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"Maybe. Most folk who go around throwing knives at the Keeper's men don't miss," the shoemaker said. "I'm Urla Hassir. You?"
"Viva Taylor," I said over my shoulder.
"Ohhh," Urla said in a tone which made me glance back. "You're the talk of the Vault at the moment."
"Just what I need," I said under my breath. "Don't believe what you hear." I looked back toward the street. Bain appeared from somewhere to the left, a knife held in his hand like he hardly dared to touch it. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wrapped the blade in it.
"You weren't granted asylum by the Keeper?" Urla asked.
"That part is true." I started to stand, but Bain glanced toward the window and I ducked back down.
"They say with the Covener and his family dead, you'll be the heir to his seat on the Council," Urla added, matter of factly.
I whirled around to face her. "I beg your pardon? The Covener and his family arewhat?"
Urla's eyes widened. "You didn't know? Word is doing the rounds this morning. I guess it didn't reach you yet."
I gaped. "I guess not." My ears rang with the sound of blood pounding through me. Could it be possible? Did Dex or Bain know and not tell me? I felt faint. Was that why someone threw a knife at me? I tried to draw a bit of power, to defend myself if nothing else, but the small room was overpowered by unpleasant odours; the smell of leather and whatever substances Urla used to make her boots.
"Such a shame, that." Urla put down her tools, wiped her hands on the cloth she used for her face and stepped around the work table. "What would happen if no one from the Council was left alive?"
"I—" Now I rose, my hands to either side. "I suppose the witches would appoint a whole new Council."
"Or a king," Urla said. "Or maybe a queen." She picked up a long, sharp-looking awl up from the table and took another step closer.
"Possibly." I didn't think the witches would accept a woman as their leader, but if this was part of a coup, they might not get a choice.
I shook my head slightly. Gossip, that was all this was, surely. The Covener and his asshole son, along with the rest of the witches who turned their backs on me, couldn't be dead. They certainly wouldn't be thinking of replacing any of them with me. I was nothing. My mother, my siblings… Surely one of my brothers would be better suited. They were full witches and none would go down without a fight.
"Why do you care?" I took a step back, toward the door, but found only a wall behind me. I felt around for the doorframe. It must be further than I thought.
"Oh I don't," Urla replied. "I only care that I get paid for the work I do. A handsome sum, you're worth."
"Am I really?" I asked. Where the fuck was the frame? I took a tiny sidestep as Urla drew closer.
"Dead or alive, they said." Urla nodded. She cocked her head. "I suspect you won't come alive, will you?"
"Imightbe convinced to go along quietly," I replied. "I'd prefer not to die today."
Urla smiled. "I'm sure you wouldn't, but I suspect you might put up a fight later."
"I have to ask again, why do you care?" I turned my face slightly in an attempt to inhale some useful scent. Again, all I found was leather, oils and wax. I searched for beeswax, but if there was any here, it was covered with other odours.
As though someone knew I was coming.
"You won't be around when whoever wants me deals with me."
"Maybe not, but if you escape, I don't get paid." Urla stalked closer.
"Right. Well, before I die, can you at least tell me how you knew to cover any natural scents with ones made by human hands?" Just a small bundle of dried petals would do, but everything here was cooked, the power boiled away, or suppressed.
Urla hesitated. "I was told to. That's all I know."
"I suspect you're lying," Bain said from behind me. He must be just outside the door. That was close enough.
I inhaled the scent of musk and sandalwood and drew in as much power as his scent would give me. It was too much, but I didn't care.
I wound it around Urla and picked her up. The woman's eyes widened and she windmilled her arms while she hung in the air.
