Page 121 of The Infernal Battalion

I always do, Winter thought. And then people die. Abraham caught her eye with a knowing look, and she half smiled. “I know. The paths not taken.”

“One step at a time,” Abraham said.

“What?” Alex looked at them. “Nobody’s going to fill me in?”

“It’s just... something we talked about,” Winter said. “Come on. Let’s get aboard.”

20

Raesinia

The room at Grindel’s was considerably cheerier than the dour chambers of the Keep. Raesinia had wondered if Borelgai were just allergic to color, but apparently the merchant elite allowed itself more license than the royal family, at least in private. Grindel’s was a private club on the top floor of a building near the Great Market, with enormous windows that looked out over the bustling activity on the surrounding streets. The market building itself was something like an enormous cobbled square, covered by multiple peaked roofs but open on all sides. A steady stream of carriages pulled into a circular drive at one end, while people milled in crowds on every side, struggling to make their way under the roof and out of the rain. Out of sight were the pits, where speculators lined the rails calling or gesturing to catch the attention of the dealers working at the bottom.

Raesinia was curious to see it all, actually, but according to Cora, visiting the market itself was considered something of a faux pas for a serious merchant; it implied that one didn’t have people one could trust to take care of one’s interests. It was for hirelings to scuttle and shout in the pits. Real business was transacted high above, in the private chambers of the clubs like Grindel’s, which topped the buildings that ringed the Great Market.

From the outside, there was nothing to distinguish the club from the offices below it, save for the wide windows. Visitors arrived by the elevator, a device Raesinia had never encountered before—​a wood-​paneled box that rose smoothly through ten stories, powered, Matthew told her, by a team of oxen in the basement. If one’s name were on the list, the dark, severe doors of the club were opened by a footman, revealing a considerably more lively interior. It wasn’t Ohnlei—​where it often felt like someone had gone berserk with gold leaf and mirrored glass—​but there were oddities everywhere. Tall wooden figures, elaborately carved, alternated with statues of animal-​headed gods from Khandar. Shelves held brilliantly colored glass and jewelry from Hamvelt, silk banners from the Old Coast, and strange bronze weapons that Raesinia guessed had come all the way from the Southern Kingdoms. Paintings in every possible style adorned the walls, in a variety of gaudy frames.

It was a monument, in other words, to the power of commerce. The wealth and beauty of the world, brought to Borel and mounted for display, like lions and tigers in a menagerie. Vordan was poorly represented, all things considered, and Raesinia felt vaguely offended.

“Vordanai art is out of favor at the moment, I’m afraid,” Prince Matthew said when she asked him about it. “Fashion has dictated that the Hamveltai schools are in this year, though that may be growing stale.” He chuckled. “If you really want to see the influence of your country, visit the kitchen and the cellar. Vordanai cheese and wine never go out of style.”

They’d come from the Keep in a covered carriage, and Raesinia had worn a hood and veil, which Matthew had assured her was common for noble ladies who didn’t wish to be recognized. The king had agreed to permit her to leave the palace provided she was in the company of the second prince, though she didn’t doubt there were discreet watchers following in case she decided to make a dash for the harbor.

Not that Raesinia was inclined to do so. It wouldn’t be enough to get away from Georg. She needed his cooperation, especially with Duke Dorsay and a Borelgai naval squadron already on the way to rendezvous with Marcus’ beleaguered forces. We need our leverage. Cora and Eric were at work elsewhere, helping to acquire it. But this was a task that Raesinia could only attend to herself.

The room to which the footman led them was one of several lined up at the edge of the club, where the windows looked into the Great Market. It was small but comfortably furnished, with a polished rectangular table, a sofa, a liquor cabinet, and a glassed-in shelf displaying a set of jeweled human skulls no doubt obtained by some Borelgai trader in a far-​off land. At Matthew’s direction, Raesinia took the seat closest to the corner, leaving her hood up and her veil down.

“Just like last time,” he said quietly, sitting next to her. “Let me do the talking unless they ask you a question.”

Raesinia suppressed a sigh. Once again, she was on display. At least this time it’s by choice. “Are you and the duke close?”

“We’ve had our differences, but we used to be inseparable,” Matthew said. “He’s gone respectable, I’m afraid.”

“And he’s rich?”

“Oh, yes. Half the nobles in Borel are in debt up to their eyeballs, but the Farings own a successful shipping company and several banks in addition to their ancestral estates. If he signs on, I think we’ll be most of the way there.”

Raesinia nodded and went quiet as there was a polite cough outside the door. A moment later the latch clicked, and a man in a dark suit came in. She’d seen so many Borelgai aristocrats over the past few weeks that there was a certain interchangeability about them, the same well-​cut grays and blacks, the same sober ties, the same vaguely ridiculous hats. This one was younger than average and clean-​shaven, with blue eyes and a mouth that already seemed on the verge of an ironic smile.

“Finny,” Matthew said, getting up and extending a hand.

“Matty,” the man said. They shook enthusiastically, and the visitor swept off his hat. “It’s been too long.”

“Not my fault,” Matthew said. “I keep sending you invitations.”

“Yes, well, the wife doesn’t approve of your invitations anymore,” the visitor said. “She says you’re decadent.”

“I have always striven to be,” Matthew said. “It’s good to know that my efforts have borne fruit.”

The visitor barked a laugh, then turned to Raesinia. “And who is the young lady?”

“We’ll, ah, get to that,” Matthew said. “Have a seat, would you?”

“A mystery, eh? How exciting.” He bowed in Raesinia’s direction. “I am Phineas Faring, Duke of Highwatch. At your service, my lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Raesinia said. “I apologize for being unable to introduce myself.”

“Believe me, I’m familiar with Matty’s taste for theatrics.” Phineas slid into a chair. “So, what’s all this about? Your letter was most insistent that you had an opportunity that was not to be missed.”