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The doorknob rattled—they both stepped back, almost to the edge of the steps. A moment later, the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing Tenzin, the satyota, with a half-eaten apple in her hand.
She stared at them for a long moment. “Huh.” She finished chewing and swallowed. “I was just coming down here to help myself to the wine,” she said conversationally. “How are you gentlemen? How is your day going?” She pointed sharply to Evemer. “I don’t need any idiot’s idea of sorcery to see you’re about to step forward and clobber me over the head with that wine bottle. Consider that I can slam the door and scream before you get anywhere near me.”
“My name is Kadou Mahisti, and I’m the prince of Arast, second in line to the throne,” Kadou said quickly. She was a satyota, after all—if he wanted to prove something to her, all he had to do was speak. “My sister, the sultan, would be very, very willing to pay a great deal of money to anyone who helped us out of this mess.”
“Hmm,” Tenzin said, taking another bite of apple. She pointed at Evemer with the hand holding the apple. “Do me a favor and say what he just said. His sister the sultan would . . .” she prompted. Evemer recited the rest of the words, and she nodded. “Right. Your mind works a little funny, did you know?” she said to Kadou. “What you say is true, but you don’t quite believe it, not the way other people do. That’s interesting. What if I don’t care about money?”
“What do you care about?” Evemer asked. “You don’t seem to be on good terms with your employers.”
“He’s an ass,” she said. “She’s also an ass.”
“Hard to disagree,” Kadou murmured. Evemer snorted.
“Do you want a new job?”
Tenzin took another thoughtful bite of the apple. “Make use of satyota very often, do you?”
“I don’t, but the sultan of Arast does, upon occasion.” Evemer turned to Kadou. “Would she be likely to quibble over the bill?”
“Quibbling over the bill has been a noble and glorious tradition in my family since before we took over the country,” Kadou said solemnly. “But my sisterwouldpay fairly, probably more than Siranos and Sylvia do. You could trust her word, if she gave it.”
“All true,” Tenzin mused. “You believethat.”
“Also . . . A question, madam,” Kadou said. “What have they been paying you with?”
“Coins,” she said, as if she thought he was an imbecile. “Money. Good Arasti gold.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Siranos has been making counterfeits,” Evemer said.
“You’re not Arasti, so you wouldn’t have the touch-tasting . . .” Kadou added with a grimace. “So he might have risked paying you with them.”
She peered at him for a moment and rummaged in her pockets. He held out his hand at the ready even before she withdrew a few coins and slapped them into his palm.
She watched him carefully. The silver yira bloomed bitter when he rubbed it, and he handed it back with another wince. “Fake.”
“Well, shit,” she said, looking down at it. Kadou slipped his hand into his pocket to touch the hinge pins again, clearing away the foul taste of the corrupted silver. She sighed, then made a thoughtful noise. “What’s in that bottle?” she said, nodding to the one in Evemer’s hand.
He looked at the label. “I can’t read Vintish.”
This whole situation was fast becoming absurd, but Kadou leaned close to see. “It’s a port from Bevoie-Lency, bottled in the Vintish year 1562. Converted from their calendar, that’s . . . forty years old, roughly.”
Tenzin made another thoughtful noise and held out her hand. Evemer gave her the bottle. “Think it’s any good? Well, I guess if that asshole has it in her wine cellar, it must be.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not true. Those two have things because they’re expensive, not because they’re good.” She saluted them with the wine bottle. “Right. You mind waiting a couple minutes?”
“Are you . . . coming along?” Kadou asked cautiously.
“Might as well,” she said with a shrug. “Got nothing better to do, and you told the truth about paying me.”
“How do we know you’re telling the truth about turning coat?” Evemer demanded.
She blinked innocently at him. “A satyota can’t lie, didn’t you know?”
“Bullshit.”
“Worth a shot,” she said, taking another bite of the apple. “Do I look like a person who is particularly interested in helping the fuckheads upstairs?”
