“Word at Æther’s is they did quite well with the last one,” Samwell pointed out, grabbing the last biscuit and slathering on butter. “Maybe this is a good thing. The girl can get us in on the next venture. Do your best, Vivi. Talk business with Alve TreMondi. Impress him. Men like a smart girl.”
“The sea I understand,” Brevart objected. “The desert – no. Chahoki horse soldiers, for one thing. Bandits, for another. Don’t listen to him, Yvienne. Your uncle’s head is full of dreams.”
Samwell rolled his eyes and Yvienne gave him a rueful look. Too bad her parents never listened to Uncle. He was impulsive, a liar, and completely full of himself, but he thought like a merchant. They underestimated him, just the way they did Tesara. She glanced over at her sister, who had opened her letter and was reading it with a curious expression. Interesting, she thought. What was Tesara up to? With no expression, Tesara laid the letter down next to her plate, as if to draw no attention to it.
“What’s that there?” Uncle Samwell demanded, loud and intrusively. “What do you have, Monkey?”
Alinesse and Brevart turned their attention to their second daughter. With all eyes on her, Tesara said, “It’s quite amusing, actually. It’s an invitation to a salon, for Saint Gerare’s Day. From the Idercis.”
This time the parents and Samwell were struck dumb with astonishment. Alinesse leaned over and snatched the letter from her daughter.
“Let me see that.” She scanned the letter, a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. “What on earth? Why on earth? The Idercis! You don’t even know the Idercis! We don’t even know the Idercis! This must be some kind of joke.”
“Maybe it’s an olive branch,” Tesara suggested. “I can’t remember if Mrs Iderci gave me the cut direct on the Mile, but if she did, perhaps she’s feeling bad about it.”
“Well, you can’t go. That’s final. It’s absurd. They must have you mistaken for someone else. You aren’t even out, not that that is a possibility right now, but–”
“Mama,” Tesara interrupted. “It’s all right. I don’t intend to go.”
Alinesse settled her ruffled feathers. “Of course you won’t.”
Uncle reached for the invitation, snapping his thick fingers. “Well, if she won’t have it, I’ll take it, Alinesse. I keep telling you two, business isn’t anything except relationships. And the Idercis’ salon will be full of beautiful, profitable relationships. Hiding in here won’t get you back in the game.”
Alinesse pulled the letter out of reach. “Don’t even think it, Sam,” she said, biting off each word. “As for what we’re doing hiding in here–” she cut herself off with a glance at Brevart. “Stay on the docks,” she said instead. “Don’t go to their salons. It will just attract attention.”
After helping to clear the table and put away the breakfast things, Yvienne was on the stairs going up to the bedroom when Mathilde called out to her. She held out another letter. “This one got stuck in the letter slot. I just now saw it when I was shaking out the mat.”
Yvienne took it. There was a hard lump inside it; no wonder it had gotten caught in the slot. “Thank you, Mathilde.”
The maid went on about her work, and Yvienne went up the stairs, opening the letter as she went.
If you’ve received this, it’s because I’ve met with an accident. No doubt you’ll think it’s due to you; perhaps it is, but may you take comfort in knowing I’ve tweaked the nose of the Guild for a long time until I lost my nerve. Reading the Arabestus letter made me realize how much. I’m old, sentimental, and decidedly unafraid of Death. She comes for us all; better to make a noise before we go.
I’ve taken the liberty of using your nom du plume to make a final rude gesture. I hope you don’t mind. Now it’s up to you. The Guild is good at hiding the records of its long history of crimes, which go back long before your House existed, but be sure of one thing – the records exist. Good merchants always keep clean accounts. Remember to follow the money. Who has benefited the most from your family’s downfall? There’s your first clue.
I have every confidence you will unearth the evidence and bring its members to justice.
Go get ’em, tiger.
Sand Piper Cottage, Old Crooked Way, Five Roses Street
–J
She was going to cry. Tears threatened to turn her into a sobbing mess on the stairs. To distract herself, she turned the envelope and shook it over her palm. Out dropped an ornate key. Yvienne stopped halfway up the stair, the heavy key weighing in her palm. She had no idea where Five Roses Street was.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tesara pulled the purse with her winnings out from under her side of the bed. The borrowed purse was a sweet little silk bag with a drawstring made of braided cord and beaded tassels hanging from the bottom. It was a lovely trifle that meant nothing to Mirandine, who had dozens of them.
The door opened and she looked up as Yvienne slipped into the room. Her sister closed the door behind her and locked it for good measure. Her eyes were wet and her face was haggard and drawn. Tesara was about to ask when with measured calm, Yvienne asked,
“What is that?”
Tesara poured out the purse on their bed, shaking it a little to dislodge the roll of bills and the loose coins. Yvienne ruffled the bills and gave a sudden, unaccountable laugh.
“Where did you get all this?”
Tesara gave a slight, satisfied smile. See if you can top this, favorite daughter. “I won it playing cards. Jone Saint Frey and his cousin Mirandine Depressis staked me.” Tesara let the coins run through her fingers. “When I was a kid, Uncle taught me to count cards. You really don’t forget.”
“Is that where
