times.
Still fingers forced, through a major effort of will, to remain loose on the hilt of the fruit knife she was using to peel a breakfast apple, a bland diplomatic smile put on like makeup she needed this man s good graces. They all did. Preferred supplier status was not something the Empire granted lightly, and Trelayne was not the only city in the League jostling for position now that Liberalization had opened up the trade again. Play nice, Slab Findrich had advised her over a celebratory pipe before they left. Let him feel superior, if that s what gets his ink on the parchment. It s just business, you ve got to suck it up.
Yeah, easy for you to say, she d snapped. You re not the one going to be on the road with him for a solid two months.
Findrich just fixed her with his leaden eyes. He wasn t much for histrionics.
We re legitimate now, Poppy. An equally leaden patience in the rasping, pipe-cooked voice. This is how it s done.
Yeah, this was how it was done. Like the war all over again. The perfumed fucking imperials standing around like priests at an orgy, while she and her League muscle scrambled to get a tourniquet on the escape. Findrich s legate pal and his high-tone bodyguards hadn t lifted a finger all night except to examine their fucking nails in the firelight.
They were just so fucking above it all.
Her palm itched where the knife lay across it. She settled for imagination, chopped deep into the apple with her blade, and sliced off a glistening chunk. Chewed it and swallowed.
Of course, she said smoothly, I d be most grateful for anything I can learn from our more advanced colleagues in the Yhelteth slave market. It s part of the reason for this trip. But right now, I m afraid we
Scuff of boots outside the tent flap.
Milady?
Irgesh. Good morning. Are we accounted for, finally?
The lead march-master ducked his head into the tent. Red-eyed and weary from the night s hunt. Uhm, in fact no, milady. Still missing eight. It s just there s someone here to see you.
To see me? She raised one groomed brow. At this time of the morning? Is he from Hinerion?
Not sure, milady. Hastily, spotting the smolder of exasperation in her face. He he s not a commoner, that s for sure. Noble-born, no question.
Snarl sighed. Oh, very well. Tell him I ll be out. But if it s the Hinerion border patrol commander, he s a bit bloody late.
Yes, milady.
Irgesh ducked out with visible relief. Snarl set down apple and knife and wiped her hands on a cloth.
Sent out to Hinerion when all this kicked off, she muttered. He s had the whole fucking night to get his men out the gate, and now he shows up when we ve done all the work ourselves. Sometimes I wonder why we pay taxes.
The imperial legate stroked his chin.
As I have said numerous times, worthy merchants such as yourselves could not fail to benefit from an allocation of imperial levies along the major trade routes. A hand in trading friendship that my Emperor would be only too happy to extend if you might persuade the League Assembly in that direction.
Snarl looked at him bleakly. Yeah, you re right. You have said that numerous times.
She found her cloak and snugged it around her shoulders. Looked briefly into the tent s tiny dressing mirror at the caked makeup, the sleepless eyes, the creeping signs of age. She hesitated a moment, then made an exasperated gesture, a spitting sound, and left everything the way it was. She stalked out into the dawn, let the legate follow or not, as he wished.
It seemed he did wish. She heard the tent flap again behind her as she swept past the burned-down campfire and the standing march-master guard. The huddled mass of slaves stretched away into the graying gloom around her, thankfully quiescent now after the chaos of the night before. They d had to beat down at least three or four other coffles aside from the one that had so mysteriously come apart, as understanding of the escape spread through the caravan. She thought, glancing back through what had happened, that it might have been touch-and-go there for a while. Could easily have ended up with a full-blown chain revolt like the one at Parashal last year.
Eight remaining, the legate said at her shoulder.
That s little enough wastage. My advice would be to call off the search, strike camp, and not waste more valuable journey time.
No. Tight-lipped on the monosyllable. Snarl spotted the newly arrived nobleman down the rise from the tents at one of the other fires, in conversation with Irgesh and a handful of the imperials. She headed downward, trailing explanation in tones just this side of polite. I don t work that way, I m afraid. I don t know how you handle these things in the Empire, but we re staying put until the runaways are all accounted for.
But eight slaves, Mistress Snarl. So small a loss is
My loss, my lord legate, is the major part of that coffle, counting these eight or not. And there s not one damn thing I can do about that. What I can do is make sure nothing like this ever happens again. She felt her temper slipping. Bit down on her words for a clamp. We are going to make examples here, soon as the sun comes up. And the word is going out for future fucking reference: Nobody, no- body gets off the chain on one of my caravans and lives.
The legate muttered something in Tethanne. She didn t know the language well enough to follow what he d said, but guessed it for an insult. She was past caring. If Hinerion had sent help, they stood some chance of getting out of here today. If not, she d have this watch commander s balls. She reached the dying embers of the campfire, felt the faint wash of warmth it still radiated into the dawn chill. She drew breath to speak.
The new arrival showed no sign he d noticed her approach he stood with face and spread hands turned away, toward the ashen fire, evidently feeling the cold as well and trying to soak up some of the remnant heat. Rich black brocade cloak over broad swordsman s shoulders and what looked like a Kiriath blade and scabbard across his back. Snarl blinked, impressed despite herself. If the weapon was real and not one of the cheap replicas knocked out by forges across the League since the war, then her guest was a noble indeed. No one else outside the Empire could afford Kiriath steel, and across the free cities it was something of an ultimate in terms of status. Even in Trelayne itself, there were only a handful of men who
Hello, Poppy.
She went very still. That voice alone, but then he turned slowly to face her.
That face.
They d told her he was changed, back in Trelayne. Those who d seen him, those who claimed they had. The stories were all much the same. Scar-faced, empty-eyed, eldritch all trace of the young warrior who d thrown back the Scaled Folk from the battlements of the city now eaten away from within by some consumption beyond human naming. At the time, she d scoffed it was the same basic rap they ran for every street thug, marsh creep, or coastal pirate the Watch had yet to bring to justice. Stood to reason you had to have some rationale for why you d let him face you down and get away. Why, against all the odds, he kept slipping through your fumbling law enforcement fingers. Why the men you commanded were not enough, why your bounty hunter s blade hadn t been up to the task of taking this one down.
Eldritch. Sure. Glamorous, shadowy, and unhuman. Walks through walls.
A crock of shit.
Perhaps, Findrich admitted, as they talked it through one early-spring evening. But for all that, we have lost our dwenda patron, our very own walker-through-walls, and the rumors say it was Ringil that took him down. They say
Oh, they say! They say? Slab, give me a fucking break! When does the mob not rock itself to sleep with folklore and wish fulfillment? Do you really think we could rule these idiots the way we do if they didn t have their myths to cuddle up to around the fire at night?
She knew Ringil Eskiath, perhaps as intimately as anyone alive, and she didn t think it likely he was much different from the arrogant aristo prick he d always been. A little older and colder with the war years, maybe, but who wasn t.
Now, suddenly, as she met his gaze, she was no longer sure.
