the belts of blades Josef refused to take off.
“Five to open,” Eli said, tossing his coins on the table. “Stop complaining, you look lovely. Nico thinks so, too. Don’t you, Nico?”
Nico jumped and peeked over her cards. “He looks nice,” she said, placing her ante next to Eli’s. “But he looked nice before, too.”
Josef gave Eli a “there, you see” smirk as he dropped his money onto the pile.
“There’s nice that’s fit for gutting people and nice that’s fit for palaces,” Eli said pointedly. “Besides, boys shouldn’t visit their mothers in shirts that have stab holes, or with hair that looks like he cuts it with a throwing knife.”
“Skinning knife,” Josef corrected. “I use my skinning knife.”
“Moving on,” Eli said. “We are all agreed that you look quite well now. Looking well is universally useful, so the money wasn’t wasted. I bet two.”
Josef slapped two coins on the table without looking up. “Match.”
Nico glanced at Josef, then at Eli. “Fold.”
“One down,” Eli said, grinning as Nico lay her cards on the table. “Two again.”
Josef matched his bet with a nasty look. They went back and forth for another minute, trading coins until the pile was quite impressive. Finally, Eli called it, and they showed their hands. Josef won with a pair of kings. He scooped up the money with a satisfied smile while Eli watched glumly. When it was all gone, the thief stood with a resigned sigh.
“I think I’ve lost enough for one day,” he said. “Josef, since you have all our gold at the moment, would you settle the tab?”
“Since it’s your money, sure.”
Josef set the Heart in the corner and made his way to the bar. When he was gone, Nico turned to Eli.
“Why did you keep betting?” she asked quietly. “You knew he had a better hand.”
“That I did,” Eli said. “But there’s more to the game than gold, and Josef’s always in a better mood when he wins.”
He gave Nico a brilliant smile as he grabbed his bag and made his way toward the back door. Nico watched him with a puzzled expression until Josef returned.
The swordsman paused. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
Josef shrugged and motioned for Nico to lead the way to the alley where Eli was waiting.
At eight o’clock precisely, the guard changed as scheduled. Five minutes later, a carriage pulled into the palace square. The carriage was a fine one, with a matched pair of bays and a liveried footman who jumped down the moment the wheels stopped. The footman opened the door and flipped the folding stair out with a clack. From the shadows inside the shuttered carriage, a gloved hand reached out, and the footman hurried to help the gentleman down.
The passenger was a genteel figure in an old-fashioned long coat, fitted pants, and short boots cut from two shades of black leather. His face was obscured by a full, gray beard trimmed to a neat point, but his blue eyes were magnified by the silver spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose. The old man moved slowly, leaning on the footman. He looked so fragile as he climbed down that the junior guard started forward to help him, but the senior guard stopped him with a shake of his head, and they held their position as the footman helped the old man down to the street.
As soon as the gentleman cleared the carriage door, another man exited almost on his heels. The second man was dressed similarly to the first, same old-fashioned coat and two-tone boots, but he was younger, much larger, and armed with two swords at his side as well as a long, sword-shaped-wrapped bundle on his back. He had a silver-tipped cane and a leather-wrapped satchel tucked under his arm, both of which he handed to the first man as soon as he reached the ground. The older man took the cane and the satchel gratefully, leaning on the first while he undid the straps on the second.
The younger man paid the footman without comment. From the way the footman began to bow and scrape, it must have been an impressive amount. After much groveling, the footman climbed back onto his perch and the carriage pulled away, leaving the two men alone with the guards.
The senior guard eyed the way the armed man rested his hands on his sword hilts and stepped forward, putting himself between the new arrivals and the palace gate.
“May I help you?”
“One moment, if you please,” the older man said, still digging through his satchel.
The guard relaxed just a fraction. The expensive clothes had been a good hint, but now he was sure these were men of import. No one with an accent that refined could be up to trouble.
After much digging, the old man pulled a small book out of his bag and began thumbing through it. “Here we are,” he said, stopping somewhere in the middle. “I’m looking for a Mr. Wallace.” He glanced over his spectacles at the older guard. “That would be you?”
“Yes, sir.” The senior guard, Wallace, stood at attention. “Are you expected?”
The old man sighed and adjusted his spectacles. “I shouldn’t think so, Mr. Wallace. My name is Velsimon Whitefall and this is my bodyguard, Officer Fuller. We’re with the National Obligation Audit Division of the Council Tax Bureau.”
The man with the swords nodded, but Wallace didn’t see him, the gate guard was too busy turning a pasty shade of grayish pink. He didn’t know much about the inner working of the Council of Thrones, but he knew the name Whitefall, and he knew that anyone from an office with “Audit” in the title was no one you wanted at your gate.
“I apologize for our late arrival,” the old man continued. “We were delayed leaving the mainland, but our business here is of the most pressing urgency. There was a bit of a miscalculation on Osera’s last payment and I need to speak with your treasury officer, Mr.…”
“Lord Obermal?” Wallace suggested.
“Ah yes, Obermal.” The old man closed his little book with a sigh. “There are so many countries now, they all start to”—he waved his hands in a circle—“roll together.” He finished with a shrug. “Would you be so kind as to take us to him?”
“I’m afraid Lord Obermal is at dinner,” Wallace said carefully.
“Then I think you should fetch him,” the old man said. “As I said, this is a matter of some urgency. I wouldn’t be wasting my evening begging at gates were it otherwise, would I, Mr. Wallace?”
If possible, Wallace went paler still. “I—”
“Perhaps you could show us to his office and we could wait for him there?” the old man suggested helpfully. “So Lord Obermal doesn’t have to come all the way to the gate?”
He punctuated this last bit with pointed lean on his cane. Wallace took the hint. “Of course, Lord Whitefall, of course.” He looked over his shoulder. “Higgins!”
The younger guard snapped to attention.
“Take our guests to the treasury office. I’ll go and fetch Lord Obermal.”
The younger guard saluted and ran to open the gate for the Council Auditor and his guard. “This way, please, Lord Whitefall.”
The old man smiled his thanks and hobbled into the palace, his cane clicking on the cobbles. His bodyguard went next, followed by Wallace, who walked with them just long enough to make sure Higgins was taking them the right way. When he saw the younger guard leading them up the stairs toward the treasury office, he grabbed a pair of guards from hall patrol and sent them to watch the gate. His duty satisfied, he ran to find Lord Obermal before things got any worse.
Fifteen minutes later, Lord Obermal, Keeper of the Treasury of Osera, excused himself from dinner with the Crown Secretary and the Officer of the Queen’s Horse and set off for his office at a dead run.
“You’re sure they said the National Obligation Audit Division?” he said, panting at Wallace, who was jogging beside him.
“Positive, my lord,” Wallace said.
The treasury keeper made a noise like a mouse getting stepped on. “Audit officers, and a Whitefall no less, here at eight in the evening! Oh, there must have been some terrible mistake. I don’t know how. I reviewed all the
