***
When Nathan Rook had first set foot in Haven four years ago, he had been a very different man. It had only been a year since he lost his wife, Lurien, during the unprovoked Darenthi raid on Turesk, and he arrived with an unquenched thirst for vengeance. The city quickly changed him. After trying to start his own business, he realized almost immediately that buying and selling goods was not the way to make money in a place like this. The real drakes were in secrets—both in knowing how to get them and understanding who was willing to pay for them.
He swiftly discovered that he not only liked it, but was quite good at it. In a year he’d owned two shops and had a dozen contacts spread across all the embassies. In three he was the man they all turned to, openly or otherwise, when they needed to know something. Now he was one of the most powerful men in the city even if the average citizen never heard his name.
And as much as it pained him to admit, he had Empress Malivar to thank for his success. Her soldiers had been the ones who marched across the border and butchered his unit at Turesk, but since then she had been pouring money into Haven in the hopes of creating a true international city. The political stew she had cooked up is what men like him subsisted on.
He was reminded of that fact any time he walked the streets and saw the faces of travelers from all over Esharia—and sometimes even Arkadians or Talami from overseas. Today the diversity was particularly pronounced. As he, Rynne, and Van strode through this residential area of the city, it struck him as impressive not only how many foreigners traveled here, but how many had actually settled permanently.
“I think that’s it,” Rynne said, craning her neck off to the right. “Between the cobbler and the seamstress.”
“Not much of a sign,” Van commented as they drew closer.
Rook shrugged. “He has a good reputation.”
“You hadn’t heard of him, and you’ve heard of everyone,” Rynne pointed out. “It can’t be that good.”
“I said I’d heard the name; I just hadn’t dealt with him directly. It may come as a surprise, but I’m not omniscient.”
“I know I’m shocked,” Van mumbled.
Rynne smirked. “I just don’t trust him.”
“Nor should you,” Rook said. “At least I’ve taught you something.”
“I’ll park here,” Van told them, sniffing at the air. “I smell tangra sausage.”
“Didn’t you just have breakfast an hour ago?”
“You’ve known him for what, fourteen years?” Rynne asked. “Are you really surprised?”
Rook let out an exaggerated sigh. “Just try not to get anything on your shirt. Bodyguards with food-stains aren’t nearly as imposing.”
Van was already gone, having disappeared into the throng of morning customers near some of the street-side merchants. Three of them walking in at once would have probably been intimidating and maybe a little suspicious, and this way at least he was close if something did go wrong. Not that Rook was really expecting danger—most likely this Bale would simply prove useless and they would have wasted their time.
Most likely.
Rook knocked at the door, and a few seconds later a trim young man with close-cropped dark hair opened the door. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Jonas Bale,” Rook said. “I hope I have the right place.”
The man’s eyes almost immediately latched onto Rynne, and he had visible difficulty pulling them away. “Uh…I’m sorry, Master Bale left town last month. I’ve been taking customers in his stead.”
“Master?” Rynne asked, raising her eyebrows and meeting the man’s eyes. “What of, if I may ask?”
“What? Oh, he is an Edehan monk and one of the few true masters left in Darenthi. I, uh, I’ve been his student for several years.”
“I see,” Rook said. As amusing as it was to watch the kid fumble about while eye-groping Rynne, it seemed like this was most likely a dead end. “I was hoping for someone who could validate the authenticity of a few antiques I purchased. I was told Master Bale was the person to ask.”
The man blinked and turned to Rook as if noticing him for the first time. “Oh, I can help you with that. Probably. Almost certainly, in fact. Why don’t you come in?”
“Thank you.”
They stepped inside, and Rook’s nose perked up. Something was cooking in an adjacent room, and it smelled delicious. It reminded him how long it had been since he’d enjoyed a nice meal with a client.
“Is that kaffel?” Rynne asked, glancing around for the kitchen.
The young monk blinked again. “Yes, yes it is. I didn’t think anyone would recognize it.”
“I’ve always been annoyed the Vakari baker on the east side doesn’t make it. I thought it was a traditional mid-week lunch.”
“It is,” he managed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask: are you Vorani, the Sunoan minstrel?”
“On occasion,” she beamed. “One of my many talents.”
“Shakissa’s mercy,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, I just…never would have expected you to walk into this house.”
“If you can help us, I’ll get you a front row seat to my next show,” she said with her most infectious smile. “But first, you should probably tell us your name.”
“Oh, forgive me. My name is Tiel. Tiel Aranis.”
“You can call me Rynne. This here is my friend, Rook.”
His eyes might have flicked to Rook for a whole second before returning to her. “A pleasure to meet both of you. Please, come in and have a seat.”
Rook stepped towards one of the two empty chairs in the room and tossed Rynne a “be careful” look. She typically wore a disguise and went under alias for obvious reasons, but today she had insisted on using her real name, arguing that it might give her an edge with an older man. He hadn’t believed that for a minute, of course. She just didn’t want to wear her Vakari mercenary or Sylethi huntress outfits for the fourth day in a row.
“I was hoping to get your opinion on something,” Rook said, taking in the rest of the area in a single glance. The cylindrical room was covered floor to ceiling in books, statues, and display cases. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with my organization, but we run a number of shipments into Ebara, especially with the Empress’s ongoing attempts to open up the border.”
Tiel tapped his fingers against his lips. “Right, I thought the name sounded familiar. I’m afraid I’m not much of a businessman myself.”
Rook smiled. “That’s all right. I just hope you share your mentor’s expertise on Septurian lore and relics.”
“I’d like to think so,” Tiel replied, gesturing widely around him. “He has spent his life gathering every artifact he could, and I’ve studied them all.”
“It’s an impressive collection,” Rynne told him, and sounded like she meant it. “I didn’t think there were any copies of the Tal Kadra anywhere east of Kimpera.”
“As far as I know, that’s the only one.” The man’s eyebrows perked up again. “You read philosophy?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “What, a singer can’t be a philosopher, too?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said apologetically. “It’s just that it’s written in ancient Kahin. Few can even speak it at this point.”
“Tel kasdra mes foloo,” she said with a smirk.
Tiel smiled, clearly smitten. “Marvelous.”
“Some of my people passed over a ruin site a couple weeks ago and came back with a few baubles,” Rook prompted, trying to drag the monk’s attention back to the matter at hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. “I need to know if they’re authentic.”
“Right, right, certainly,” Tiel replied, taking the pouch. Inside were four small sculptures and a few rings, all from the haul that had come with the Kirshal’s coffin. The last item, however, was something of a red herring: a necklace with an engraving on it that matched the tattoos on the woman’s stomach. Ro
ok’s people had put it together yesterday; in theory, it would be a good way to test the man’s reaction.
“Hmm,” the monk murmured as he eyed each piece. “Yes, these are probably authentic, if relatively common.”
“Probably?”
“It’s difficult to know for certain, but the markings are all accurate. Forgeries with this level of detail usually aren’t worth the cost of making them. Like I said, they are common. I don’t imagine you could get much for them.”
Rook suppressed a frown. Most people were terrible liars; it was a basic truth he had learned long ago and one he put to use on a daily basis. And this young man was definitely lying. The moment Tiel had taken the pouch he’d been mesmerized by the necklace. He was making a good show of examining the others, but it was clear he didn’t really care about them.
“Well, anything is better than nothing,” Rynne said, eyes glittering as she tossed a furtive glance to Rook. In that single shared moment, he knew she had reached the same conclusion. “Just a bonus for the trip, really.”
Tiel put them back into the pouch. “If you don’t mind my asking, did your people find them all in the same place?”
“The same ruins, yes,” Rook said, taking it back. “I didn’t ask for specifics beyond that. Is it important?”
“Possibly,” the monk murmured, his hands moving nervously. “They’re all burial relics after the Sundering but before the city collapsed.”
“And those are common?”
“Pre-Sundering relics are extremely rare and valuable,” Tiel explained. “I’m not entirely sure why. There are many theories but nothing conclusive.”
Rynne nodded. “I imagine the city fell into chaos after the Fane was torn and the gods were cast into it. I doubt there was much left when it actually collapsed.”
“That is one possibility,” Tiel replied hastily. “Do you have any other pieces?”
“Yes, but this is just what I could carry,” Rook told him. “I assume you’re not interested in purchasing them?”
“I’m afraid not. I doubt you’ll have trouble finding a buyer, though, even if the price won’t be exceptional.”
“Ah. Well, that’s good enough, I suppose. I trust you don’t mind if I tell them you verified their authenticity?”
Tiel shook his head. “No, no, not at all. I, uh, don’t think my word will carry nearly as much weight as Master Bale’s, unfortunately. But I stand by it.”
“Good enough for me,” Rook said, standing. He stopped and snapped his fingers. “It occurs to me we probably should have negotiated a price first.”
“Oh, right,” Tiel muttered sheepishly. “Like I said, I’m not much of a businessman. I believe twenty drakes is the usual fee for this type of thing.”
“Very reasonable,” Rook told him, standing and pulling out the coins. “I thank you for your time, Mr. Aranis.”
“Of course, of course. No trouble at all. Here, let me show you to the door.”
“I’ll see about getting you those tickets,” Rynne said. “If you don’t mind my stopping by.”
“No, of course not.” The monk smiled, but this time it was forced. Whatever infatuation had momentarily blinded him was gone; now he was simply nervous. “I would appreciate that.”
Tiel escorted them outside, and neither of them spoke until they had made it back out into the street and found Van. He was busy stuffing what looked like two dinners worth of food in his mouth.
“That was fast,” he commented.
“I think we got what we needed,” Rynne told him.
“More than,” Rook murmured, tossing a quick glance back to the house and gesturing for the two of them to follow. Once they were farther down the street and away from the crowds, he had them step off to the side. “When we get back to base, I want to assign someone to follow him.”
Van frowned. “What? Why?”
“Because he knows something. I want to see what he does with this information.”
“He also knows we were fishing” Rynne said. “Or he will once he thinks it through.”
“You made that obvious enough.”
“I thought that was the point,” she replied tartly. “He’ll wonder how someone who could read Kahin and knows theories about pre-Sundering artifacts couldn’t authenticate a few antiquities herself. I mean, you did want me to pique his interest, right?”
“You definitely piqued something,” Rook muttered.
She put a defiant hand on her hip. “Don’t be jealous just because I have fans and you’re stuck leading this silly double life. I told you before there’s always an opening in my act for a male dancer.”
Van shook his head. “I must have missed something good.”
“Not really,” Rook said, checking again to make sure no one was listening. “But this guy knows we have something else we’re not talking about. Whether he recognizes it as a Kirshal symbol specifically or not I don’t know, but he’s going to try and find out what it is.”
“Why do you think that?” Van asked.
“Because he’s not just some random historian’s apprentice,” Rynne told him. “He has some pretty impressive muscles underneath that shirt, and probably some combat training to go along with it.”
“So just who do you think he is?”
“Trouble,” Rook said. “He could be a plant for any number of groups, or just a disciple of some more militant Edehan sect. Either way, he’ll start looking around and probably scare up some help.”
“He definitely struck me as the earnest type, which probably means legitimate curiosity,” Rynne reasoned. “We are talking about a fundamentally religious discovery here. I know it’s easy to forget between the criminal gangs and the politicians, but there are a lot of people in this city who’ve come here to worship and convert.”
“Zealots,” Van hissed. “I think I’d rather take on a bunch of Faceless.”
“I’m mostly just worried about who he’ll share this information with. We’ve been keeping it quiet for a reason.”
“That’s why we need to track him,” Rook said. “Without tangible proof, though, I doubt it will lead to anything. Most folks are pretty skeptical about rumors like that these days.”
“He does have our names,” Rynne reminded him, her cheeks flushing slightly. “That might come back to haunt us.”
“It just depends who he talks to, but yeah, that could be a concern.”
She sighed. “I’ll do it, then. I can confront him about it if he looks like he’s going to do something especially stupid.”
Van chomped down the last bit of his sausage then folded his arms across his chest. “You realize I could just go back there and hurt him until he talks.”
“He’s just a harmless monk,” Rynne scoffed. “And besides, we’re not thugs.”
Rook ran a hand across his beard. “Van and I can hit the other people on my list by ourselves. I’ll let you know if any of the others jump at this like he did.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said, looking back up the street. “At least keeping tabs on him shouldn’t be hard. He didn’t seem like the worldly type.”
“No,” Rook agreed. “But be careful.”
Rynne nodded once at both of them before dashing off up the street.
“I just hope we aren’t biting off more than we can chew,” Van said, licking his chops and probably blissfully unaware of the irony. “What if this guy is connected to the locals somehow? What if he shows up with a squad of Faceless or something?”
“Then I’ll let you hurt him,” Rook said.
Van let out a well-practiced resigned sigh. “I told you this was going to be bad news the moment we looked in that coffin.”
“I didn’t disagree.”
“No,” Van admitted. “I guess you didn’t.”
The Last Goddess Page 6
