“What a lovely morning.” Terin slid a tray onto the garden table. He nodded at Hannah. “Almost as lovely as the company.”
Quintin stifled his guilty conscience as the itchy feeling disappeared. He hadn’t exactly lied to his friend. He did detest the confusion of trying to carry on a normal conversation while also speaking mind-to-mind. If he were honest though, his mother’s presence wasn’t what stopped him from letting Terin into his thoughts. With his superior air gift and experience ferreting out the truth, Terin was sure to learn more about Em than Quintin wanted to share if they spoke mind-to-mind.
“It is a beautiful day,” Hannah agreed. “Such colors!”
Sunrise pink clouds painted the sky while birdsong trilled from the jungle. Neither did anything to banish the dread churning in Quintin’s gut. Keeping secrets from his friends was a new and uncomfortable experience.
He ate a piece of chilled mango without tasting it and had a hard time following the conversation between Hannah and Terin. Worst of all, he had only delayed the inevitable. Discrete and loyal, Terin would not breathe a word about the woman in Quintin’s room to Hannah but as soon as his mother was out of earshot, an interrogation would begin.
“Those plantains were sublime, Hannah,” Terin said a short while later as he folded his hands over his empty plate. “What is your secret?”
Hannah rubbed her callused fingers together. “I add a pinch of ginger. Gives it a little bite.”
“Wonderful. Truly wonderful.”
Hannah chuckled and reached for Terin’s plate.
“Let me.” Quintin picked up the plate and collected her empty dish as well. He carried the stack toward the house.
“I would love to eat like this every morning,” Terin said. “You squander your talents on Quintin. You should come live with me—”
“My mother doesn’t want to be your charmaid.” The dishes clattered and splashed as Quintin dumped them in a water bucket near the door.
Terin raised his elegant eyebrows. “She’d be wasted as a charmaid. I’d make her my wife.”
“I’ll not be marrying you, you charmer.” Hannah laughed and swatted Terin’s arm. “I expect fidelity from my husband, I do.”
Terin pressed his hands against his heart and batted his eyelashes at Hannah. “With cooking like that, I’ll never look at another woman again.”
Quintin splashed water over his feet and onto the ground in careless agitation as he scrubbed the dishes. “You’re going to poke women blindfolded, then?”
“Shh, don’t tell her my plan,” Terin said with a mock glare.
Still grinning, Hannah wagged a finger at him. “I should be going, before I miss my best customers.”
“Why don’t Terin and I walk you as far as the trade road?” Quintin hastily pulled the plates out of the bucket and set them aside to dry. “If we’re going to spend the day tracking a bogbear in the hopes of keeping citizens safe, I’d hate to have you run into it first.”
“I doubt I have reason to worry, but I won’t say no to the company.” Hannah hoisted a towering basket of vegetables onto her head.
Terin whistled to the three waccats lounging in the shade of the berry bushes as he strode over to the narrow path to the trade road. The waccats dashed after him while Hannah picked her way to the trail.
Following his mother, Quintin pushed aside the occasional encroaching bush with his staff. He tried not to think about how good Em’s hand had felt in his when they had traversed this same path the night before. He hoped she’d returned to Farbank safely.
When their company reached the trade road, Hannah turned toward Trimble with a cheery good-bye.
Quintin shifted his staff from one hand to the other as he faced his year-mate. “Where did the search leave off yesterday?”
Terin pointed with his own staff at the jungle on the other side of the road. “We went pretty far away from the road. Felice and Maven can show us exactly where.”
The three waccats darted across the road and into the underbrush while the two Hands followed at a more sedate pace. Howler monkeys hooted in the distance, their rhythmic cry a challenge to all who would trespass into their domain.
Quintin suppressed a shiver and shoved his staff against the dense foliage. Moisture pattered on his head as he broke through the vines and into the jungle proper. The air was thick and warm, lit by rare sunbeams slipping between the leaves of the canopy trees.
The understory thinned as they moved farther from the road, letting the three waccats spread out while remaining in sight. They ranged all over, dashing ahead or to the side before loping back to the Hands.
Quintin grimaced as Terin moved to walk beside him. His friend kept pace in silence for a moment. Quintin knew his reprieve would soon end.
Terin clicked his tongue. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”
“I would rather you didn’t.” Quintin could feel his friend studying him, though he refused to meet his gaze. Whatever questions Terin had, he would not have good answers.
“There is only one thing I want to know.” His friend knocked his staff against a passing tree trunk, bringing down a shower of condensation. “How did she convince you to part with the cloth?”
“She called it beautiful,” he answered without thinking. Her eyes had glowed with desire when she looked at him. Terin, with his easy charm and handsome face, would not understand the allure of a woman who found him, plain old Han-Auditor Quintin, attractive.
“Madi thinks your work is beautiful, too,” Terin said. “She raves about your use of color. She practically begged you to make her a wall hanging. If I recall she has offered to buy the very same cloth you apparently gifted to a stranger this morning.”
“It was a trade, not a gift.” Quintin winced at his own honesty.
Terin’s eyebrows jumped and laughter danced in his eyes. “A trade, was it? After all your protests yesterday, I am shocked. Shocked, I say, to find you entertaining a prostitute in your mother’s own house.”
“She’s not a—” Quintin forcefully bit his own tongue. He wanted to rap Terin’s skull for casting aspersions on Em, though she would be safer if the advocate believed she was nothing more than a body for hire.
“She’s not a prostitute?” Terin’s gaze sharpened and he rubbed his chin. “Do you know her name now?”
Quintin sucked in a breath, envisioning Em on the waterfront, her ebony eyes wide and vulnerable. “Yes.”
“So, you manage to both learn her name and get her into your bed in a single night.” Terin whistled. “Quick work, even for a man of my experience and skills. You must have untapped powers of seduction. Who would have guessed?”
Quintin scowled and smacked a nearby bush with his staff, sending off a spray of water droplets. His belly twisted at the blunt assessment of his limited charms. Even worse, Terin grossly overestimated his skills since he’d done nothing more than exchange a few kisses with Em.
Terin your friend. Terin a Hand. Elkart’s tail twitched. Why not tell Terin truth?
“It’s complicated,” he muttered.
His year-mate laughed, showing straight white teeth. “Obviously.”
~ ~ ~
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the city of Trimble as Quintin, tired and frustrated, escorted Ophelia’s waccat through the town after an unsuccessful day of hunting. Elkart and Felice stuck close to his sides in the busy streets, never hesitating until they reached the temple Ophelia and her waccat called home.
The Trimble High Temple dedicated to the Water Goddess Marana, Mother of Mercy and All-Knowing Seer, was a sight to behold. Rivara’s smooth marble walls glistened as water trickled from the roof to splash into tiered ponds full of colorful fish and an array of blooming lilies. The oversized wooden doors glinted with shiny stones and pr
ecious metals set amongst carvings of the Goddess in her many guises.
A smaller door, cleverly inset into the enormous double doors, opened and a stream of children tumbled out of the building and down the stairs. Quintin smiled through his weariness. As much as he craved knowledge, he could well remember his joy as a child heading home after a day of study.
Some of the children were diverted from their flight by the sight of a Hand and the waccats with him. One of the boys, about nine or ten years old, pressed his palms together and bowed. “Please, sir, Hand, sir. Why do you have two full grown waccats? Are you bonded to them both?”
“The bond does not work that way. Only one waccat per Hand.” Quintin patted Felice, who was pressed against him in the crowd. “This one is bonded to a friend of mine and lives here. She was helping me with a job, and now I’m returning her to her Hand.”
“May we pet them?” one of the younger children asked.
“Only until the path clears.” The door to Rivara teemed with children so he had a moment to indulge the youngsters. “Those doors are locked at sunset, you know, and I don’t want to be stuck inside.”
The older children laughed while the younger ones jostled forward, eager to touch a genuine waccat.
Elkart and Felice wove between the children toward the doors. As soon as the last child exited the temple, the waccats bounded up the stairs.
Quintin shooed the stragglers home before following the waccats inside. He slipped off his shoes in the entryway and gave his staff to a bowing novice.
“May the blessings of Marana flow over your future,” the novice intoned in a soft voice. “How may we be of service, Hand?”
He gestured at the golden waccat. “I’m here to bring Felice back to Han-Mystic Ophelia.”
“Very good. The waccat can show you the way.”
He bowed quickly before following Felice around the perimeter of the cavernous sanctuary. Flanked by the waccats, he nodded to acolytes as he passed but did not stop to speak to anyone. At the side of the sanctuary, they turned to walk under an arched doorway into a shadowed courtyard.
Scattered around the courtyard were a handful of children who lived at the temple, either as orphans enjoying the Goddess’s Mercy or students whose homes were too far away to return to each evening. They ate a light meal under the watchful gaze of a pair of novices. Heads turned as the children tracked the waccats strolling across the courtyard.
A wave of chatter surged behind Quintin as they left the courtyard and headed down a cool dark hallway to Ophelia’s room.
“How good of you to walk Felice home.” A smile warmed Ophelia’s lovely face as he entered her room with his waccat entourage.
“It was my pleasure, especially since I have something I need to talk to you about.”
“Come and sit.” She gestured at a pillow on the other side of the low table from her. “Would you like some watermelon wine? I’m afraid I have finished my repast. I could send a novice for more . . .”
“I’m sure my mother has supper waiting for me at home,” he said as he folded himself cross-legged onto the pillow. “Though a goblet of wine would be most welcome.”
She poured from a bronze decanter into a smooth clay goblet. “How went the bogbear hunt?”
“Not well. The waccats had a hard time picking up the trail this morning, and then lost it again in the afternoon. Terin is considering going out again tomorrow, though I don’t see what good it will do if they can’t find a fresher track.” He thumped Elkart’s side. “Waccats are no hunting hounds, able to follow a ghost of a scent through wind and rain.”
His waccat flopped against his side. Your nose worse.
Yes, it is. We might need to try something different, is all.
Ophelia frowned. “Terin is welcome to take Felice with him again, though I’d be happier about her going out if she had more than the two of them for company. A bogbear is nothing to trifle with.”
“He plans to talk to Madi tonight and see if they can come up with a better strategy than running around in circles in the jungle.” Quintin took a sip of watermelon wine and let the sweet taste wash away the frustration of a day spent chasing a phantasm. “I imagine you’ll know more about their ideas than I will since I have to return to work tomorrow.”
She swirled the wine in her own goblet and cleared her throat. “Since you’re here, I wanted to verify you had no trouble with the favor you did for me on Taricday.”
His lips tightened. “I wouldn’t say I had no trouble.”
Her brown eyes widened. “The boy you sent assured me everything went according to plan.”
“Our objective was achieved, which was all I dared share with a messenger.” He sighed. Their complicated plan was worthy of Terin’s twisted intellect, and much like Terin’s schemes it had inevitably gone awry. “How did I let you talk me into such a wild scheme?”
“What went wrong?” she asked, her voice quavering. “The Troika must be alerted to Nadine’s disappearance as soon as possible. I foresaw—” She pressed a hand against her forehead. “It was horrible.”
“If the girl is going to die anyway—”
“I don’t want her to die wretched and alone,” Ophelia wailed. She clapped a palm over her mouth and glanced around her austere chamber as if someone might be hiding in the corners. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “If Nadine must die, no other children should suffer her fate. The matron had a hand in her disappearance, I’m sure of it, and if the temple is profiting off the sale of children . . .”
“The Novenary must be alerted,” he agreed. There was little Ophelia could safely do to ferret out a slavery ring while living at Rivara. It was a job for the Novenary and her inquisitors, which was why he’d gone to such lengths to compose and deliver a quipu explaining Ophelia’s concerns. Not everyone could decipher the colored strands and knots, but the Novenary would have scholars in her entourage up for the job. Now they must hold tight and wait for the inquisitor’s arrival. Until then he needed to stop Ophelia from doing anything rash.
He covered her hand with his own. “The quipu went out with the tribute, this I swear. It is up to the Troika to respond.”
“But you said there was trouble.”
“Do you know your contact is in the stocks?”
“Yes, I saw him there a few days ago. I was most relieved to receive your message assuring me all was well.” Her lush lips pulled down in a frown. “How did you discover his identity?”
“The thief you hired came and accosted me last night, demanding payment for the job.”
“Oh, dear.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Did you get hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” While Em had tangled his emotions into a confusing knot of desire, worry, and gratitude, she hadn’t hurt him physically.
“Do you need the beans, then? Have you arranged to meet the thief at some other time?”
“I already paid her, so replenishing my cacao would be most welcome.”
“Her?” Ophelia’s dark brows climbed toward her hairline. “The thief is a woman?”
“Yes.” He licked his suddenly dry lips. “Not that it matters one way or the other.”
“You paid her with your own beans? Without confirming her story?”
“She was desperate for the cacao, and I didn’t want to be involved in cheating her.”
She tilted her head and studied him. Her water gift splashed against his defenses in an attempt to taste his emotions. He took a sip of wine and declined to let her into his heart.
Her face tightened. “Is she the one?”
“The one?”
“The woman you were talking about at the Salty Dog.”
The wine soured in his stomach as he tried to keep his embarrassment and lust from leaking through his water shield. Lying
to Ophelia was impossible but confessing his attraction to a thief would be worse.
She refilled her goblet. “No wonder you said it was hopeless. Thank the Goddess you didn’t tell Terin or Ulric any more about her.”
“There’s no chance I would. I have no desire for them to find her. Can you imagine what Madi would do if she thought I was poking a thief?”
Ophelia shuddered. “She would never forgive me for getting you involved in such a stunt.”
Madi had sacrificed more than the rest of them to become a Hand, and she took her duties very seriously. “Hands or not, we could end up in the stocks alongside your contact.”
Her shoulders shook with another shiver, before she took a sip of wine. She eyed him over the edge of her goblet. “Was she very beautiful?”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
She plunked the goblet onto the table. “You are not going to distract me with empty flattery.”
“It’s the simple truth,” he said with a shrug. With her gentle curves and luminous copper eyes, Ophelia had the kind of beauty praised in romantic ballads. While his desire for Em had more to do with her clever wit and intoxicating kisses than her pretty face.
“Yet it is not me you were sighing over at the Salty Dog.”
He smiled tightly. He’d stopped sighing over Ophelia ten years ago. “While you may be lovely, we both know I’m like a brother to you. Affection and trust we have in abundance. Romance is out of the question.”
“Romance should be out of the question with a thief as well.”
“And so it is. Didn’t I say as much at the Salty Dog?”
He would not admit how much he wished it otherwise. Em had disappeared back into the Trimble underworld, never to be seen again, and it really was for the best.
Now, if only he could convince his heart to forget her.
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 11
