by Megan Derr
Jac made a face. "Less talking, more going out the back." She shoved Charlaine's packs at him then wedged past him and headed out.
They slunk through the narrow alleyway that ran between two rows of buildings, nearly gagging on the smells of refuse and garbage, and came out on a relatively quiet street that smelled like roses by comparison.
"This way." Charlaine touched her back lightly, urging her to turn as he headed up the slightly inclined street.
"So do we still need to look for that woman, or are we going to try to do this on our own as originally planned?"
Charlaine didn't immediately reply, too busy negotiating the street as it grew busier and steeper. When they reached the end of it, the street opened up to a half-circle of imposing looking buildings, the middle of the street and all the houses decorated with flowering bushes in a variety of colors. Finally, he said, "Lady Mark lives here."
"When did you figure that out?"
"When we were disembarking. I thought to ask the ship captain where the best place to find her might be. He knew the name because she's the youngest daughter of the Harken ambassador here."
Jac covered her face with one hand. "Are you kidding me? How did we not know that?"
"I sure as Realms don't keep up with all the names and doings of the High Court abroad," Charlaine said. "I can't even keep up with the people I see every day protecting Kamir. She lives here, at number twelve. Come on."
She followed him in silence, fighting a stupid, childish urge to reach out to take his hand. Despite all the years now she'd been working for Allen, all the luxury that should feel commonplace, she still felt largely like a poor, scrappy soldier tromping about where she didn't belong.
Charlaine clearly didn't have that problem. He strode up to the beautiful blue and green house without hesitation and knocked on the front door. A servant answered the door and looked at them like somebody had left a pile of horseshit on the step. She couldn't exactly the blame the man; they had just come from a ship and a month of travel. "We're here to see Lady Mark."
"She's not—"
"She's at home for us," Charlaine cut in, and held out the sealed letter Chass had given them. "From His Royal Highness Crown Prince Chass Telmis of Gaulden, Honored Kingdom of the Harken Empire."
Clearly annoyed to have been so soundly outdone, the man took the letter and closed the door in their faces.
Several minutes later, he opened it again, looking even more peeved as he said, "Her Ladyship will see you."
"Thank you," Charlaine said with a pleasant smile that elicited slightly narrowed eyes.
Jac smothered an inappropriate giggle as the man led them down the hall and through a set of double doors to a beautiful sitting room. The back of it featured another set of double doors that opened on a man-made pool similar to the one in Harken palace that the Islanders used for swimming.
The rest of the room was given over to chairs and sofas, an enormous harp and stool in one corner, expensive paintings on the walls, and plants and flowers everywhere.
A woman approached them wearing a Harkenesten style draping gown—one single piece of cloth artfully arranged and draped, with only a colorful, cropped top beneath. It was arranged in Gaulden style, though, wrapped around the bottom half to resemble loose trousers before sweeping up to drape over her chest and shoulders. Her long hair was loose and unadorned, a beautiful Gaulden-style collar necklace around her throat. "Sergeant, Lieutenant, it's an honor to have you in my home. His Highness has mentioned you many times in his letters; it's a pleasure to have faces to put to names. Would you like refreshment? Wine? Tea? My cook makes a wonderful hibiscus tea."
"Tea would be wonderful," Charlaine said. "Thank you."
Jac wanted to go back to the part where Chass had apparently mentioned them 'many times.' But she hadn't come this far by opening her mouth when she shouldn't. Instead, she set her bags by the door and took the seat Lady Mark indicated. "Thank you for seeing us."
Lady Mark waved a hand dismissively. "Not at all. I'm always happy to help a friend." Her mouth quirked, amber eyes gleaming. "Chass knows better than most my penchants for mischief and doing what I feel is right, even if my family and I do not always agree on what that means. Chass and I schooled together when we were young, then drifted apart as we got older and went different ways. Do you know Aria? She is my stepsister. They met in Penance Gate, and through her Chass and I crossed paths again."
"Oh," Jac said, still stuck on the idea of Chass having friends—and friends who weren't as creepy and hostile as him. "You're nothing at all like Aria."
Bursting into giggles, Lady Mark bowed her head to smother them in her hands.
Jac covered her own face, ignoring the way Charlaine was grinning at her misery.
"No, though Aria and I have been sisters since we were small children, we are as different as night and day. We're still close, however." She smiled brightly. "We're also close to Chass. He was there for Aria when she needed it most in a way other people were not, and then he was there again for me years later. But that is not why you have come here. I've read Chass's letter, obviously, so I know a bit about what's going on, but tell me in full and then we will see what we can do."
Jac motioned to Charlaine, who told Mark everything, from learning of Myra's long deception to the tragic attack, right up to the point they boarded the ship.
"You should also know," he finished, "that we think there are Triumvirate soldiers looking for us, though we don't know exactly why. We can only assume it's because we're disobeying orders and likely going to make the whole mess with the Triumvirate worse. Or it's possible they learned we're after Myra and are trying to stop us."
"I think it might be slightly more complicated than that, based on what you've told me, combined with the information from my own sources. News of Prince Larren's death was delivered to us only a few days ago. Since then, the ambassadors for Treya Mencee and Benta have been jumpy—when they're seen at all. I have not yet learned which country is guilty and which is merely afraid of being blamed, but my sources have eliminated the other possible suspects. Treya Mencee, of course, has been at odds with Harken since the mess involving the Duke of Fathoms Deep a few years ago. Not to mention that Harken's hardline stance against them is making life more difficult for them the world over.
"Treya Mencee does not like living in a world where they are, at best, second place to the Harken Empire. If King Desmond can hold his throne and quash the rebels once and for all, Benta may knock Treya Mencee to third place in world powers. But the Bentan rebels are slowly coming together to form one solid group, and they could have pooled the funds for the assassination."
She pursed her lips, then continued, "The Soldonir council brokered a deal to assassinate the High Throne, and it has failed. That's bad enough. But Iron Moon also acted on their own with regards to Myra, causing even greater problems, putting Soldonir in a great deal of trouble if the council cannot find a way to convince everyone that Iron Moon acted independently." Her expression turned grim. "A great deal more can go wrong right now, and none of the outcomes are good for Soldonir. They haven't been free of Benta for that long, and this could drag them into a war they have no hope of winning and right back into being a colony. So those soldiers could very well be looking for you to stop this before it gets worse."
"I'm not willing to take that chance," Charlaine said.
Jac nodded. "I'm not either."
"And in the time it would take for me to officially sort the matter out, your friend could die," Mark replied. "Rest, eat. I will go change and pack. The sooner we leave, the better. It won't be long before my father contacts me to see if my sources can find you, and at that point it will be infinitely more difficult to help you. I'll be back shortly."
Before they could say a word, she was gone. Jac sighed and helped herself to the food a servant had just brought in because the poor excuse for fish she'd had in the tavern had done nothing to ease her appetite. She settled at a small
table and removed the lid on a bowl, revealing fragrant noodles in some sort of fish broth and piled with meat, egg, and unfamiliar vegetables. She picked up the chopsticks and dug in, and promptly moaned. "This is the best thing I've eaten since we left Harken."
"Enjoy it," Charlaine said. "It may very well be the last good meal we get."
Jac ravenously ate several more bites before bothering to reply. "Nobody is killing me until I get one good Harken meal. Lamb samosas and a proper cup of Outlander-style tea. Harkenesten beef kebabs—"
"Too spicy," Charlaine cut in.
Giving him an unimpressed look, Jac continued, "With rice, yogurt and cucumbers. For dessert, I just want a pile of mangos."
"Have you ever had mangos the Kinnish way?" Charlaine asked.
Jac shook her head.
"They serve it with sticky rice sweetened with coconut milk."
"Oh, Pantheon, that sounds delicious. How come I've never had that? Everything else finds its way to Harken, I swear."
"I'm sure it will eventually, if it's not already made at some tiny cart on a small, overlooked street in Harkenesten. Most of our mango exports go to Kin del Kar, especially since we shifted most of our sugar contracts to them. We might send even more, depending on how the current negotiations for their spiced rum proceed."
"How do you know so much about trade? I'm around Allen all day and I can't keep up with it all."
Charlaine returned her unimpressed look. "How do you not? Trade is how all countries survive, especially an empire like Harken. I attend the public meetings about it whenever I can to keep apprised. It's come in handy more than once."
Jac flinched. "A lot of those meetings require you be able to read. There's not much point in listening to the briefs if you can't read the details."
Charlaine closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, his eyes dark with remorse. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I should not have said that," Charlaine replied. "Those meeting are meant to be accessible to everyone. We should mention to Allen that they're not. Someone should have pointed the problem out a long time ago."
Gods, no. Jac would rather get into it with Cartha again than whine to Allen about something so stupid. "I think we have bigger problems right now."
Charlaine eyed her with entirely too much knowing, but thankfully said nothing, only drank an entire cup of chilled hibiscus tea in several large gulps and promptly refilled it. He drank most of that as well before finally turning to the food. He licked his lips, and the memory of their kiss came flooding back. It had only lasted a moment, but that was long enough to engrave how hot his mouth had been, how good it had felt to be pressed against the long, hard-muscled length of him, how nice it was to be kissed like an equal, instead of like something fragile or some thrilling prize who might spill interesting gossip.
One stupid kiss should not be so seared into her mind. She'd kissed plenty of people over the years, from 'respectable' types she probably should have had the sense to settle down with, to whores she could barely talk to because of language barriers. None of those kisses had stuck with her, not even the first person she'd slept with.
But though nearly a month had passed now, Myra's soft kiss in the hallway was a constant torment and encouragement. That kiss she and Charlaine were pretending hadn't happened haunted her every waking and sleeping moments.
Thinking of both provoked ideas that weren't helping anything.
Jac finished her first helping and went for more, moaning all over again at the taste of real food after twenty days of what passed for food on the ship. Pantheon, what she wouldn't give for a long stretch of days where she did nothing but sleep and eat.
And fuck Myra and Charlaine blind.
Damn it. Bad thoughts.
"What has you looking so annoyed?" Charlaine asked. "Do you think involving Mark is a bad idea, after all?"
"No, sorry, my thoughts wandered." Jac drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Now that we're here, it's starting to hit me just how much we're up against—and all we really stand to lose. I'm not giving Myra up without a fight, even if he didn't want to fight."
"He was protecting us," Charlaine said softly.
Jac jerked one shoulder. "I know." It didn't make her any less annoyed. Any one of them could hold their own in a fight. Together? Myra hadn't needed to give up. "We don't need to be protected. We need him. The minute we retrieve him, I'm going to clobber that fact into him."
Charlaine laughed, in that open, unguarded way that Jac loved and hated in equal measure. "I would offer to help, but I think you'll have the matter well in hand. Best he learns early not to cross you—if he hasn't learned that already." He winked and went back to his food.
Before Jac could get her thoughts working again, the door opened and Mark strode briskly in, dressed now in breeches, high boots and a shirt and jacket, all of it in various shades of brown and green. She was beautiful, almost distractingly so in clingy clothes. Jac was half in love with Myra and wholly confused about Charlaine, but Pantheon, a woman could look.
"Shall we go?" Mark asked, thanking a servant who slipped in to hand over a handsome scimitar and matching daggers that Mark deftly strapped and buckled into place. "I assume your plan is to beat them to Iron Moon and await their arrival."
"Yes," Jac said, finishing off a last bite of bread stuffed with red bean paste and wiping away crumbs as she stood. "Thank you for the food."
Mark waved a hand. "Thank you for allowing me to repay a debt to an old friend. Come, I have horses waiting. We are going to head out of the city to a particular place in the country where some… associates, shall we say? of mine will be more than happy to take us most of the way into Soltorin. From that point, we'll catch another boat that will take us as close as we can get without drawing undue suspicion. And I will be there to do all the talking." She winked, then clapped her hands, turned and strode off.
Jac hastened after her, Charlaine right behind—and both drew up short as Mark came rushing back in.
"They're here, and worse, my damnable father is with them. Come on." She ran past them and through the doors at the back of the room.
Swearing softly, sharing a look with Charlaine and loosening her sword in its sheath, Jac bolted after her. Charlaine caught up a moment later carrying their belongings, and Jac shot him a grateful look.
Outside, Mark beckoned them to the far end of the pool and then down a set of stairs carved into a cliffside Jac hadn't even noticed until suddenly they were climbing down a damned cliff.
"So we're all officially in trouble now," Mark said with a laugh. "My father will have my head for this."
"You don't have to risk yourself for us, my lady," Charlaine said. "Surely you can simply tell us what to do, and we can be on our way without dragging you into this mess with us."
Mark scoffed. "Chass asked for my help, and I have never known him to ask anyone for help. I owe him, anyway. I do not like that lives are in danger, but I am always eager for adventure. Come on. The servants will keep my father and the soldiers busy and hide any evidence you were about. We'll have to go into the city now, but once there we can obtain horses and then resume as planned."
Jac had never known any plan to proceed so easily, but she was all for being proved wrong. Shouldering her pack and satchel as Charlaine handed them to her, she followed Mark across the sand, keeping close to the cliff wall.
Eventually, they reached another staircase—but disappointingly passed it. Thankfully, they came to a third after another half hour or so of walking, and that one Mark led them up. Jac's legs were not enjoying all the sand and stairs after weeks of little effort on the ship, but she buried her complaints and kept trudging.
Dusk was falling by the time they were once again in the city. It wasn't the harbor where they'd been before, or the streets they'd taken to Mark's house, but a rundown, derelict part of the city. Jac would have thought at some point they'd return to the harbor, but instead Mark led them through a maze of streets and alleyways, occasionally h
issing for them to hide as guards passed by on patrol.
Eventually they stopped in a tiny courtyard wedged between two buildings that looked on the verge of collapsing.
"Why all this meandering?" Charlaine asked.
"Because I haven't seen this many guards in the street since they were looking for the woman who killed Ambassador Tuva's mistress a few years ago. I think the Triumvirate went a bit too far this time with letting their assassins out to play, and they are going to clean up the mess one way or another."
Charlaine's mouth flattened.
Jac had to agree, as much as she hated to. They must be in even more trouble than suspected. "I don't suppose there is any chance they're trying to find us to relay good news? That maybe they've somehow worked out a deal to get Myra back?"
Mark and Charlaine laughed, neither one sounding anything but resigned.
"That's what I figured, but one can hope," Jac said with a sigh. "So they're trying to stop us, like you mentioned earlier?"
"Yes, because if you die as well as Myra, then Harken will shift from diplomacy to war, and they will win—easily," Mark replied. "An outcome Soldonir is desperate to avoid."
Charlaine sighed. "To think a month ago I was worried about how to fill all my newfound free time. I am not enjoying being back to this sort of work at all. But I still don't think handing ourselves over is the right way to go. If I had some guarantee they'd rescue Myra, I would consider it. But…" He looked at Mark.
