Page 1 of A Trade of Blood

I

A Most Curated Butchering

Chapter 1

“It is an inarguable truth,you know,” said Ana, “that most people are absolutelyenthralledby dead girls.”

I cracked my eyes and gazed at the carriage ceiling, certain I’d misheard this comment. I waited, listening to the rumble of the wheels and the crackling of the horses’ hooves on the gravel road.

Perhaps she would stop now, I thought. Perhaps there would be no more ofit.

I shut my eyes and sought my way back to sleep.

“In fact, did you know, Din…” said Ana.

I opened them again.

“Did you know, for example, that out of all the recipients of the Order of Kibiri—the highest possible honor given to law-keeping imperial officers—that nearlyeleven percentof the recipients earned this honor for resolving the murder of a young girl?”

“Is that so, ma’am?” I said, hoping to satisfy her into silence.

Yet she continued: “Oh, yes! That death, that veryspecificdeath, which is a mere fraction of all unlawful activity across all the Empire—that is given astonishingly disproportionate commendation! If you pursue, oh, corruption, or malfeasance, or lethal negligence—any one of which could cause harms far beyond the untimely expiration of one single goddamn comely nubile—then all are apparently indifferent to you! Instead, countless justiciars jump at the mention of a dead young girl, much as a hunter might leap to his feet at the glimpse of a stag—for that way lies speedy elevation!”

I readjusted the pillow I’d made of my Iudex coat. “How upsetting, ma’am.”

“Yes. Very morbid. Veryghastly,Din. Honestly, the more I think on it, the more disturbed I grow.”

She crossed her arms, turned her blindfolded head to the corner of the carriage, and let out a great huff.

We rumbled on. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. That had to be the end of it, surely.

I shut my eyes.

“But theotherkind of death…” she snarled.

“Ohh,” I murmured.

“…that gets themostamount of ridiculous treatment, is most assuredly a death among the gentry!”

I decided to surrender entirely and sat forward, yawning. I should have known better than to hope: Ana nearly always talked throughout every minute of a carriage ride, no matter how long.

“You could be a goddamn onion farmer,” continued Ana, “covered in shit from collar to crotch, and yet if word were to strike your ear about the murder of some flouncing little princeling, a debauched dandy who’d never deign to step foot in the same fucking room as you, you’d sweep your hat from your head, press it to your breast, and soulfully murmur—Oh, oh! What evil has befallen our realm this day?” She scoffed. “And yet—andyet!—somehow, here we are, Din!” She pounded the wall of the carriage with a fist. “Trundling through bean field after bean field, dashing off to look at a corpse that is notonlythe body of a dead girl, but a deadgentrygirl! I wonder what awful crime I have committed to earn the ire of the fates in this fashion!”

A call from our carriage’s pilot: “Need anything, sir?”

I cracked the window and called out, “No, all is well.”

“It’s just I thought I heard pounding, sir.”

“All is well!” I said and shut the window with a snap.

“Is it?” demanded Ana. “Isit well? I find I disagree! For do you know whattrulygalls me about this particular task that has been heaped upon us?”

I watched her finger tremble with rage in the dim light of our carriage. I did some dour calculations in my mind.

We still had quite a ways to go. The more time she had to build up her fury, the worse her behavior would be when we arrived.

“I assume, ma’am,” I said, sighing, “it is that you do not find this murder we’ve been assigned to be interesting?”