift to the ceiling for a moment and then he nods to himself, looking back at Liv. “Take Sifa to Ulfhild. Introduce her as a friend who needs work and can handle a blade.” Turning back to me, he adds, “You’ll work at her house—as a shield maiden if she’ll give you that job, a bedmate if she won’t. Or even a maid. I don’t give a fuck. Just get in and stay in. I must know what Ulfhild is playing at.”
I nod, even as my stomach turns, because I can’t do anything else. If I refuse Bevin’s demand, he’ll stop asking. But I sure as fuck won’t sell myself to any man, even for him. Not after what happened in the dragon Nest when I landed in this place a decade ago. I’ll need to make sure Ulfhild sees me for my skills, not my looks.
“Now we’re done,” Bevin adds, his tone terse. Nodding again, Liv and I stand and spin to leave. “Don’t disappoint me, girls.” Bevin’s warning when we step into the hall echoes in my mind. I turn to catch his gaze and dip my chin in a quick acknowledgment, then close the door behind us.
Liv’s face is cast toward the ground as we stride down Bevin’s long hall. “This must be important, if he wants two of us working on Ulfhild,” I point out. “What do I need to know?”
She turns toward me with a sigh, shadows in her pretty blue eyes. “Ulfhild has no love for Bevin,” she mutters. “She can’t know you work for him.”
I know that much but I don’t tell Liv. Ulfhild may not recognize me—we’ve never met in person—but I’ve learned much about her over the years.
“I understand,” I assure her. “Why is Bevin so interested in Ulfhild?”
Liv doesn’t answer right away. I realize she’s deciding whether she needs to tell me everything. Finally, she shrugs, as if part of her just capitulated in an argument she had with herself, and turns toward me.
“Bevin suspects Ulfhild uses the brothel to help the rebellion, going places she wouldn’t otherwise be welcome. We need to find out if that’s true. If it is, Bevin wants to know her contacts. And anything else that’s important.” She’s silent for a moment, adding in a more speculative tone as wrinkles form on her brow, “Whatever it is they’re doing, Ulfhild is terrified of Bevin learning about it. Or worse, the Konungr and Dróttning.”
“I’ll be careful.” Liv doesn’t offer anything else so I move on. “We need to know a little about each other if we’re going to convince Ulfhild. How long have you lived in Revalle? Where were you before?”
“I’ve been here seven moons,” Liv explains. “I’m from the North, west of the largest dragon training grounds. I stayed out too late one night, after curfew, and accidentally saw them in formation, going through drills just outside my village. One of the riders realized I was there and I barely got away. I came here to avoid the death I would face there.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t catch you.” For reasons I’ve never understood, dragon training is shrouded in secrecy. The areas around the grounds have strict curfews, and the Dróttning has ordered that all deviants be put to death.
“I am,” she agrees. “I can’t go back or even tell anyone where I’m from. They’re probably searching for me. I couldn’t get a job in a household without a sponsor, so I went to work for Ulfhild.”
“What did you do before you came here?”
Liv laughs, releasing some of the morning’s tension. “I cared for the overseer’s children. A far cry from my work here.”
“Very far cry,” I echo. “How did you start working for Bevin?”
She glances at me, her eyes speculative. “That’s a story I don’t share often,” she says after a few moments. Turning, she gestures toward a large house. “That’s us. But I don’t know why you’re here looking for work. What should I tell Ulfhild?”
“If she asks, tell her I killed a man who tried to rape a slave girl in a distant village,” I suggest, my voice firm. “We met at the Shaking Boots, when you were getting a drink and saw me asking for work. We started talking, and you decided to bring me to her.”
She nods as we walk slowly toward the door. “I’ll introduce you, but you’ll need to convince her to give you a job.”
“This is what I do,” I tell her with a smile. “I am whatever I need to be to get what I want.”
“If you say so,” Liv murmurs with a shrug, her eyebrows rising as her head tilts to the side.
She’s skeptical—and I’m not as confident as I sound—but I’m not lying. I’ve thrived in this land, even more so than in my worlds, by knowing instinctively what I need to do and say in every situation. It’s my special skill.
Ulfhild swings open the door, to my surprise. I’ve seen her from a distance but she’s even more stunning than I recall, with light brown skin and dark mahogany eyes, the silver hair that comes from age, and a spattering of wrinkles. Her lithe body, dressed in a simple but stunning red gown that hugs her curves, is stronger than it looks, if my information is correct. It’s her eyes that draw me in, though. Sharp and focused, they tell me I’m dealing with an unusually smart female. She’ll either be a valuable ally or a worthy foe.
“Meistari Aksell’s maid visited this morning, Liv.” Ulfhild’s shoulders are tight, her lips set in a thin line. She spins and leads us into the house, her long skirt swinging behind her as her hips sway with her steps. “Why did you tie him up before you left?” she asks without turning around.
“He asked me to,” Liv responds with a shrug of her shoulders. “I think he wanted to shock his staff.”
“He’s a foolish man.” Ulfhild’s tone still holds a hint of disapproval, but she glances back to reveal one side of her mouth ticking up just a touch. “Did he not think to relieve himself before his odd request?”
