“The king is here, my lord,” he said. “He arrived just minutes ago.”
Whitefall tilted his head. “If he arrived minutes ago, why hasn’t he been brought to my office?”
The page flushed. “Apologies, Merchant Prince. His arrival was very… unconventional, and we had a bit of trouble confirming his identity at first. We’re sure of him now, but I’m afraid the guard captain is having a hard time convincing him to comply with your law prohibiting weapons in the Citadel.”
Eli’s eyebrows shot up. Suddenly, things started to click together.
“If that’s the king I think you’re talking about,” he said, “no amount of protocol is going to convince him to disarm. If you want to have your meeting today, Alber, I’d suggest you give in and let him keep his weapons. None of you look like master swordsmen, so I doubt he’ll use them.”
The page went pale with horror, though whether it was from Eli’s casual use of the Merchant Prince’s given name or the suggestion that a king be allowed to enter the Grand Marshall’s office while armed Eli couldn’t tell. Whitefall, however, didn’t seem to care.
“Mr. Monpress makes a good point,” he said. “Tell the king he is welcome to keep his weapons. I know he will behave himself as a gentleman.”
The page’s face went paler still, but he was too well trained to object. After a moment of shock, he bowed and hurried out the room, closing the door softly behind him. The guards on either side of Eli shifted nervously, but the Merchant Prince offered no reassurances. Instead, he stood up and reached into his pocket, taking out a long, white handkerchief.
“I did not ask my guest to disarm,” he said, all politeness. “But I’m afraid I cannot take such luxuries with you, Mr. Monpress.”
“I don’t see what you mean,” Eli said, looking desperately pathetic. “I’m a prisoner, tied down and at your mercy. If you disarmed me any further, I wouldn’t have any arms left.”
Whitefall chuckled and strode around his desk, balling the handkerchief in his hand as he stopped in front of Eli. “Come, Mr. Monpress, I’ve followed your exploits for many years now, even more so since the disaster with Izo. I like to think that I am a man who can learn from the misfortunes of others. Sparrow and Miss Lyonette made the mistake of not securing you properly. I do not intend to be so foolish, especially when dealing with a commodity worth…” His face crumpled, folding into a frown like he was fighting to remember something. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Remind me again, how high was your bounty?”
Eli straightened up and opened his mouth to recite his bounty down to the last gold standard, but before he could get a word out, Whitefall’s hand swooped in to shove the balled-up handkerchief between his teeth. Eli gagged, eyes bulging. Whitefall snatched his hand back as the soldiers moved in, wrapping a length of rope around Eli’s cloth-stuffed mouth before he could spit the handkerchief out.
“Your youth betrays you, Mr. Monpress,” Whitefall said with a slow smile. “Cleverness is inborn, but guile is the providence of the aged. A few more years and you would have seen that coming a mile away.”
Eli made a furious sound, but Whitefall had already started back toward his seat. “I apologize for any discomfort. If it makes you feel better, I don’t expect this to take long. Turn him around, please.”
This last bit was directed at the guards, and Eli grunted in surprise as his chair was suddenly lifted and turned sideways so he could see the door and Whitefall. By the time he was safely back on the floor, the Merchant Prince had returned to his chair and was shuffling papers on his desk, tapping the piles into neat squares.
“Remember,” he said softly, “no matter what happens, do not take your eyes off the thief. I will do the talking.”
The soldiers saluted. “Sir!”
Eli said something as well. Fortunately, though, it came out as a series of muffled grunts, because that was not the kind of language one used in the presence of the Merchant Prince.
Whitefall had time to give him one last smile before a soft knock sounded. He lifted his head to answer, but the door flew open before he could get a word out and two familiar figures swept into the room. When he saw them, Eli was really afraid he was going to cry.
Josef came in first. He looked the same as always, but tired, with dark circles under his hard blue eyes. His swords, all of them, were in their places, strapped awkwardly over his expensive jacket and well-tailored trousers. The familiar, battered hilts of his daggers peeked over the edge of his glossy polished boots, and Eli felt a kind of peace settle into his bones. No matter how much else changed, this part of the world at least was still as it should be.
Nico was likewise unchanged. She followed Josef like his shadow, her coat wrapped up to her neck with the hood drawn forward. Beneath its shadow, she looked tired as well, but where Josef projected a weariness born of eternal annoyance, Nico looked like she’d been pulled too tight.
Her skin was pale, even for her, and her eyes were dark and sunken under furrowed black brows. Still, Eli was happier than he cared to admit to see that the injuries from her fight with Den seemed to be healed. Strangely, she was carrying a large satchel over her shoulder, but before Eli could get a better look at it, Nico and Josef both froze in the doorway, staring at him like they’d seen a ghost.
Eli tried to smile, but all he managed was to scrape his lips against the rough rope that kept the hated cloth in his mouth. He settled for a slow wink at each of them before looking pointedly at Whitefall. Keep going, he thought at them as hard as he could. Don’t fall for his trap.
And this was where years spent in constant company paid off. One look was all it took. Josef nodded, a bare duck of the chin, and then ignored Eli completely, turning to the Merchant Prince with a deadly glare. To his credit, or perhaps due to his vast experience with being glared at, Whitefall didn’t even flinch.
“King Josef,” he said. “Welcome to Zarin. My condolences on the death of your mother. Queen Theresa was an old ally and a dear friend. She will be greatly mis—”
“You’re the Whitefall?” Josef interrupted. “Head of the Council of Thrones?”
Whitefall stopped, mouth open, and Eli was almost glad of his gag at that moment. It helped stifle his laughter.
“I am,” Whitefall said, sounding a little less self-assured. “I suppose we’re cutting straight to the point, then?”
“You political types seem to make an art of wasting time,” Josef said with a shrug. “Thought I’d save you the trouble.” He jerked his head at Eli. “Why’s he here?”
Whitefall’s smile returned. “So you recognize him, then?”
“Course,” Josef said. “Can’t turn a corner anymore without seeing his smug face cluttering up a perfectly good wall. Any kid in the Council could tell you that’s Eli Monpress.”
Whitefall leaned back in his chair. “You’re the one wasting time now, King Josef,” he said, his voice as smooth and cool as polished wood. “Let’s not play. I already know that you and Mr. Monpress have a deeper relationship than posters. I know, for instance, that you two, and I believe the girl behind you, worked together at the events in Mellinor and Gaol. You were certainly together when Izo’s camp was destroyed, or did you forget that it was Council agents who subdued your little trio?”
Josef shrugged. “Considering how badly those agents failed, I didn’t know if they’d told you. I never denied knowing or working with Monpress. I just asked why he’s here, which you have yet to answer.”
“He was caught this morning,” Whitefall said. “Usually, that would be the news of the year, but then I got a message from my cousin that you, King Josef of Osera, were bringing in a bounty that eclipsed even the famous Eli Monpress. Bearing that in mind, I thought it would be prudent to delay the announcement of Monpress’s capture until we could talk.”
Smiling at Josef’s stony expression, Whitefall turned to Eli’s guards. “You may go.”
The guards did not look pleased with this order, but they obeyed, walking past Josef with a great deal of posturing and bravado before finally slipping out the door.
“Such delicate matters are best discussed in private,” Whitefall said after the latch clicked. “Now, do you have proof of the bounty to show me?”
Josef glowered at him a few moments more, and then nodded to Nico. She walked forward, hefting the bag off her shoulder. When she reached Whitefall’s desk, she stopped and unbuckled the flap. Her hand went in and came back out with her fingers tangled in a mess of dark hair. With no more care than anyone else would show a pumpkin, Nico plopped the head of Den the Warlord down on Whitefall’s desk. The Merchant Prince shrank back, eyes wide with horror as the old, black blood adhered to the wood.
“Charming,” he said finally, reaching for his handkerchief only to find it gone. He sighed and padded the
