Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1)

by Jaycee Jarvis

  “Ophelia did a foretelling on that child, the last to leave Rivara. Her fate is dreadful.”

  “Misfortune can befall any of us,” Em protested. A worm of doubt wriggled in her heart, leaving room for guilt and uncertainty. While she had never heard rumors of cruelty from the lords and ladies she worked with, how well did she know any of her family’s friends? “Did she . . .” She swallowed hard. “Did she foresee abuse?”

  “I don’t know the details of her foretelling. I just know she’s desperate to find the girl.”

  “I can give you directions to the estate easy enough. Merdale could spare a messenger to make an introduction if you like.” She leaned forward and touched his hand. I would never intentionally put children in danger. You know that, right?

  He turned his hand over and clasped her fingers. Yes. I know.

  The sincerity in his words warmed her heart, even as his very real concern chilled her.

  “Ophelia has been dreadfully worried,” he said aloud. “If she can go visit Nadine, then perhaps there will be no need for the inquisitors.”

  Em gripped his fingers, suddenly lightheaded. “Inquisitors?”

  “You remember the quipu we put in with the Allgoday gifts? Ophelia was begging the Novenary to send a trio of inquisitors to investigate the missing children.”

  Panic clawed at her throat. “I can’t have inquisitors here!”

  “I’ll talk to Ophelia.” He let go of her hand to rub his forehead. “I’m sure once she sees Nadine safe, she’ll be happy to call the inquisitors off.”

  “She’d better,” Em muttered. It would be a disaster to have inquisitors snooping around Aerynet, reporting all her failings to the Novenary.

  Chapter 28

  An hour later, Em tossed her reins to a Merdale groom. The morning sun sparkled off the front of the house, reminding her of how long she had lingered at Aerynet.

  Entering without fanfare, she hesitated as she approached the family courtyard. There were masculine voices up ahead, revealing her father to be awake. She had hoped to change before speaking to him. An elegant sari could act like a shield, reminding her father and herself of her position as a Lady.

  Now she couldn’t get to her room without passing the men. There was no help for it. She took a breath and stepped into the courtyard. Her father and brothers broke off their conversation to stare at her.

  “What are you doing in such a getup?” Her father brushed a hand over his own glittering kaftan. “Do you spend all your days dressed like a common boy?”

  Her face heated. “I had errands in town and took an okapi.”

  “Well, you’d better not let Isabel see you.” Jon laughed. “She’ll take a whip to anyone who dishonors her parents.”

  “My wife is doing the work of three people with the preparations for Allgoday,” Gregory pointed out icily. “The least we can do is not embarrass her in front of our guests.”

  “I quite agree.” Lord Harold’s rings flashed as he dismissed Em. “Go change into a sari and join us in the main courtyard for the meal.”

  Em licked her lips and swallowed hard. “I need to speak with you today.”

  His brows drew together. “What about?”

  “It can wait until you have a moment in private.”

  He huffed. “I don’t expect a moment’s peace all day. If you have something to say, you’d best say it now.”

  All too aware of her brothers listening, she spun her mother’s ring around her finger. “It’s about my allowance.”

  Her father raised his eyebrows. “You think now is the best time to ask for more cacao?”

  Her chin tilted up. “I want to know where it comes from.”

  “It is a gift from my personal stores, so you may comport yourself as befits the child of a Trilord.” His gaze raked over her clothes. “Not that you or Jonny ever use it properly.”

  Jonathan gasped. “That’s not fair. Gambling is a time-honored tradition for nobles.”

  Lord Harold’s eye twitched. “You keep this up, and I’ll regret my generosity to both of you.”

  Ever the peacekeeper, Gregory cleared his throat. “I’m sure Isabel and our guests are waiting to break their fast.”

  “I only started receiving my allowance after Mother died,” Em continued doggedly, refusing to be cowed by her father’s threat. If her allowance came from her temple lands, he had no right to cut it off.

  “It was a little before her death, actually.” Some of the anger left his face, replaced by sorrow. “The Allgoday you turned twelve, if you recall.”

  “Oh, you’re right.” The season a child turned twelve was supposed to be a grand affair marking their transition into adulthood. With her mother so sick, their Allgoday celebration had been a somber event. She scarcely remembered her father pressing a purse into her hands and droning on about her new responsibilities. “I had forgotten.”

  He clasped his hands together. “What is this all about, Emmie?”

  “Perhaps I’ll go tell my wife we’ll be there shortly.” Gregory beckoned at Jon, but their lackadaisical brother waved off the gesture.

  Ignoring her brothers’ antics, she tried to formulate her thoughts. “I thought the cacao might be coming from my temple lands.”

  Could Quintin be mistaken? Her father always said Aerynet was too small for a parcel. “Do I have temple lands?”

  “Certainly you have lands. How else are your acolytes supposed to eat?”

  “By my hunting skills,” she said with slow precision. Quintin had known the truth of it. She had lands. She could hardly believe it. “And very careful purchases with my allowance.”

  Her father barked out a laugh. “Your allowance isn’t enough to support a temple, even a tiny one.”

  “I’ve also gotten fairly good at gleaning scraps from the kitchen.” Her smile felt like a rictus mask as anger sparked through her veins. “Did you know your gardeners will throw out perfectly good produce merely because of a few worms?”

  “Disgusting.” Jon gagged. “Remind me never to visit your temple on its holy day.”

  “If the Novenary ever found out . . .” Gregory’s voice trailed off, his eyes wide in horror.

  “Are you trying to disgrace us all?” her father thundered. “What in rotting hell happens to the cacao and produce from your own temple plot?”

  “A very good question.” She curled her fingers into fists to keep her hands from shaking. Fermena’s breath, she’d been a fool. “One I’d hoped you could answer since I didn’t know I had lands.”

  “How could you not know you have a temple plot?” Her father’s voice rose with every word. “All temples have lands. What did you think your deed chain was for anyway?”

  Her face flushed hot and then cold. “I don’t have a deed chain.”

  “What? Of course, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Did you lose it?” Gregory asked weakly. He looked ill, as if he wanted to faint or throw-up and couldn’t decide which.

  “I didn’t lose anything,” Em growled at him before glaring at her father. “You always said my temple was too small for a parcel.”

  “Yes, yes, it only has a half parcel.” Her father waved a hand as if the lands didn’t concern him. “The deed chain is a little short. Strange looking on account of its age. Perhaps you didn’t recognize it.”

  “I know what a deed chain looks like, Father.”

  “Your mother kept it buried in her jewel box. You do remember receiving her jewelry?”

  “There was no deed chain in with her jewels.”

  Jon made a pained sound.

  Her father heaved himself to his feet. “Let’s go look.”

  “It’s not in there.” There was precious little left in the jewel box she inhe
rited from her mother. The best pieces had been sold to pay for one thing or another over the last six years.

  Her father strode to her room. “You must have overlooked it.”

  “I never had it,” she protested as she followed her father. Her brothers trailed after them, an unwelcome audience she didn’t have the wits or energy to banish.

  She stood stiff with mortification as her father opened the box on her vanity and stared at the contents.

  “What happened to your mother’s jewels?”

  “You are quite right. My allowance was inadequate for the maintenance of Aerynet,” she said, each word clipped and clear. She wouldn’t apologize for selling her mother’s treasures for the sake of the temple.

  Her father spun, the box clutched in his hands. “You sold your deed chain? How did you find a buyer?”

  “I am not an imbecile.” Her voice sharpened with denial. She had never felt more stupid. Aerynet could have been cared for without any of her struggles and sacrifices. If only she had known. “There was never a deed chain in the box.”

  “Impossible!”

  She waved at the box in his hands. “Did you check? Before you foisted the box off on me, did you peek inside to see if it was there?”

  “Where else could it be?”

  “I don’t know! Maybe Mother was wearing it when she died and it turned to ash with her.”

  Gregory gasped. “Is that possible?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Your mother never wore her chain. It was uglier than a slug and I couldn’t stand the thing.” Flecks of spittle flew from Lord Harold’s mouth as he shouted. He shook the box. “She always kept it in here. Always!”

  “Then where could it have gone?” Gregory asked.

  “I know.” Jon cleared his throat, his face tight. “I know who took it.”

  “What do you mean?” Em asked, her anger draining away into sick dread. “Why would anyone steal a deed chain?”

  “Over six years ago, I snuck Violet into Mother’s room and let her pick a jewel from the box.”

  Gregory’s eyes widened, disbelief written across his face. “You helped our cousin steal from our mother?”

  Lord Harold’s face turned purple. “Of all the lowdown, irresponsible—”

  “I didn’t know she took a deed chain,” Jonathan sputtered. “I stood guard at the door, and she hid the piece in her sari.”

  Not sure she wanted the answer, Em asked, “Where was Mama?”

  His gaze skittered away. “She’d moved to her temple.”

  Feeling small and sad, Em closed her eyes. Her brother had been sneaking around stealing her inheritance while their mother was on her deathbed. “Oh, Jon. How could you?”

  “We’d been rolling the bones and I lost. Violet offered to take jewels instead of cacao. It seemed like a deal to me.”

  Anger blazed through her, burning away her despair. “The deed chain wasn’t yours to gamble away.”

  “I told you, I didn’t know what she took.” Jonathan spread his hands wide. “I figured I deserved one piece for my inheritance, since Maral knows Mother didn’t set anything else aside for me. She gave Gregory a necklace set for his future bride, and Em got everything else in the box. I got nothing when she died.”

  Em snorted. “She probably realized you’d lose it on the next roll of the bones, which is exactly what happened, isn’t it? Only instead of gambling away a treasured heirloom, you gave Violet my deed chain.”

  “I never guessed she’d be so greedy.” Jon raked his hand through his hair. “Why did Mother keep something so valuable in an unlocked box anyway?”

  “A deed chain is a holy trust, but it isn’t valuable on its own,” Gregory said slowly. “The stones in it aren’t big or fancy enough to sell and only our mother could use it intact.”

  Lord Harold stirred a finger through the contents of the jewel box. “Your mother had much more valuable pieces in here. Or at least she used to.”

  “Why would Violet want it then?” Jonathan asked.

  “She used it to impersonate me.” Em pressed a hand to her pitching stomach. “All these years, the cacao from my plot has been going to her.”

  Gregory nodded. “It would be a clever scheme, and our cousin is bold enough to pull it off.”

  Em’s whole body felt hot and itchy. When she thought of all the desperate risks she had taken, of all the times Lucy had gone without. Without food, without clothing, without proper schooling. Patricia might have gotten better care and recovered if Em hadn’t had to struggle to keep her fed. All the while her cousin dripped jewels and made snide remarks about her useless temple. “I’m going to kill her.”

  Lord Harold snapped the jewel box closed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not killing anyone.”

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

  Gregory pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aside from murder being a burning offense, the last thing we need is a scandal.”

  Jon moaned. “My reputation will be in tatters.”

  She paced the narrow space between her bed and her vanity in short jerky steps. “As well it should be for robbing your dying mother.”

  “I didn’t have to tell you,” he snapped. “I’m trying to be a better person and atone for my past. It’s hardly worth it if this is the thanks I get. Will you repay my honesty with a scandal to ruin me?”

  Em waved her arms in agitation. “I don’t give a fig about scandal.”

  “Do you give a fig about your temple?” Lord Harold slammed the jewel box onto the vanity. “The Novenary is likely to strip you of your title if word of this gets back to her.”

  “What?” Em gaped at her father. “Violet is the one who has been stealing.”

  “It won’t go well for Violet nor for Jon, it’s true. But a temple is a holy trust. The Novenary can’t sit idly by and let you shatter her trust.” He wagged a fat finger at her. “Mark my words, she’ll make an example of you so other Lords and Ladies don’t get any ideas about selling off their temple lands.”

  “I didn’t sell anything. It was stolen from me!”

  “A theft you conveniently didn’t report for six years.”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “If Violet runs to the Reeve with your deed chain in hand, you will not be spared the consequences,” Lord Harold warned.

  Gregory looked faint again. “We have a houseful of important guests and a major feast in five days. Let’s not do anything rash until we have some chance of keeping this family affair private.”

  Her back stiffened. “You cannot expect me to dine with Violet and pretend she isn’t a lying, traitorous snake.”

  “Given that you barely comport yourself like a Lady on the best of days, I suppose it is too much to ask for civilized behavior after such a shocking upset.” Lord Harold sighed, sounding old and weary. “Why don’t you go for a ride? Or better yet, head over to your temple for a day or two. Prayer and meditation can bring great clarity of thought.”

  Gregory frowned. “Won’t our guests wonder at her absence?”

  “It will cause less talk than if she dunks your cousin in the fountain.” Lord Harold rubbed his forehead. “I’ll make your excuses, Emmie. Given my new understanding of the state of your finances, I imagine there is much to be done before your temple will be ready for the year of Fermena.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, Em nodded sharply.

  “I’ll get you some cacao and see if Cook can spare you supplies. You’ll need to return on Taralday. Try to calm yourself by then.”

  Chapter 29

  The next morning before work, Quintin entered Trimble in a pensive mood. Em and her troubles preyed on his mind. Instead of heading directly to the Tribute Office, he cut through the quiet market square to the house Ulric shared with T
erin and Madi. Maybe he could persuade his friends to arrange some assistance for Lady Em. It was also Ophelia’s day off, so she might be at the house, giving him an opportunity to convince her the inquisitors were no longer needed.

  He stroked Elkart’s head as he wove through the early morning market, dodging vendors setting up for the day. His steps slowed as he neared the stocks. A half dozen people knelt behind the heavy wooden contraptions, their heads and hands poking through snug holes. The stench of nervous sweat and desperation hung in the air around them.

  “Please, sir, have pity,” one woman begged Quintin, her voice little more than a croak. “A bit of water, sir, please.”

  But for the grace of the gods, it could be Em trapped there. He shuddered. “I’ll get a mystic for you.”

  Elkart whined and pressed against Quintin’s legs. Stocks nasty.

  Flagging down an acolyte of Marana, Quintin pressed all the cacao he had on him into her hands. “I’d like to buy water and gruel for as many as this can feed.”

  The acolyte nodded, her eyes soft with sympathy. “It’s hard to watch them, isn’t it?”

  “I know they have done wrong, yet who among us has not erred?”

  “And so, we have justice tempered with mercy.” She tucked his offering into a purse hanging from her waist before bowing with respect. “Your generosity will be appreciated by these poor souls. May the blessings of Marana flood your future.”

  He bowed in return before hurrying away from the marketplace and the pitiful prisoners. A short while later he climbed the steps of a two-story clay house in the Three-Fountain District.

  Ignoring the gong, he pulled open the door. “Is anyone home?”

  “We’re in the gallery,” Terin called.

  Elkart bounded through an arched doorway toward the voice.

  Quintin followed him into a long room with polished wooden floors and high windows. All manner of weapons covered the walls, except where an altar to Tarina honored the warrior goddess. Elkart chased Ulric’s and Terin’s waccats in circles, while their Hands stood close together at the center of the room.