CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SARA CAUGHT SIGHT OF them from an upper window and hurriedly skipped down the wide stone steps to hug her brother. “Jarrick! It’s been ages. I missed you.”
His arms were tight around her, as firm and solid as ever. “I missed you, too, Suri.”
She smiled at his pet name. Only he called her by it, and she had not heard it in months. “Come in, come in.” She glanced at the man beside him. “You too.”
Falten Isen laughed and shook his head. “No, I have some calls to make. I only came because I love to watch Jarrick welcomed home. It makes me ferociously envious.”
Sara laughed. “Come, Falten, surely someone would be glad to wait for you. I’ve offered before to recommend you.”
He smiled and made a tiny bow. “I know, and I am always surprised that you would condemn one of your friends to life with me.” He chuckled. “Goodbye, my dear, Jarrick. Perhaps we can dine together some time.” He turned and limped away.
“It’s bothering him?” she asked softly, watching him.
“We walked from his house above Abbar. It started giving him trouble halfway here.”
“I don’t know why he doesn’t use a litter like everyone else in Ivat.”
“The healers told him that a litter would let it worsen. The exercise hurts but keeps it from crippling him.”
“He still thinks no woman will have him, doesn’t he?” She turned and hugged Jarrick again. “We’ll worry about him later. I’m so glad you’re home. Come in and sit down.” She glanced behind him. “I remember Han. You found someone else while you were away?”
“This is...”
“Andrew, my lord,” offered the slave.
Sarah frowned. “Did you come home through a mine, Jarrick? They look terrible.”
“Actually, I traveled with a slaver’s caravan. Not my first choice, I admit, but that’s why everyone’s a little footsore.”
“Footsore? I think they forgot to feed this one. Andrew? I’ll have Marcus take you back to the kitchens for something, and then—”
“Then he can stay in the kitchens,” Jarrick said. “I’m told he’s a fair drudge.”
“I was going to say he could wash up, which I think might be a good idea if he’s going to stay in the kitchens.” Sara tipped her head. “You brought a kitchen slave all the way from—where?”
He looked discomfited. “I was asked to take him. By a friend. I’ll explain later.”
Sara gave him an odd look. “Right. A friend asked you to take a kitchen drudge.” She shrugged. “Both of you, get inside, get cleaned up, and get something to eat. If Jarrick has anything else for you in the next hour, I overrule it. Move.”
“Yes, mistress,” answered Han, bobbing with the chest on his shoulder, and he led the other to the side of the house.
Sara took Jarrick’s arm. “Come on, it’s cool out here. Thir’s at the docks, settling something between Hart and Elg, and—”
“Father?”
“He’s with them.” Her voice dropped a note. “It’s a good day.”
Jarrick nodded silently. There was something in his face, something she couldn’t quite read.
“Anyway, I’ve got you to myself for a couple of hours, because Hart and Elg have been building up to this for weeks. You can tell me all the really good stories and when they come back, you can give them the boring bits they want to know about.” She laughed.
Jarrick didn’t laugh with her. “I don’t have much I can tell you, Sara.”
“You were away for three months and you have no stories? Bah, Jarrick, I should toss you back into the street. You’re a boor and a tease.”
He made no jest in return, and Sara felt her happy mood touched with shadow. She paused and looked at him.
He started, suddenly aware of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, I suppose.”
“Then you’d better come and sit down. Don’t argue, you can bathe later. The dirt’s not going anywhere.” Sara gestured to a passing servant and ordered warm drinks. “Come, brother, you worry me.”
She had a suite of rooms at the end of the house—her father and brothers preferred rooms overlooking the sea, where they could keep an eye for incoming ships—and she led him to his favorite chair while she dragged a wide couch to adjoin it. “Did something happen on the way home?”
He shook his head. “No.”
The slave brought steaming drinks and Sara dismissed her promptly, sensing that Jarrick needed privacy. “You want to talk about whatever didn’t happen?”
That, at least, brought a faint smile. He rubbed at his face, looking tired and, perhaps, older. “This was a difficult trip, Suri. For many reasons.”
“You didn’t get the Alham contract? But we knew they might not want someone so—”
“I have the Alham contract,” he interrupted gently. “If that were my only concern...”
She leaned forward, elbows on knees. “So there is something else.”
Jarrick hesitated a long moment, seeming to hover on the steam of his drink. Abruptly he turned and set the mug on a low table, keeping his eyes from Sara. “I think I’ll go wash away the road grime. I’m tired.”
She was taken aback. “Jarrick...”
“I’m going to sleep after my bath. Tell Father and Thir we have the army contract.” He withdrew a flat leather wallet from inside his tunic and unwound the safety cord that held it to his belt. “The papers for that and the others are all here.” The wallet slapped to the table beside the untouched drink. “If I don’t wake for supper, then let me be.” He rose and went to the door.
“Jarrick! Wait!”
But he went on without pausing, leaving her alone with the documents. She started to follow him but stopped. If he truly meant to leave her behind, he would do so, and harassing him would help nothing.
She picked up the leather wallet and withdrew the sheaf of contracts and miscellaneous sensitive data. Thumbing through it, she saw nothing extraordinary, nothing that should have him worrying how to break the news that he’d lost an important client or had seen a captain sign with another shipper.
She drank her own tea, folding her feet onto the wide sofa. He might be better able to talk after a bath and sleep, after all. She would go to him then.
But when her father and Thir returned, Stefan was with them. She could hardly be upset—Stefan was her betrothed—but it meant Jarrick would be unlikely to talk openly over supper, and she would have no chance to speak with him privately afterward.
But she could not resent Stefan for coming. She had been anxious when their fathers had first struck the match, and when they’d first been introduced he had been stiff and taciturn, reciting memorized compliments and stepping on her toes as they danced. But as the party wore on and the parents and well-wishers turned to their own merrymaking, leaving the betrothed couple to speak between themselves, she’d discovered he was actually as nervous as she, and that once he was not trying to appear older and bolder before his parents’ friends, he was actually sweet. It had not been long before both of them were anticipating their wedding.
“Marcus said Jarrick had come home?” her father said as she exchanged smiles with Stefan.
“Yes, but he was tired from the journey,” she said. “He went to bathe and sleep.”
“Did he say anything about the Alham contract?”
“He has it.” The papers were still in her room. “Everything’s fine there.”
Jarrick did not appear for supper, and midway through the meal Sara motioned a servant to her side. “Jarrick will need supper in his room.”
“Yes, mistress. I believe Marcus has already seen to that.”
Good old Marcus, dependable steward without equal, who thought of most things a moment before his masters. She wished she could take him with her—but he was needed here, as he had a brilliant way of working around her father’s bad days.
Her father and Thir seemed mildly disgruntled at Jarrick’s absence, but the
y had a guest, and Thir commented that Jarrick would be awake in the morning and the reports would not be stale before then. After supper, Stefan chatted a few moments with his future relatives and then, his social duties paid, joined Sara on a moonlit balcony for more private pursuits.
Breakfast was usually an informal affair, taken singly as they began their various days, but her father and Thir were already there when she arrived the next morning, apparently waiting for Jarrick to make his appearance. Sara noted with dismay that Marcus stood behind her father, instead of beside him. It would not be as good a day as yesterday.
“Where’s Jarrick?” he asked irritably, confirming her observation. “Isn’t he coming?”
“I’m here,” Jarrick answered from the corridor. “Good morning, Father. Hello, Thir, Sara.”
Thir nodded and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Welcome home.”
“Indeed, son. So, Jarrick, what have you brought?”
“We’re profiting.” Jarrick slathered butter over bread. “Overall, it was a very successful trip. We have reduced port fees in Boabrimtown, we have an exclusive deal for cotton in Madigan City, and we have the Alham army contract for grain delivery.”
“Excellent.”
“How was Alham?” asked Thir conversationally. “I was there once, three or four years ago. Cold in the winter.”
Jarrick nodded. “It was cold.”
There was a pause. Thir seemed to expect more, but Jarrick kept his eyes on his plate.
“Did you get the message from our friends?” asked their father. His fingers slipped on his tea. “About Alham?”
Jarrick glanced quickly at Sara. “Father...”
Thir shook his head. “We can talk about that later, Father.”
“I want to know how the alliance views us,” he said stubbornly. His eyes had the faintly unfocused look Sara hated. “Did Jarrick satisfy them or not?”
Jarrick set his cup down firmly, sloshing tea over the table. “The alliance is gone,” he said sharply, “or it will be in a few weeks. We’ll make our own way.”
“Gone?” He blinked. “How can it be gone?”
“Do you really want her to hear this?” With a start Sara realized Jarrick was angry, angry beyond what she had seen for years. His rage burned beneath his tightly controlled speech. “Or do you even care? Can you even think clearly enough to know what that would mean?”
Sara flinched in her seat. Thir gave a low warning. “Jarrick...”
“They tried to kill the man who uncovered the scheme. That was their great plan, to kill the man who found it. As if no one would be scrutinizing in the future, if he were only dead! But Bailaha isn’t that much a fool, and they’re not much as assassins. He found them out and arrested some of them. He has the names of the rest. It’s a miracle we aren’t a part of it.”
Sara couldn’t understand what he was saying. Alliance? Assassins?
“And to make it all the more ridiculous, the man they sought to kill was the man I needed for our contract. Imagine that, if you will—I need his seal, and they want his death, and they claim to want our profit! I tell you, the entire thing is maddening. Or mad.”
Thir was watching him warily through calculating eyes. “Then the Alham contract...”
“The Alham contract is sealed! Done! Everything we asked! Don’t ask me how, I claim no credit for this one. I want no part of it.”
“How,” began their father, staring from his chair, “how can the alliance be gone? Some of the greatest merchant houses in the middle lands...”
“It’s gone!” Jarrick snapped, dropping his fist to the table. “Gone! Houses disappear, Father, even great ones. You of all people should know that!”
Sara caught her breath. Jarrick ventured near a topic which none of them dared to mention.
“The alliance is broken, and when Bailaha reaches its leaders, some of the houses will be gone, too—and nothing is going to save them, Father, nothing. We have to leave them and make our own way again. And if—” his voice broke—“if you can’t lead us there, Father, then we’ll have to find it ourselves.” Jarrick shoved himself from the table and hurried from the room.
Their father looked after him in uncertain equanimity. “Why...?”
Sara could feel her jaw hanging. She looked at Thir. “What did he mean? What was he talking about—what alliance?”
“It’s a kind of merchant guild,” he answered quickly. “I don’t know what he meant about murder.”
But he was lying. She could see that even if he was not so close to her as Jarrick. She dropped her finger-crushed napkin and ran after Jarrick.
He was on a balcony, gripping the railing, his head bowed as if in prayer. He was breathing hard, as if he had just run a long way. She slowed and stood behind him. He would know she was there.
After a moment he spoke without turning. “I’m sorry, Sara. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t want you to hear that—not in that way...”
She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, his back against her cheek. “We’ve been trading illicitly?”
“Not all of it. Not even most of it. But enough.” He was trembling, just barely. “Our partners were defrauding the Chrenadan army. Handsomely. It’s been going on for years, and we joined them three years ago. After—after...”
“After we nearly lost our house,” she supplied softly.
“When they were discovered, they turned to murder.” He shivered, distinctly this time. “They told me to kill the Count of Bailaha.”
“Jarrick!”
A hand slipped over hers. “I didn’t. But—I tried. But it didn’t happen.”
She squeezed him tightly. “No wonder you were upset yesterday.”
He shook his head. For a long moment she hugged him, thinking wild thoughts. Why had they joined such an alliance? Had they known of the fraud when they joined? Had they pressed her brothers to do other things before? What would Stefan think?
Was Stefan already involved?
Jarrick exhaled and turned in her arms to embrace her. “Your Stefan is not involved,” he said softly, a smile in his voice. “Nor any part of his house.” He chuckled. “I could smell your worrying.”
“Thanks.” She bit at her lip. “What are you going to do?”
“Do?”
“About the—alliance. Whatever it is.”
He sighed. “If nothing splatters in our direction—meaning no one names us when they’re taken—then I mean to be an honest merchant all the rest of my days. Father and Thir won’t have a choice, as there won’t be an alliance in a few weeks.”
“So you’re an honest man now?”
He gave her a brave smile. “A little tarnished, if you will, but my intentions are shiny.”
“What if—what if the others name us? When they’re arrested?”
Jarrick squeezed her. “I don’t know, Suri. If... I don’t know.”
Sara slipped away and leaned on the balcony railing, the sea breeze tugging at her hair. No one was on the patio below. “Is there anyone near enough to hear us? Thir, slaves, anyone?”
He glanced around. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to break a rule.” She tightened her fingers about the rail. “There is a forbidden subject in our house, one so forbidden that we can’t even say aloud that it is forbidden.”
Jarrick turned away, leaning on the rail beside her and looking to the sea’s horizon.
“You know what I mean, Jarrick. I know you think of it, too.” She paused. She had not yet dared to say it aloud. She swallowed and took a breath. “If we joined the alliance after... We needed capital. More than—for Luca.” She licked her lips, frightened at her own words which made all of it real again, not just the memory of a nightmare. “I still think of Luca, sometimes. I wonder where he is, and why he hasn’t written us to tell us. And I think that maybe, if I had been in his place, I wouldn’t, either.”
Jarrick was silent, unmoving.
“But then I think maybe
I would write. He’s a clerk, or a scribe, or a bookkeeper; it’s not so different from taking a position outside of the house, really. Surely he would write—and then we could bring him home now, couldn’t we?” She clenched her fists. “It’s not right. Father and Thir and everyone don’t ever speak of him, not even you, Jarrick. No one mentions him. It’s as if he never existed. And if he would only write, only tell us where he is, then they would have to read his letter! They would have to!”
Jarrick’s shoulders sagged. “You say he should write, Suri. But what if he couldn’t?”
“What do you mean, couldn’t?”
“Suri, after—after that, I went to look for him.”
She looked at him sharply. She hadn’t known he had tried, too.
“We all thought Luca would be a clerk or something similar. But Sandis saw that he was sold as common labor. To strike further at us.”
She gasped. “But—how could—then he wasn’t a clerk? He isn’t?” Her mind reeled. “He might be—plowing? Rowing? In the mines?”
“Suri, listen—”
“How could you know this and not tell me?” she demanded, letting fury protect her. Luca was not as she had imagined him, safe and scribing— he was chained, sweating, maybe even beaten. “How could you not tell me?”
She shoved herself from the railing and ran, knowing she would cry and too angry to allow him to comfort her. He tried to catch her but she was too quick, and she ran through the door and down the corridor, leaving him as he had left her the night before. All the hopeful tales she had told herself were lies. Luca could be hurt, he could be sick, he could—he could have died. Many slaves lived hard lives, and few lived long ones. She imagined Luca, shirtless and bent beneath a heavy bale on the docks, and she sobbed at the horror.
Her maid stared as Sara burst into the room, and she shrieked, “Out!” Then she threw herself on the couch, beating her fist against the carved arm, wanting to shock herself from the nightmare. Luca was her brother. He had left some years ago, when their business was failing. He was a clerk somewhere, a talented clerk, someone who was valued and protected and appreciated...
Blood & Bond Page 19
