“She is an Artisan. Our value is measured by how useful we can be. And Miss Harrow is a most useful individual indeed. You, of all people, should agree. Did you not use the girl long before I?”
And Patrick saw Nina once more, coming toward him through that tunnel with a sack over her face with Scottie and Otto. Shame washed in over his anger.
She used me, too.
Lord Shop sighed as though the debate bored him. Patrick wondered how long he had plotted to take what was Tanner’s.
“Miss Harrow was simply the best candidate. I cannot have the other ministers catch wind of my involvement. Honestly, I was surprised you believed I would allow my own son to undertake something as base as killing.” His nose wrinkled slightly. “Nevertheless, I do apologize for the deception. I realize that lying to you does not foster a promising partnership, but it was made clear to me that you hold a certain…affectionfor the earth Charmer.” He waved a hand dismissively, as though affection were a symptom of the weak. “I could not afford for you to intervene. You are, as most are in the brink, unpredictable. If I had allowed another Artisan to be Tanner’s killer, they’d be hung. There would be no believable reason for me to stop their execution. But Nina? She is the earth Charmer. No lord or lady in this house will deny the necessity of her survival in these trying times. It will come as no shock when I grant her pardon.”
Patrick glared at Theo, who now looked sickly. Good. “You agreed to this plan?” he demanded, hate sliding into the words. Patrick should have shot him the first time they’d met.
Theo didn’t answer, but he at least summoned the courage to look Patrick in the eye. What Patrick saw there was pitiful.
“Theo understands that pragmatics must come before emotion,” Lord Shop interjected. “The girl will live. Her wounds will heal, and Tanner is dead. This is what matters.”
Patrick imagined a bullet boring into the lord’s skull, pitting a hole between his eyes. It quelled the clench in his knuckles. “It should have been me,” he said, the muscles in his chest aching. “I’m their Alchemist. They can’t have me killed, either.”
“Ah, but how would it look then, if I proceeded to cut bargains and show sympathies to you and your family, to the towns in the brink? What successor to a murdered Head of House would grant the killer favors?”
“A crooked one,” John interjected gruffly, taking a sandwich from the tea table.
“Precisely,” Lord Shop agreed. “And I do plan to uphold our deal, Mr. Colson. Your father has told me many things about your mother. Your brothers, too. I can ensure they are protected. Provided for.”
“We’d live like bloody royalty, Patty,” John said, crumbs tumbling from his lips.
Patrick looked now to his father: his flushed cheeks, the spark in his eye. He had the look of a man on the cusp of something big.
“You knew,” Patrick accused, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “You knew they’d do this.”
“Aye,” John muttered, unapologetic. “That woman on the noose weren’t long for this world anyway, Pat.”
Patrick felt sick with rage.
“My offer, Mr. Colson, is to make your father governing lord of the brink towns. You as well, if you wish it. You will ensure that thoughts of rebellion are diluted, proclaim that the House of Lords has agreed to a fair solution. You will call a ceasefire, as will I, and if it is successful, then the spoils of Idia’s Seam will be distributed throughout Belavere Trench.”
“I want it quantified,” John said around a mouth full of bread. “How much for the brink?”
“Fifty percent of the bluff, thirty of the idium,” Shop said.
John shook his head. “Ninety percent of the population live in the brink. We ain’t gonna settle for half the bluff.”
“Sixty percent of the bluff,” Shop amended.
“Sixty-five. And half the ink.”
“Sixty-five of the bluff, and forty percent of the idium. And your family heading the bluff distribution to each parish. You will also select yourselves those children who will attend the siphoning ceremony, so long as their family has no previous criminal activity.”
John scoffed. “That’s a shallow pool. Might as well give up our share.”
“Petty crimes excluded,” Shop allowed, bowing his head slightly. “As well as crimes related to this war.”
“Deal,” John grunted. He spat in his palm and stomped over to the desk, lifting his hand for the lord to shake.
Lord Shop stared at it for several moments, then pulled a piece of parchment from his robe. He passed it to John and gestured to the quill and ink pot waiting atop the desk. “I took the liberty of having an agreement scribbled.”
Patrick frowned. “Before knowing the terms?”
The first hint of mirth touched the corner of Shop’s mouth. “I also took the liberty of estimating. I’m rarely wrong.”
