“I don’t believe you.”
“What else would I riskeverythingfor? They’re employed in the Morland archives—a Scribbler. But even their expertise will be useless if you burn that book!”
Patrick smirked, just slightly, and Lord Shop saw it. He became very still, his eyes closing in defeat. Patrick pulled the book away from the hearth with a flourish, blowing out the embers. “Artisan bullshit,” he said to his father. “It’s always some Artisan bullshit.”
“Aye,” John Colson said, a glint of pride in his eyes.
Patrick offered Lord Shop the book and watched the man’s fingers unclench as he took it. “I’ll need to see Nina,” Patrick said. “I’ll agree to your deal once I’ve seen that she’s well.”
Lord Shop replaced the little book in its drawer, locking it in with a key. He seemed well traversed at the desk of a man not an hour dead. Shop stood to his full height once more, reclaiming his propriety. “Theo? Have Kilmartin bring the lady in.”
Theo walked to the door the way men walked to their death. There was a sickness about him, a green tinge to his pallor. Patrick was sure there remained something he didn’t know.
“Why does your boy look like he swallowed someone’s newborn?”
Lord Shop sighed. “He has a sensitive nature—likely today’s violence has disturbed him some.”
Patrick patted his pockets absentmindedly for nonexistent cigarettes. “Your swank son has spent the last two years in the soot with me. I doubt there’s much sense left in him.”
Shop’s brow furrowed. “You know of his affections for the earth Charmer.”
“She has that effect,” Patrick said darkly.
“He only worries for her condition, as you do.”
“Which leads me to think there’s reason to be worried,” Patrick said. “And you’re about to tell me why, or I’ll not sign a fuckin’ thing.”
Lord Shop looked at Patrick as though he were a thorn now, boring deeper into his flesh. He lifted his chin, assessing him anew. “You are perceptive, Mr. Colson.”
“Taught by the best I’m afraid,” John grunted. “Boy was hagglin’ with shop vendors before he was walkin’—”
“What’re you planning to do to her?” Patrick said, his voice ringing into the vaulted ceiling.
The lord looked down his nose at him, likely calculating whether he should bother lying. It took long moments, and in Patrick’s frustration, he advanced toward the man, his chest heaving, and the lord dropped his cane, scrambling for the pistol—
But before Patrick could grab the lord’s throat, before the lord’s finger could cradle the trigger, a voice rose from the door.
“He’ll have her beaten,” it said, thick with venom. “Then imprisoned.”
Theo stood just inside the door, his fists clenched, the green in his cheeks now blotted with red. His eyes lay heavily on his father.
A shiver of violence coursed up Patrick’s spine. He found Lord Shop once more with a gun between the two of them, as though it would be enough to save him. “No deal,” Patrick said. He hoped the lord heard the promise in it.
The lord spared his son a bitter glance before addressing Patrick. “Calm yourself, Mr. Colson. Think about this. The girl just murdered the Head of House. My ministry will want retribution. Thenationwill want retribution—”
“The Crafters will be dancing in the streets tomorrow, all throughout the brink,” Patrick spat.
“And the Artisans willmourn,” Lord Shop countered. “And they will not trust a new Head of House that doesnothingin response to Tanner’s assassination. There must be some punishment.”
“Lie to them.”
“My ministers are notfools, Mr. Colson,” Lord Shop huffed. “This is not a child’s game. In order for many to prosper, we must make sacrifices—”
“It will be public,” Theo cut in, his cheeks still aflame. “She’ll be whipped in the middle of the city, so that we may appease the ministry. Isn’t that right, father?”
The lord looked for a moment as though he wished to shout. Instead, he took several steadying breaths. He laid a black stare on his son and said, “I’ve tried in earnest to mentor you, and still you act like a boy.” To the room, he said, “She will be whipped, yes, but she will heal. She will not be killed. After that, she will look, for all intents, like a prisoner of the House, working to meet our ends. It is aperformance. This is politics, gentlemen. We walk a treacherous tightrope. But, if no one oversteps, we will achieve what we set out to do.”
So, this was the price for truce. Nina would be forced to her knees to take the whip from the very people who needed her.
