“Oh, take your time,” the gray-haired man says with raised eyebrows.
Once on the stairs, Myrrh leans against him as they climb. “I plan to be thoroughly asleep the moment I lie down,” she says. “I hope you don’t expect me to get back up and pretend to leave in a carriage.”
Glint hums in amusement, a low sound that vibrates his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll usher them out soon. Bernard can serve his raspberry tarts on top of the pig if necessary. I’m not letting you out of this house in that dress.”
“I can’t take it off on my own anyway.”
Stopping on the second-floor landing, he lays hands on her waist and slides them up along her ribs. “Are you asking me to undress you?”
Myrrh is too tired to come up with a clever response. “Just show me which bed to use,” she says.
Chuckling, he cups a hand on her elbow and helps her up the next flight of stairs and down the hall to the chamber she used during her previous stay.
Her bedroom is unchanged, down to the unmade covers and the wardrobe doors standing open. The matronly nightgown Lavi bought her still hangs on a hook, and Myrrh would be willing to bet the lacy underthings still fill the drawers. But at this point, she’s too tired for curiosity.
She flops onto the bed, awkwardly due to the dress not allowing her to move like a normal person. With a smirk, Glint pulls off her new boots and drops the down cover over her.
“Good night, my darling,” he says, pressing a joking kiss onto her forehead.
The place where his lips touched tingles until she falls asleep.
Chapter Eleven
MYRRH SLEEPS THROUGH the evening and night, waking when bars of morning light slice through the gaps between the curtains. She drops her feet off the edge of the bed and into the thick pile of the carpet.
Sometime during the night, her clothes were deposited in a neat stack beside the door. Her scuffed leather boots stand beside them. Stretching, she yawns, then tries reaching for the hooks at the back of her dress. It’s no use, but fortunately she doesn’t intend to wear the sixing thing again. Her belt and dagger rest atop her clothing. Careful not to cut herself, she slides the dagger’s blade between the fabric and her rib cage, sawing back and forth until the dress comes apart in the front.
She gives the sixing thing a triumphant look as she leaves it in a puddle on the floor.
Beneath her stack of clothing, there’s a note.
Wake me when you’re up.
-G
Once dressed, she slips into the hall. One of the double doors to Glint’s master bedroom stands slightly ajar. She peers through the crack, a little uncertain about just barging in despite the invitation.
All she can see is the bottom of his bare foot hanging off the side of the bed. Quietly, she nudges the door open and creeps inside.
He’s sprawled on the wide bed, his naked back exposed while a sheet covers his legs and butt. He seems sound asleep, his chest expanding and contracting with his deep breaths.
“Glint,” she whispers.
He doesn’t stir.
“Hey.”
No result.
On tiptoes, she heads for a window and slides back the drape to allow in a little more light. From this angle, she sees his finely cut features at uncustomary ease, his brow neutral rather than quirked in a mischievous or amused expression.
Myrrh really doesn’t like waking people up. She tries to make a little more noise as she pads back across the room to a small side table. The chair squeals when she pulls it out, and still he remains oblivious.
Finally, she groans and stalks to his bedside.
“Wake up, Glint—”
Her words end in a little yelp when he snaps to life and snatches her wrist from the air just before her fingertips reach his shoulder.
Heart slamming her ribs, she tries to calm her breathing. “You jerk! How long were you awake?”
Glint laughs as he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “Since you came out of your room. I wanted to see how you decided to wake me.”
She slaps him on the shoulder. “That wasn’t nice.”
“I never claimed to be a gentleman,” he says with a wry smile.
He stands and idly rubs a hand over his rippled belly. Myrrh realizes she’s staring and tears her eyes away. He’s wearing loose trousers that sit low on his hips. As he stretches and approaches the back wall of the room, the long muscles along his spine shift beneath his skin. The smell of sandalwood trails his movements.
He tugs a length of rope that lies on the floor, one end disappearing through a hole in the slates. When he turns, a proud grin shows his teeth. “The bell is my newest addition to Merchant Giller’s mansion. Tep will be up shortly with coffee.”
Myrrh realizes her feet are still rooted to the spot where he surprised her. Shaking free of her paralysis, she marches to the table and takes a seat. Glint prowls closer, looking every inch the graceful fighter she remembers from their brief sparring session.
He drops to a seat and stretches his legs out long, rubbing a hand over his chest. He’s clearly doing this on purpose, hoping for a reaction. Maybe it’s revenge for her dress.
“We have a lot to discuss it seems,” he says, resting a forearm on the table. “The attack by Noble’s people, for instance.”
She lowers her eyebrows. “How did you know?”
“You won’t be happy with me, even though it probably saved your life.”
“You sent the person with the crossbow….”
“Mink. I asked her to watch you until we had a better idea about the strange deaths and the seriousness of your situation with Noble.”
Myrrh should have realized that Glint’s assassin had fired the shots. She’s only had one chance to see the woman at work, but Myrrh will never forget how Mink dropped a man with a throwing knife from a hundred paces. According to Glint, she might be the best killer in the city.
He’s right: she’s not happy with him for sending someone to babysit her. But if Mink hadn’t intervened, Myrrh would either be dead or, more likely, suffering some sort of torture at Noble’s hand.
Glint is watching her keenly. She keeps her expression flat. “Tell Mink I appreciate her work. You can have her stop following me. I won’t be moving without protection until the situation is resolved.”
“From what I hear, you had protection.”
“Not enough. And my thoughts were elsewhere. Had I been warier, Noble’s people wouldn’t have ambushed us so easily.”
“And where were those thoughts?” His long fingers arch as he absently rubs the tabletop with his fingertips.
Before she can answer, Tep knocks lightly at the door.
“Come ahead,” Glint says.
The boy enters with a tray holding a pair of china cups and a pot. He sets the coffee between them and glares at Myrrh as if it’s her fault he’s slaving away so early.
After he leaves, shutting the door with a click, Glint pours coffee for them both. He sits back, lightly supporting his cup with the fingertips of both hands. He blows on his drink while waiting for her to speak.
“What do you know about etch?” she asks.
Glint leans forward, feet flat on the floor, and sets down his coffee. “Where did you hear about that?”
“From a man who wants to join Ghost syndicate.”
His teeth work at the corner of his lower lip. “Well, if it’s real and not just a rumor, I know etch is exceedingly expensive.”
“I think it’s real. He offered me a sample free of charge.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“No. And if it’s as expensive as you make it sound, why would he need Ghost syndicate?”
“Hmm. Why indeed…?”
Again, Glint sits back and picks up his coffee. Myrrh leans forward to blow on hers then takes a small sip. The rich flavor expands in her mouth, promising a jolt of alertness when it hits her belly.
“Do you think he could be working for Noble?”
“I doubt it. Slivers wasn’t a particularly wealthy organization even when they controlled Rat Town. Where did this man come from?”
“He was vague about that. Downriver, he said. He was freelance most of his life, but now he’s looking for an organization.”
“If he has a supply of etch, which I’m not sure I believe, he probably stole it. That’s quite a score…though possibly difficult to offload. Maybe he’s hoping to sell you some after you try the sample.”
Myrrh shrugs. “It could be. Why ask for a seat on Ghost’s council then?”
“You didn’t tell me that part.”
“I was getting to it.”
“I don’t know, Myrrh. Maybe he’s for real. Maybe he’s tired of grubbing. But if he wants a crack at leadership, what’s to keep him from trying to take over entirely? I’d be careful.”
“That’s part of why I came here. I wanted to see what you knew before I accepted any offers.”
“Sorry I don’t have more information. The rumors say etch lets you see ghosts, in a way. You can tell where people have been by the images they leave behind.”
“That agrees with what Rattle said, more or less.”
“So what else?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“You said this Rattle was just part of why you came. Which suggests you had other reasons for visiting me.”
She nods. “It’s about the dying thieves.”
“Mink said you took a trip into the Spills. Went into a shack that smelled decidedly bad.”
Myrrh grimaces at the reminder she was being followed. The Spills were nearly silent, and still she didn’t notice Mink on her tail.
“His name was Cobalt. Same deal as Lavi. No obvious injury, too young to die of natural causes. When I found the body, it looked like he’d just set down his dinner, leaned back against the wall, and died.”
Concern furrows Glint’s brow. “Anything else? There has to be a connection, but I’ve turned up nothing so far.”
“He worked part-time in Smeltertown between grubber gigs. Did Lavi have any business near the smelters?”
Glint shakes his head. “Not that I know of. I poached her from Haven at the same time I recruited Mink. I’ll see if Mink remembers anything I don’t.”
Myrrh takes another deep breath of the steam coiling from her coffee. Like everything in Lower Fringe, the coffee’s a league above anything she can get in Rat Town. Rich without getting too bitter. Many-layered in its flavor.
She takes a sip then speaks, “Until we know what’s going on, I’m suggesting my thieves work in pairs.”
“A good plan. I’ll do the same. Though I can’t force them to share a bed…it seems like people are dying in their homes as much as anywhere else.”
“But maybe some sort of poisoning is happening while they’re on the streets. Two pairs of eyes have a better chance of spotting it.”
Glint nods as he crosses his legs at the ankles. “Even if they don’t spot it, we’ll know more if—Miser steal this—both partners die after working somewhere together.”
Myrrh’s tired of squinting in the relative darkness of his room. As long as she’s awake during the daylight hours, she might as well enjoy them. She crosses the room to open the curtains all the way before returning to the table.
Glint shades his eyes and pretends the glare pains them.
Myrrh snorts. “Weakling.”
“Don’t make me overpower you to prove a point.”
“So how did your discussions with the councilmen turn out?”
Glint smirks. “Exceedingly well, thanks to you. I meant to ask: how did you get out of that dress? I was looking forward to helping you.”
“By brutally murdering it. That foul garment won’t be scandalizing anyone again.”
He casts her a concerned glance. “I’m not sure I want the details. In any case, I’m almost certain they’ll offer me the vacancy left by my father. I just hope the news will come in time for me to do something about Emmerst’s bid for the title of Maire.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask something. No offense intended, but you and your father do share a family resemblance. Has no one noticed?”
“I think that works in my favor, actually. They feel like they already know me, but they can’t place the reason. For the whole time my father was Maire, he lived alone. I doubt many people even remember he had an estranged son, and if they do, they probably assume I met an untimely end. It’s perfect, really.”
“I thought it would take a majority vote to add a new member. Will the five you hosted yesterday be enough?”
“It should be. I only invited those who I thought were undecided.”
“So what happens if you’re appointed? Do council members have to live in Maire’s Quarter?”
“Not right away. As I’m yet to wed my beautiful bride, it makes sense that I’d keep my residence here. No doubt the future mistress of my house will want a say in selecting and furnishing our permanent home.”
“Isn’t our supposed betrothal going to be a problem eventually? How long are you planning to pretend to be a merchant?”
“For as long as my associates can keep stealing enough goods for me to resell. It’s the best racket in the city…getting merchants and traders to pay for things I stole from them in the first place.”
Myrrh finishes her coffee and sets the cup on the tray. “But it will seem strange if you never actually wed your fiancée won’t it?”
Silence follows her words. She starts to fidget under his intent stare. After a moment, he chuckles.
“I hope she’ll make an appearance now and again. I do enjoy her company. In any case, I’m an artful pretender. I’m sure I can come up with an explanation to reassure my peers if the length of my engagement becomes a concern.”
“I like seeing you too, Glint. But I have a syndicate to run. A rival syndicate to yours, I might add. I can’t slink around half-clothed whenever you need me.”
His eyes travel her body, and this time it’s not to tease her. There’s genuine interest in his gaze. Myrrh’s not sure if he meant for her to notice.
“Rivals,” he says quietly. “I wish it were otherwise, you know. There’s still a place here for you if things change. You don’t even have to wear a gown.”
“People in Rat Town depend on me.”
“I know. And unfortunately for me, you won’t let them down. In any case, your work yesterday afternoon made it possible for me to oppose Emmerst. That’s good for every thief in the city—including your Rat Town associates. We can’t let that man take the Maire’s seat.” He reaches forward and slides his fingers under hers, squeezing lightly. “Thank you.”
“And thank you for sending Mink to watch out for me. We don’t make very good enemies.”
His dark eyes meet her gaze. “No. I guess we don’t.”
“Anyway,” Myrrh says, sliding her hand away before he notices that it’s a little shaky, “I need to get back. The problem with Noble isn’t going to solve itself.”
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
Glint stands and looks down at her, offering a hand to help her up. As she rises, he slides a hand behind her back and pulls her close. For a moment, Myrrh thinks he’s going to kiss her, but he pulls her into an embrace, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her body tight against his bare chest.
“I’ll be careful,” she says.
“Goodbye, Myrrh,” he says as he releases her.
Myrrh flees before she loses the will to leave.
Chapter Twelve
IT’S APPROACHING MIDNIGHT in The Queen’s Dice when Rattle steps through the front door. He spots Myrrh right away and strides to her table. Instead of the ruby-tinted glass, he now wears a sphere of polished silver in place of his left eye.
“How would I know you were giving me a safe dose of etch?” Myrrh asks as he sits down.
<
br /> “I’ll smoke it with you.”
“Isn’t that a waste? I hear etch is rather expensive.”
The corners of his lips pull back, the closest thing she’s seen to a change in his flat expression. “You’ve been asking questions.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
As Rattle inclines his head in assent, one of Sapphire’s serving girls arrives with a glass of water for the man. Apparently, his repeat appearances—Myrrh assumes he showed up last night and received her message about being delayed outside the district—have trained the staff in his preferences.
“Mistress Myrrh?” the girl asks.
“Ale, please.”
As the girl scurries off, Myrrh turns her attention back to the aging rogue. “Given what I learned about etch’s rarity, I’m having a difficult time understanding how you benefit by giving me some.”
“Fair question. Yes, I could sell my stash—it’s not just etch, as I may have hinted before. I might even bring in enough money to take a few years off. But eventually, that coin would run out. My other option is to use what resources I have to help found an empire that will generate funds indefinitely.”
She casts him a skeptical look. “And you’ve decided that should be Ghost syndicate after, what, a week of observing us?”
He huffs in what sounds like amusement. “Of course not. Just as you wouldn’t grant me a seat on your council without getting to know me, I’m using this time to evaluate your organization. You in particular. The other members of your leadership are largely irrelevant.”
“I wouldn’t have asked them onto the council if I didn’t value their opinions.”
“Yet they rarely say anything that disagrees with your statements.”
“Maybe not. But I assume they feel free to.”
He shrugs and lays his hands flat on the table. Scarred knuckles extend beyond his fingerless leather gloves. Regardless of his poise, it’s obvious he’s led a hard life.
“Say I decide to try the etch…is it better to use during the day or at night? And how long does it last?”
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