But she stayed still. Wasn’t a murderer. Killer, sure, when given provocation. The guns were testament to that. Survivor. She liked the sound of that better.
Hankirk recovered, finished the bite and dropped the skewer back on his tray. Held the now-empty hand up in the air in surrender while he chewed and swallowed. There was no gun at his hip, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.
“I see you met my friend Geram.” He nodded at her guns.
“Briefly,” was all she said.
But she could have kissed him. A huge weight was removed from her shoulders. The men outside Jasper’s shop hadn’t been in Zeela’s employ, and there was no anonymous third party at play here. Just more of Hankirk’s tangled work, and that much she was already handling. Veritors wouldn’t hesitate to murder a Breaker. It made so much sense, and largely cleared up the rest of her questions.
This was turning out to be a fine day.
“Talis,” he said calmly. Addressing her like a friend, though she knew his raised hand could grab for her wrist at any moment. “You don’t know what you have.”
“Getting a better idea every time you make an attempt on my life, you motherless bastard.”
“Are you hurt? They were only supposed to rob you.” His confusion was almost convincing. “Just take the ring and put you off of it.”
She scoffed, leaning her weight into one hip. The guns were heavy. “You were going to put us off a hangman’s platform. They were going to put us off the docks. You’ll have to try harder if you want to fool me.”
“Just give it to me, Talis. This is a bigger thing than your little ship can carry.”
She stared at him but didn’t reply. Her nose itched, but no way was she moving the revolvers.
“Give it to me and I’ll drop the charges. I’ll even let your Bone man live.” He retained that self-assured tilt to his shoulders, but she’d almost swear he was begging. Far cry from the elitist disdain he’d put off back in front of his crew. “Or come with me, and we can finish this thing together.”
“What thing? What’s the course you’re plotting here, Hankirk? You want the ring for what? You can’t get much richer, can you?”
She squeezed her elbows against her rib cage to keep her hands steady. This conversation was lasting too long. She wondered if she could safely holster one of the guns without appearing to back down. His eyes flicked momentarily to the movement of her hands. She abandoned the idea.
“You remember what I told you, back at the academy?” He looked as though he wanted to take a step toward her, but had the sense not to.
“Oh, I remember. You remember I removed myself from your company after?”
“Just give me the ring, Talis. Please.”
She delighted in disappointing him. “I don’t have it.”
His eyes dilated. Contracted. Dilated again. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Shock and anger battled for control of his face.
She enjoyed the show. He was desperate for it.
“What’ll it get you? Another promotion? An even bigger ship with even more brass to polish?”
He started to take that step forward, but she motioned with the gun in her right hand. He put his foot back.
“Where is it?”
She wished she’d pulled a knife instead of the guns. These things easily weighed twice as much as her usual pistols, and she’d already climbed half across the width of Subrosa since breakfast. Hankirk’s desire for the ring went beyond orders and laws, she realized. What did he have to prove? He was Fens Yarrow’s heir, wasn’t he? He’d told her so.
Or maybe that was just it. Prove he was up to the legacy? Do something more dramatic and foolhardy than his forebear had? Try to kill a god and actually succeed this time? The ring must be at the center of that. She had no proof, but the look on his face made her certain. She was suddenly very glad it was out of his reach.
“Sold it. Got myself a buyer, no thanks to you or the flags you sent up. Ought to thank you, though, for forcing me to hold out for the right price. Made a nice tidy profit after all.”
Tidy was hardly the word. She wanted to pour that coffer out on the deck of her ship and look at the bright shiny mess it would make, then enjoy picking up every gem and gold bullion rod again to stow it. She decided she was feeling generous. She holstered the guns, put her hands on her hips instead. The muscles in her arms and shoulders nearly shook with relief, and she didn’t need her arms trembling just now.
Hankirk barely noticed that she’d put down the weapons. He almost dropped his tray of food, and had to catch it in a spasm of movement. “Who was your buyer? That ring is the key to everything. Talis, what have you done?”
He took a brazen step forward, looked ready to grab at her, maybe shake her for an answer. Then he focused on something over her shoulder, and his eyes went so wide that the whites showed all around the red-brown of his irises.
There was a clacking sound. An undercurrent brushing of dry grass in a stiff wind.
A translator pad said, behind her, “Does this one make personal bother you, Talis Captain?”
“No, it’s not possible…” Hankirk’s voice was barely a whisper.
Talis empathized with his panic. It took every bit of self-control she had to look casually over her shoulder rather than whirl around to face the Yu’Nyun party.
They were armed, or so it appeared. Their weapons were not the down-to-business guns that Talis was used to. They were beautiful, more sculptural than practical, like something that belonged on a pedestal. Instead they were slung from shoulder
