Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1)

by Jaycee Jarvis

  Quintin quirked his brow. “Hard to impress your important guests when you smell like okapi.”

  “Exactly so.” Jonathan grinned. “You may care more about honoring the gods than spending time with a charming woman. Not all of us have your admirable priorities.”

  “Must be my fine temple education,” Quintin said in an attempt to needle the Trilord’s son. He had never met a noble who didn’t scorn those so poor and desperate for learning that they turned to the temple schools.

  Jonathan’s only response was a quiet snort.

  They broke through the trees between the house and the stables, giving them a clear view of the gardens and circular lane.

  Jonathan stopped. “The palanquins have arrived.”

  A hundred feet ahead, two dozen guards lowered a pair of palanquins to the ground while outriders led okapis away. Elaborately dressed nobles emanated from the silken boxes.

  Quintin held his breath, waiting for Em to appear. While he gladly avoided spending the day with her, he longed for a glimpse of her face.

  The party of nobles swelled. Lord Harold laughed with another older man who held himself like a Lord of a similar rank. Finally, a head crowned with Em’s distinctive reddish hair emerged.

  Quintin held his breath.

  The woman straightened.

  His air escaped in a hiss. “It’s not Em.”

  Jonathan turned sharply, his eyebrows arched. “No, not Em,” he said with a slight emphasis on the name. “I’m surprised you could tell the difference at this distance. Our cousin Violet has been mistaken for my sister more than once.”

  Quintin pressed his lips together, grudgingly grateful to Jonathan for not making a stink about his use of a pet name for Lady Emmanuella. “Your cousin cannot be the charming woman you were referring to earlier.”

  “You’ll never hear me deny Violet’s charms. I’m wise enough to stay on her good side.” Jonathan pointed at the man standing next to his father. “Our interesting guests are Lord Evan a’Maral a’Tarina, a diplomat from the capitol, and his daughter Mistress Catherine.”

  “Mistress Catherine does look lovely. The other gentlewoman must be your brother’s wife, Mistress Isabel.”

  “Correct.”

  Quintin frowned. “Where is Lady Emmanuella? Didn’t she go to town to visit her temple?”

  “Yes.” Jonathan snorted. “She would spend every waking minute at that temple if Father let her. At a guess I would say she will ride an okapi home, or a palanquin will fetch her later. Father will be vexed if she spends the night when she needs to attend you in the morning.”

  “Does she sleep at her temple often?”

  “More often than is probably wise.” He rolled his eyes. “She was there at least once this week. It is safer for her to stay at her temple than to venture through the city after dark, especially on Taricday.”

  “Only fools and outlaws roam the streets on Taricday,” Quintin murmured, falling back on the old adage to cover his embarrassment. His misguided gallantry had left Em sleeping on his floor rather than at her temple as her family believed.

  “Exactly so,” Jonathan agreed. “Though she should learn to plan better and not get caught in town so often. Father wants her to wed and start a family, and I’m sure Lord Evan won’t want his wife devoting so much time to a minor temple.”

  Quintin’s okapi pranced as his hands clutched the reigns. “Your sister is betrothed to Lord Evan?”

  “Well, not officially. The Lord is in mourning until the new year. It wouldn’t be seemly for him to pursue a courtship yet.”

  Which meant she hadn’t broken any vows with their wild kisses. Why wasn’t the knowledge more reassuring?

  “My father would be delighted with the match,” Jonathan continued. “Lord Evan is wealthy and connected and I’ve heard he was very indulgent with his late wife. He’ll certainly need a lot of patience dealing with Emmie.”

  Johnathan’s words landed like a punch in the gut. Quintin had felt so benevolent giving her a bit of undyed linen. Lord Evan could shower her with silk and jewels.

  He should not be upset she had a Lord for a suitor. It didn’t matter if the man was rather old. Quintin’s own parents had a similar gap in their ages. Such a match was only fitting for a Lady of the Realm. In fact, Quintin should be happy for her, especially if the marriage freed her from her sneak work.

  So why did the thought of the Lord flirting with her make him want to retch?

  Chapter 19

  “Now don’t let him run amok when it’s time to eat.” Quintin wagged one finger at Terin after breakfast the next morning. He joked to hide his nervousness at letting his waccat out of his sight. “He should only kill it if he’s going to eat it. Except for the bogbear, obviously.”

  Elkart bumped his head against Quintin’s hip. I be fine. Hunting fun.

  “I appreciate you lending him to me today,” Terin said, his tone devoid of his usual banter. “Ophelia needs Felice with her this morning, and I don’t like my chances against a bogbear with only Maven at my side.”

  Quintin drummed his fingers on his leg. “The sooner you get that thing caught, the better.”

  “If I don’t catch it soon, I’ll need to try a new tactic. We can’t have it running around on Allgoday when drunken revelers might stumble into it.”

  “I might be able to help you tomorrow. Today I need to take an account of Merdale’s stores.”

  Have fun with knots.

  You be careful and come back in one piece. Quintin gave his waccat one last pat, bowed to Terin, and headed down the road. He tried to enjoy the solitude of the early morning walk to Merdale though part of him longed to join the trio in their hunt. Chasing a phantasm through the woods sounded downright relaxing compared to a day dodging temptation with Em in the dusty corners of the sprawling villa.

  He arrived at Merdale without incident and managed to accept a bite from the welcoming tray without spilling it all over Lady Em.

  She rose to her feet with a strained smile. “My brother tells me you want to tour the storerooms this morning.”

  “I need to record your father’s holdings before tabulating a proper tribute. Do you have the keys, or will someone else be escorting me?”

  “I am attending you.” Her face tightened. “The manor is very thin on diversions this morning, so my brother and cousin will be accompanying us as well. My cousin has the keys.”

  His brow furrowed. By law and custom, landowners could have as many witnesses as they wished to the accounting, but Quintin didn’t relish an audience. “Your family finds watching the tax collector tabulate accounts entertaining?”

  “My brother is convinced you are sweet on me, and my cousin hopes to catch us flirting.” She toyed with a simple silver ring on her right hand. “They’ve probably laid bets on whether you’ll kiss me before noon.”

  He sniffed. “I would like to think my self-control is strong enough to prevent me from groping you in front of your family.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes. “That’s why I accepted their company. To bolster my own self-control.”

  His body warmed while his treacherous mind teased him with memories of her wild kisses.

  Turning away abruptly, she strode down an arched breezeway. The swaying feathers in her hair beckoned him to follow.

  She led him to a storeroom set between a courtyard and a cooking area. From the open door he could hear laughter inside. The sound stopped the moment Quintin stepped over the threshold.

  “You’ve already met Master Jonathan.” Em gestured at her brother and a woman standing close together in one corner of the storeroom. “This gentlewoman is Violet of Trimble, daughter of Mystic Marcus a’Fermice. She is our cousin and guest for the week.”

  Violet’s face wrinkled as
if she smelled waccat droppings. He recognized her as the woman with the overzealous guard in the marketplace. From the expression on her face, she remembered him as well. She gave a bow shallow enough to border on rude.

  Quintin precisely mirrored the gesture as Em completed the introduction.

  “These are the common stores, mostly staples and foodstuffs for use in the kitchen.” Em waved a hand around a room larger than his chamber at home. Shelves loaded with clay jugs and lumpy sacks reached to the ceiling, while barrels crowded the floor.

  Quintin nodded curtly and stepped over to the nearest barrel. “Are spirits kept here?”

  “Those are in a separate storeroom,” Em replied.

  He unwound the quipu from his hand before making his way methodically around the room, sniffing at spices, estimating amounts, counting jugs and recording everything on the quipu.

  Through it all Em stood by the door, poised as a practiced Lady.

  Jonathan lounged against one wall, grinning at Violet as she whispered and tittered behind her hand.

  Not bothering to use his gift to eavesdrop, Quintin went to work. He needed no distractions from his accounts. The sooner he finished this mundane task, the sooner he would be done with the assignment.

  Once he finished tallying the goods, he turned to Em. “I’m done here. Where to next?”

  Violet twirled a ring of keys around one finger. “Since you were so interested in spirits, let’s go there.”

  Frowning, Quintin trailed behind the sashaying woman. He would have been happier following Em’s lead.

  Violet unlocked a door not far from the first storeroom and flung it open.

  Jonathan sauntered in to peruse the shelves as Violet latched on to Em’s arm and dragged her into the room. “Which ones will your father serve at the celebration, do you think?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.” Em extracted her arm from her cousin and backed away, nearly colliding with Quintin in the doorway.

  His fingers made knots with practiced ease as he moved around the room counting bottles and jugs. It was a good thing the tally needed little of his attention, since Em was so distracting, and not in the way he had expected. She froze on the threshold, her hands clenched and her breathing shallow. What frightened her so?

  When the tally was done, Violet shooed him out and locked the door behind them. They visited three more storerooms in much the same manner, with Violet leading the way and Em waiting in the hall, unwilling or unable to enter any of the cramped rooms.

  “I’m done here,” Quintin announced after accounting all of Lord Harold’s linens. “Let’s go to the cacao vault.”

  “Why don’t you lead the Han-Auditor to the cacao stores, Emmie?” Violet tapped a finger against her lip. “I’m quite sure I don’t know where it is.”

  Quintin offered his arm to Em, glad not to be trailing after Violet for once.

  Her body felt as stiff as a marionette beside him, nothing like the easy harmony they had shared during their other walks together. He covered her cold fingers with his hand. Keeping his gaze fixed ahead, he gave her a quick squeeze and sent his air gift out to brush against her defenses.

  She bit her lip and let out a quiet sigh.

  When he breathed against her mind a second time, he felt no resistance. He formulated his thoughts carefully and blew them through their linked hands. What’s wrong?

  I don’t like storerooms. There was a complex mix of thoughts behind her simple statement.

  How can a thief not enjoy a treasure trove?

  I always like knowing how I’ll get out again. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. Three people is too much. The exit isn’t clear.

  Violet brushed passed them to unlock a door and throw it wide.

  I certainly wouldn’t trust your cousin to get out of your way. Quintin stepped into the room, unconsciously dragging Em in with him.

  She struggled to disengage from his arm, before stumbling forward and crashing into him.

  The door banged shut. Yawning darkness filled the room.

  Em yanked out of his grip. Flesh slapped against wood.

  “Have fun counting beans with the Auditor.” The thick door muffled Violet’s words.

  “Jon? Violet?” Em cried, her voice keening into the black void. “Let us out.”

  Fading laughter answered her.

  A vise closed around Quintin’s lungs, while disjointed images of a dying woman invaded his thoughts. The nightmare wasn’t his own, yet it dug into his mind with blood-soaked claws.

  Em banged her fists against the door. Her rasping breath echoed in the tiny room.

  Desperate to fight off the horror spilling from her mind, Quintin slapped his hands against his chest. His gift dragged air into his lungs, granting him the focus needed to sever the mind-to-mind connection. The nightmare images faded.

  Fear, thick and choking as smoke, remained.

  He swallowed hard to fortify his water. Usually his weak water gift did not allow for such potent emotional sharing. He did not want to think of what it might mean to have his heart tied so closely to hers.

  Opening his mind to the air around him, his gift penetrated the darkness. Em scrabbled at the door, her breath little more than sobbing gasps. He needed to break through her fear before she injured herself. He gripped her shoulders.

  She jumped and squeaked.

  “We’re fine, Em.”

  “We’re trapped in here,” she choked out. Her body swayed toward his.

  Trying to give her strength, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She pressed more fully against him, their bodies fitting together like two halves of a whole. His face nuzzled her hair. The smell of jasmine tickled his senses.

  A shiver wracked her frame. “It’s so dark.”

  “There is a candle in front of us. If you touch it, can you light it?”

  “How do you know where it is?”

  “My air gift. I can see in here, though not well.” He guided her hand to a sconce by the door. “There. Can you light it?”

  “Yes, thank Fermena, Tarina, and Marana.” Relief chased some of the strain from her face.

  The candle sputtered to life under her fingers. While balanced folk took such acts for granted, to him the fires they lit always seemed like a tiny miracle, as mysterious as the spark of life.

  He felt more than heard her sigh. “I’ve been trapped in here before.”

  “Your brother has locked you up before?” Rage flooded through him. He wanted to rip the last breath of air from her brother’s body for terrorizing her so.

  “No, no. It was an accident and had nothing to do with Jon. My mother collapsed across the door and I was too little to move her out of the way. It was the first time I realized how sick she was.” She shuddered. “I know the vault is not to blame for her death, yet I can’t stand the way it smells in here.”

  Quintin turned her to face him, his blood pumping fury. “All the more reason your brother shouldn’t play mean tricks.”

  “Violet was the one who locked us in here. My brother just goes along with her nonsense.”

  “He’s a coward.” Quintin’s voice was little more than a growl. “If I had a sister, I wouldn’t let anyone scare her.”

  Her face softened. “I’m sure you would make a very good big brother.”

  He winced, his anger receding. “Yes, that’s me. Good old brotherly Quintin.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  A dark and heavy pause lingered after her words.

  “Quintin?”

  He closed his eyes, blocking out her curiosity. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

  Her hand pressed against his chest. “Please.”

  He covered her hand with his, trapping its warmth
against his heart. “At the beginning of my training to become a Hand, I fell madly in love with one of my year-mates. She was a beauty, sweeter than a glass of watermelon wine. She liked me, too. Soon I was one of her dearest friends, her closest confidant.”

  He paused, surprised at the rawness of the old wound.

  Em’s fingers curled into his kaftan. Her breath fanned over his face.

  Inhaling deeply, his lungs filled with her air. “She liked me so much that when she decided to seduce one of our mutual friends, she trusted me to sneak her into his room, into his bed. And when he broke her heart, who should she turn to but good old Quintin, always ready to dry her tears.”

  Em’s free hand cupped his face, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

  “I was like a brother to her, Em. Still am. And I’ll be damned if I’ll be like a brother to you, too.”

  “You are nothing like my brothers,” she promised.

  Quintin opened his eyes. What did she mean?

  Her fingers slid into his hair. Rising on tiptoe, she covered his lips with her own.

  Chapter 20

  Her kiss was everything Quintin remembered and more. He opened his mouth, welcoming the invasion of her tongue. She tasted like spiced cider, and smelled faintly of jasmine and something else, something uniquely Em. The rasping slide of her tongue made him forget everything but the way she felt in his arms.

  Desire swept through him. He clung to her, reveling in how her curves fit against his body.

  With a groan, he buried one hand in her hair, mussing its neat coils. Feathers brushed against his fingers, a stark reminder he kissed Lady Emmanuella, not Em the outlaw.

  Quintin raised his head, gulping air and trying to regain his sanity.

  “I’ve dreamed about your beautiful body, aching to touch you again.” Trailing kisses along his neck, she whispered the words against his skin.