A brisk, five-minute walk brought him not to the Ministry of Justice, but a small, disproportionately opulent building on the dividing street between the noble estates and one of the city’s many open-air marketplaces. A sign beside the door announced: Jaime Olden, Alderman.
Squaring his shoulders, Leo opened the door and stepped through. Inside, the office displayed the most peculiar blend of wealth and practicality that he had ever seen. Virtually every inch of the walls had been decorated with large oil paintings of political and martial theme, and the remainder covered over with official-looking papers and maps of the city. It was as if the entire place had been decorated to emphasize the busyness and success of the room’s principal.
Leo, for his part, found the entire setting uncomfortably cluttered.
Two seated clerks looked up at his entrance, then promptly returned to their work. The office’s final occupant, however, did not even seem to notice his arrival. The man, who could only have been Jaime himself, continued to write and hold his chin with a deliberately harried expression.
Clearing his throat, Leo waited to be acknowledged. Once again, the clerks glanced at him, but Jaime still did not respond. Gritting his teeth, Leo stomped forward and dropped heavily into the chair directly across from the man’s desk.
Still, Jaime did not look up. He did, however, speak.
“I don’t care how important this is. You can wait until I’ve finished this letter.”
Leo snorted. “You’ve got balls,” he said. “Especially for a commoner.”
“They come with the job,” Jaime said. At last, he met Leo’s eyes, though he continued writing all the while. “What can I do for you, my lord?”
“I’ve decided to take an interest in city politics,” Leo lied. “And I heard you were the man to speak to.”
“One of them, at least. But you must be more specific.”
Leaning forward, Leo gripped the edge of the man’s desk and waited until his writing slowed. “I’m concerned about the influence of the upper nobility,” he said. “Therefore, there are laws that I’d like to see changed.”
The man snorted. “Good luck.”
“I’m prepared to finance these efforts,” Leo continued. “I happen to be awash with coin at the moment, and I’m certainly prepared to reward those who assist me.”
Jaime’s pen stopped, mid-word. Eyes narrowing, he looked up and met Leo’s eyes darkly. Then, with a practiced, deliberate motion he returned the pen to its ink and leaned forward to match Leo’s posture.
“Do I look like a man who can be bribed, my lord?”
“Is that what you told Count Terras?” Leo shot back. “He is the lord of this district, yes?”
For just a heartbeat, the alderman said nothing. Then he stood, loomed dangerously over his desk, and gestured violently toward the door.
“Get out,” he growled. “I don’t care if you’re a baron or not. No one speaks to me that way. Get out.”
Leo said nothing more, but neither did he rise. To the contrary, he reclined in his chair and propped his boots provocatively on the alderman’s desk.
For a moment, Jaime looked as though he might throw something. Rather than lash out, however, he merely stared at Leo with barely contained rage.
“This is your last chance, my lord,” Jaime said. When Leo did not respond, he glanced at one of the seated scribes. “Lewis, fetch the watch, please.”
The man departed immediately and Leo fought the urge to watch him leave. Instead, he watched Jaime, doing his best to study the man as best he could in the time he had left. It wasn’t long. Perhaps they knew better than to delay answering a summons from one of the men who controlled the purse strings for the Ansiri City Watch, but whatever the reason, a squad of four men arrived barely a minute later. Their sergeant spoke deferentially to both Leo and Jaime, but it was obvious from both his tone and demeanor that any further refusals would see Leo dragged unceremoniously from the building.
Leo rose, nodding gratefully to the sergeant as if he was nothing more than a hired guard, and allowed the men to lead him out into the street.
“Thank you, sergeant,” Leo said, bowing. He half-expected the men to seize him as he turned to leave, but his lack of belligerence had plainly surprised them. Rather than intervene, they simply returned his bow with confused salutes and permitted him to walk away.
“Master?” Mihal asked, once they were safely out of earshot. “What—if you don’t mind my asking, what was the point of that?”
“There wasn’t much of one,” Leo admitted. “I just wanted to see what he’d do. If Terras has as much influence as Davin says, there’s no way he wouldn’t have the alderman in charge of his own district under his sway.”
“So… you wanted to confirm what you already know?”
“More or less. If the man had accepted a bribe, it might have meant that Terras is vulnerable. But, as things stand…” Leo trailed off with a shrug. “I’ll find another way.”
“A way that involves Terras, himself?” the trow asked. At Leo’s glance, the male smiled and gestured at the Ministry of Justice building that lay directly in their path.
Leo chuckled. “You catch on quick.”
Chapter Six
Though Leo’s title was more than enough to see him escorted through the Ministry of Justice wing assigned to Count Terras, albeit sans rapier, he was surprised that it was only the last of the various functionaries who objected to Nyssa and Mihal accompanying him further. Leo made a show of arguing, but relented as soon as dignity would allow. Bidding the pair to await him, he stepped into the large, wood-paneled chamber where Terras held court.
He swallowed involuntarily at the sight of the room. The last time he’d been in an identical chamber to this one, it had been under vastly different circumstances. But this time, he was not here to deal with a rival baron, but rather the count himself.
Hopefully, this encounter would prove less combustible.
The tables on either side of the audience chamber were lined with scribes and functionaries, none of whom glanced up at Leo as he approached. It was not difficult to guess their purpose, thanks to the handful of petitioners lined up ahead of him. Though a part of Leo suspected he ought to pay attention to the cases—and the manner in which Terras conducted them—he found it hard to look away from the man himself.
Terras was, almost surprisingly, an idealized nobleman straight from a children’s tale. Broad-chested, bearded, and possessed of a certain rugged refinement, the man certainly looked the part. He leaned forward at his high table, hands folded in front of him as he listened to the various barristers and petitioners arrayed before him. And yet, the longer the charade continued, the more Leo became convinced that it was precisely that.
Terras was too perfect. He nodded sagely at the correct moments, quipped when appropriate, and delivered his judicial orders with a courteously decisive tone. He was like some clockwork automaton, dispensing justice without even a hint of emotion or deliberation.
The nearer he drew to the front of the line, the more uneasy Leo became. It wasn’t that the man intimidated him, he was far too proud for that, but rather he couldn’t imagine how in the seven hells he was supposed to outfox the man. Everything Terras did spoke to complete preparation, as though he was reading from a script instead of making decisions in the moment.
He almost turned to leave. But before he got the chance, the case before him resolved and the court bailiff waved him forward with a prompt, bored gesture. Lifting his head, Leo stepped forward.
At last, some hint of confusion appeared on Terras’ face. The count stared at Leo, then glanced down at the papers before him.
“I don’t believe I was expecting you, Master, ah…?” the count prompted.
Leo bowed slightly, just enough to be considered proper.
“Baron Leo VanOrden, Your Grace,” he supplied.
A ghost of a smile flashed across the count’s face as he straightened in his chair.
; “Of course,” the man said. “I wondered when we might meet face-to-face, Baron. You are serving as proxy for the VanAllen estate, yes? How can I help you?”
“You can start by explaining why you contested Petre VanAllen’s inheritance,” Leo said. He stared, unblinking, up at the count. But, despite his close observation, the man’s mask did not slip.
Sighing, Terras gave a dismissive wave. Ordinarily, such a small gesture would have been beneath Leo’s notice. Under the circumstances, however, he couldn’t help but bristle at the display.
“That’s a personal matter,” Terras said. “Seeing as I am not in a position to cast judgment on the case, it would be improper for me to discuss it here. Now, is there—”
“Then perhaps we could discuss it privately?” Leo interrupted. He was treading on dangerous territory by doing so, but he refused to simply drop the matter without pressing, just a little.
Fortunately, his gambit worked. Terras sighed again, then consulted his papers and turned his unwavering gaze onto his bailiff. “Daley, what’s left on today’s docket?” he asked.
The man bowed before answering. “Little enough, Your Grace. Baron Halsted seeks an audience this evening, but you’ve naught else until then.”
Rising, Terras straightened his suit and jerked his head toward the chamber’s rear door.
“Very well, Baron. We’ll discuss it privately then.”
Leo followed the count out of the chamber. The room beyond was a small parlor, one he’d not even had time to glance at during his previous visit to the Ministry of Justice. A narrow table laden with glasses and an assortment of liqueurs stood at the center, flanked by two rows of plush armchairs on either side of the room. Pouring himself a glass, Terras seated himself and watched as Leo did likewise.
“So,” the count said, “You’re Henri’s grandson, are you?”
Leo hesitated, then sipped the drink he’d chosen at random. Judging from the taste, it was some manner of brandy.
“I am, Your Grace,” he said.
“ Jakob , please.”
“Jakob,” Leo allowed. “I’d still like an answer to my earlier question.”
Terras chuckled and sipped his own drink before replying. “Straight and to the point, eh? You’re certainly a VanOrden, I’ll give you that.”
Leo didn’t speak. Cradling his glass, he watched the count and waited for the man to continue. At length, he did.
“Leo… may I call you that?” Terras said, without waiting for an answer. “I have no grudge with you, or with Baron VanAllen’s son. My decision to contest the late baron’s will was not an attempt to steal riches or titles—gods know I have plenty of both.”
“Then why?” Leo demanded.
“That is a… complicated matter. Suffice to say, it was a matter of duty. I have in my employ a certain serving woman. Until roughly six months ago, she was employed in the VanAllen household as a maid. During that time, the late baron took her into his bed and fathered a child on her.”
“How convenient,” Leo said flatly.
Terras chuckled, draining the last of his liqueur. “Far from it, I assure you. The lass is unmarried. For weeks, I thought one of my servants was responsible. I spent days pouring over schedules and interrogating the men to find the culprit. But in the end, the woman admitted that the child was VanAllen’s.
“In any case, I was content to let the matter drop. As was she. But, when news spread of the baron’s passing, she came to me and explained that he had given her certain assurances. Promises of coin to pay for her child’s upbringing, an apprenticeship once he came of age, that sort of thing.”
Terras paused, judging Leo’s reaction. Shrugging, he rose and moved to refill his glass.
“You’re skeptical,” the count said. “Understandable. I was as well, until the woman showed me the coin VanAllen had already sent her in secret. Nearly a hundred sovereigns.”
“It sounds to me like she’s already been paid plenty,” Leo said.
“Agreed!” Terras said, grinning roguishly. “Why, for a hundred sovereigns, a conservative woman could live quite well, even here in Ansiri.”
“Then why contest it?” Leo demanded. He realized suddenly that he was gripping the thin stem of his glass so tightly it was in danger of snapping and hastily set it aside. “Let the woman bring her suit directly!”
“Would that I could,” Terras said.
And in the warm, too calm diction, Leo was suddenly reminded of precisely who he was dealing with. He sat back, forcing himself to still and avoid giving away more than he already had.
“Unfortunately, VanAllen must have possessed a certain affection for this woman. He wrote a private letter and willed her far more than just a hundred sovereigns. Coin, possessions, even a small parcel of land south of the city. All of it was written down and specifically deeded to the woman and her child.”
“Assuming the letter is authentic,” Leo said cautiously. “That still doesn’t explain why you have to intervene personally.”
“And as I said, it’s a matter of duty. As Third Count, I have an obligation to see justice done,” Terras said. Again, the same ghost of a smile flashed briefly upon his face. “Even at great inconvenience to myself and other men of rank and title.”
Leo grit his teeth and fought to keep the reaction from showing. For all his eloquent words, Terras’ meaning was abundantly clear. Money was money, after all.
“Suppose,” Leo began. “Suppose we were to deal with the matter ourselves? No doubt we could come to an arrangement without involving others.”
“That would be ideal,” Terras agreed without hesitation. “I’ve no desire to waste countless hours arguing with barristers. And no doubt your friend Petre would be grateful not to have his father’s name dragged through the mud unnecessarily.”
Again, Leo hesitated. He was suddenly conscious of the hands he kept folded in his lap. Retrieving his empty glass, he spun it by its delicate stem and watched the light from the high, solitary window refract through it.
“A man of your talents,” he said, “has no doubt calculated the value of what VanAllen’s hypothetical bastard stands to inherit.”
“Indeed I have. Would it surprise you to learn that the sum is nearly two thousand sovereigns?”
“It would.”
“Understandable,” Terras said. “It certainly surprised me.”
“And supposing we arranged matters without involving the barristers?”
Throwing back his head, the count drained his drink as if they were in a tavern, not a private chamber in the Ministry of Justice. Then he set the glass aside.
“Five thousand,” he said.
Leo froze, the glass between his fingers forgotten. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Five thousand sovereigns,” Terras repeated. “And, of course, I’ll transfer the woman’s contract back to VanAllen so he can deal with her as he sees fit.”
“That’s absurd,” Leo growled, standing. “Why the fuck would we pay more than double to make your life easier?”
“Not just my life,” the count said. “Petre’s. As I said, his father’s infidelity will drag the VanAllen name through the mud. Why, it could even cast the legitimacy of the boy’s title into doubt. His mother did remarry quite fast, didn’t she? And to a commoner, no less. As Petre’s proxy, I’m certain you’ll be just as eager to avoid such whispers from spreading.”
It took all of Leo’s self-control not to hurl his liqueur glass directly at the man’s face. Instead, he stepped forward and set it down beside the count’s.
“We’re done here,” he said.
Terras bowed low, his face the same mask of calm and good humor as always. “A pleasure meeting you, Lord Pervert.”
Leo did not respond. He did not bow. He did not even look back as he turned and left the private chamber.
Chapter Seven
If Leo thought he’d been bristling after leaving the contract servants agency, it was nothing compared to his mood up
on leaving the Ministry of Justice. Mihal and Nyssa noticed immediately, of course, and exchanged looks as he led them silently through and out of the building.
“Master?” Nyssa asked as they neared the gate of Leo’s new estate. “Is something wrong?”
He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Nyssa until she practically withered beneath his gaze, and then turned to gesture at the Ministry building a few hundred yards away.
“I will destroy that man,” he snarled.
Again, the trow exchanged glances. Leo was not finished, however. Regarding Nyssa with a somewhat gentler, but no less determined gaze, he growled out his orders.
“Find Petre,” he instructed. “Tell him it’s urgent that I see him.”
Nyssa nodded and departed at once, seeming relieved to escape Leo’s fury. Mihal, however, was not so lucky.
“I want you to go find Nicolo. Bring him here.”
“M-master?” Mihal balked. It was understandable, of course, why he might hesitate to return to the very auction house where he’d nearly been separated from his anathki . “You want me to—”
“Yes,” Leo said, cutting off further protests with a wave of his hand. “Bring him. And if anyone tries to get in your way, you have my permission to return the favor. Understood?”
He’d intended the orders to relieve Mihal’s nervousness, but they did far more than that. The trow ducked his head and flashed a wicked smile.
“Completely, Master,” Mihal said. And then, with a flick of his cloak, he set off as well.
Leo watched the trow depart, half-wishing he could share their single-minded sense of purpose. The more complex his schemed became, the more he felt himself losing sight of the original rage that had motivated him. Revenge against those who had carved up his estate after his grandfather’s death might have kept him going initially. But now, such simplistic ideas felt hollow compared to the power that was nearly in reach.
Baron of Hearts (Master of Monsters Book 2) Page 5
