Not to mention that, as representatives of the Low Gods, the prefects are one of the few entities who can investigate local law enforcement, regardless of the territory. The Wolfhünden aren’t about to help Emeric turn over any rocks when they know exactly what will come crawling out.
Sure enough, Emeric adjusts hiskrebatte, flustered. “They were . . . eager to have the Order’s assistance.”
What a terrible liar he is. I decide to show him how it’s done. “I’m delighted to hear it.”
“If I may, what brings you to city hall,Prinzessin?” He tucks his charcoal stick away somewhere in the depths of his enormous uniform coat. Then, incredibly, he places a hand on one of the stanchions sectioning off the debtors’ line, and executes the most premeditated and ungainly attempt at a casual lean I have ever seen in my entire life.
I give a coy, tilting smile, just to see if I can make him tip over the stanchion. “Why, nothing nearly sothrilling.” The stanchion wobbles. “Just sharing a bit of comfort with my people.” Emeric is nodding a little too hard. “I do love being able to touch them so, it’s such apleasure—” And there it goes. The stanchion hits the floor with a clang. Emeric almost falls with it, only catching his balance by a hair. “Oh, goodness. Well, I’d best be off. Best of luck with your hunt for thePfennigeist!”
I sail out of city hall, fighting down a grin. Tormenting the poor boy aside, between the forgiven debts and the valuables I’ve doled out, I feel like I’ve done quite a lot of good today. That was a few hundredgildenworth of charity right there.
But when I press a discreet hand over my belly button, the pressure of the pearl is still there. My heart sinks.
This is just—just—rude.
“Where to now, Princess Gisele?” the coachman asks as I hurry down the stone steps.
“Ah . . . give me a moment,” I answer, and climb back into the coach to panic.
No, not panic.Think.
“Did it work?” Ragne pokes her cat head out of the fur wrap.
“No.” I chew on the tip of my thumb. I just gave away a not-toosmall fortune for absolutely no reason. Maybe it didn’t work because the total value wasn’t enough. Or maybe because the money wasn’t mine. Or because I haven’t technically spent any money yet at all. Or . . .
There are too many possibilities. I need to start whittling them down.
I bury my face in my hands and groan.
And then I try again. And again. And again.
We drive to the nearby Obarmarkt along the Yssar’s northwest bank, where I try to commission my wedding dress from a struggling seamstress, only for her to burst into tears and decline because she can’t make it in time. I try to arrange for wedding pastries from a baker. Since the wedding’s on a Sunday, he miserably declines as well, as he wouldn’t be able to start baking until after sundown Saturday. Worse, he all but throws a basket of ginger cookies into my arms and refuses payment, claiming my visit is advertisement enough. (Ragne, at least, is more than happy to claim the cookies for herself. Unfortunately, that means I have to watch her eat them, which is a little like watching a gingerbread-family massacre.)
We drive east over the Yssar and into the Göttermarkt to leave offerings for Eiswald. I consider scouting for beggars in the Untrmarkt below, but it’s closer to Lähl and the Stichensteg islets, where Yannec’s body may have washed up. I don’t want to be any closer than I haveto.
Instead we head up into the Südbígn district nestled in the upper bend of the Yssar, across from Castle Reigenbach, where wealthy merchants dump their spare change into the arts. I sign up House Reigenbach to sponsor a troupe of amateur actors. I commission a play for the wedding feast from a company about to go under. I even book a quartet of musicians from a concert hall run by a local monastery.
In desperation, I cave and have us drive to the border between the Göttermarkt and the Untrmarkt, as close to Lähl as I dare. I take the purse ofsjillingand fling the coins out the window at the feet of paupers who shout with surprise and glee.
None of it works. None of it seems to matter.
I dispense the last of the money myself, pushingsjillinginto the hands of the proprietor of an indigent sanctuary. The ruby and pearl do not budge.
As I trudge back to the coach, the driver asks timidly, “Back to the castle, m’lady?”
I want to lean my head against the door and try not to think about the next ruby or pearl that could be growing in me at this very moment. Even more, I want to avoid thinking about what—or who—is waiting for me now at Castle Reigenbach.
But I don’t have time for any of that. I need to crack this curse.
“Back to the castle,” I confirm grimly, and climb into the carriage.
CHAPTER NINE
TenofBells
When I return to Castle Reigenbach a little after noon, the entrance hall has been hastily reoutfitted in older furnishings that don’t quite match the rest of the décor. I can’t say I’m sorry to have made more work for Barthl, though the golden wolf statues are certainly the centerpieces of the hall now. It makes me feel better to be a thorn in Adalbrecht’s thumb, even if it hasn’t done a damned thing about the ruby in my face.
There’s a note waiting for me in my chambers. It’s in Adalbrecht’s writing.
