::This is bad.::
Vargo agreed… but he was also very aware of Renata sitting across the room, listening to everything they said. While Vargo was used to Alsius’s gloom, she wouldn’t be. Nonsense. Any evidence Argentet might have is circumstantial at best—
::Sostira Novrus isn’t a fool. She wouldn’t bring this to tribunal unless she was confident of her proof.::
Wouldn’t she? Iascat had said his aunt had grown more erratic. He was there, too, watching Sostira with his lips pressed tight.
But most people’s attention was on Renata, who listened to Sostira’s accusation with exactly the kind of raised brows one would expect from a woman suffering a baseless political attack. Now she said, “Your Elegance, I find it troubling that you’ve apparently gone digging into my family situation behind my back—all the more so because I can’t imagine why you would. I’m a registered noblewoman of Nadežra, and moreover one who hasn’t committed any crime. But regardless of your motivations, I swear beneath the Lumen’s light that I have destroyed no letter intended for you.”
“Then perhaps you would be so good as to account for your whereabouts the evening of the Traementis ball.”
A faint line of puzzlement creased Renata’s flawless brow. “At the ball, Your Elegance. Yes, I retired early—but not because I needed to run off to Whitesail. I’ve simply been very busy of late, and I knew that beginning the following morning, the duties of the head of house would fall upon me. I thought it wiser to get some sleep.”
“Did you?” Sostira pivoted to look at the man on her left. “Does Fulvet have a response to that?”
Dragging in a breath as though it contained broken glass, Quientis said, “I spent much of the evening in Era Traementis’s company. At around midnight, she wished to retire for the night—and to say good night to her family. Alta Renata was nowhere to be found. We searched everywhere, including her room. It was nearly seventh earth before Era Traementis gave up and allowed me to put her to bed.”
Now Vargo had to hold in his own gloom-filled thoughts. Lies had their uses, but honesty was the sharpest blade. Quientis’s testimony was effective because he was so clearly speaking in spite of his preferences. No doubt Sostira calculated that when she maneuvered Renata into the lie.
She waited for the whispers to die down before returning her attention to Renata. “A crime against a head of house and a member of the Cinquerat is no small thing. One might even consider it treason. Would you like to amend your statement, Alta Renata? After all, everyone here knows how convincing you can be.”
::Well played,:: Alsius said quietly. ::If she tries to talk her way out of this, she’ll only look more guilty.::
Vargo’s fist clenched. He couldn’t say whether the desire to strangle Sostira was natural, or a product of the urge that had buzzed in the depths of his mind since that night at the Villa Acrenix.
Renata made no attempt to revise her lie. Instead her expression hardened. “Treason, Your Elegance? That’s a strong word to employ so casually. Just what am I supposed to have destroyed, that poses a threat to Nadežra itself?”
“I think you and I know exactly what was destroyed, and why you might risk sneaking away from a ball you were hosting to do so.”
Talking around the content of the letter would only make everyone more curious as to what might be in it. If that curiosity was whetted, Vargo suspected twenty more letters would go out on the next tide, asking Eret Viraudax about the daughter he didn’t have.
There was a way to stop Sostira… and possibly nudge circumstances enough for Cibrial Destaelio to wrest Argentet out of her hands. Vargo’s motives might be tainted by the urge Ghiscolo had planted, but in the end it didn’t matter. Even if it helped Ghiscolo, it also helped Ren.
“I’m afraid you’ve accused the wrong person, Your Elegance.” Vargo stood and thumped his sword cane to draw the room’s attention. “Alta Renata didn’t destroy your letter. I did.”
Before he could lose his audience’s attention to a furor of speculation, Vargo added, “And I wasn’t the only one there that night. Fadrin Acrenix was attempting to break into your office as well. I greeted him with a fist to his biscuits.”
“That was you?” Fadrin snarled, leaping to his feet. The scrapes and bruises from the beating Vargo gave him had blossomed in the intervening days. Not even makeup could entirely hide them from those who were looking—as everyone in the room now was.
“Sent him floating down the Dežera in the Acrenix sedan chair. The red-lacquered one. I’m certain if you examined it you would find water damage. Assuming it isn’t at the bottom of the river.” Vargo’s taunting smile invited Fadrin to reinforce his claims with physical retribution.
Tragically, Sibiliat succeeded in dragging her cousin back down. Vargo turned his attention to the Cinquerat, avoiding Ghiscolo’s cold stare. “If treason charges are to be made, then it’s House Vargo and House Acrenix that should shoulder them. But I took the liberty of examining the contents of the letter from Eret Viraudax before I destroyed it. I didn’t find anything anybody could use against his daughter—which I assume was your aim.”
Fighting laughter, Vargo bowed in Renata’s direction. “Your father sends his regards and hopes you remain in good health. Your mother… is also well.”
Renata’s mouth soured at the reference to Letilia, while Sostira snarled, “All this proves is that the two of you colluded—”
“The two of us?” Vargo laughed incredulously. “Here I thought Argentet knew everything that happened in Nadežra. No, Your Elegance—I just can’t let other people take credit for my achievements.”
Half the chamber was talking now, but from what Vargo could hear, more of them were talking about him and the Acrenix than Renata, and Ghiscolo was glaring murder at Sibiliat and Fadrin. That was victory enough for the moment. Fuck you for whatever you did to me that night.
Sostira tried to regain the floor, but the tumult continued until Cibrial Destaelio stood up. “Under the circumstances,” Prasinet said, projecting her voice firmly over the noise, “I believe this is a much smaller matter than Her Elegance claims. For interfering with the correspondence of a Cinquerat seat, I propose that House Vargo be fined two hundred forri. For attempted interference, a fine of twenty forri to House Acrenix. Alta Renata, do you wish to bring a complaint against Era Novrus for false accusations?”
In her shoes, Vargo would have said yes. But he couldn’t trust his own judgment.
“Thank you, Your Charity, but no,” Renata said, keeping her eyes on Sostira. “I believe any dispute between us can be settled by other means. Oksana Ryvček has offered to stand for me if ever I have need of it.”
Sostira flinched at the implied threat. Fighting a smile, Prasinet moved on. “Altan Fadrin, do you wish to bring assault charges against Eret Vargo?”
“He doesn’t,” Sibiliat said, before Fadrin could respond. Her cousin nodded with his jaw clenched tight. Vargo wondered if he would also be receiving a duel challenge soon—and if Ren could talk Ryvček into representing him, too.
Destaelio nodded crisply. “Then what is the verdict of my peers?”
Quientis concurred almost before the words were out of her mouth, followed by Simendis. With two Cinquerat members recused, that made for a unanimous verdict, and they wasted no time in declaring the affair ended.
Which was by no means the end. Renata was swarmed by those eager to express their sympathy—or just to get as close to the gossip as they could. Vargo, as usual, had a clear path to leave. For once, he didn’t mind being shunned by his peers.
But when he slipped from the tribunal chamber, he found that not everyone was avoiding him.
“I wish I could have seen you nut-punch Fadrin,” Iascat said as Vargo approached.
“I can do it again if you’d like. Once will never be enough.” Vargo shifted so he could keep an eye on the door. The last thing he wanted was for Iascat to lose his chance at ousting his aunt because he was caught consorting with th
e enemy.
Yet another desire he couldn’t trust.
“I’m just glad nobody thought to ask how you found out about the letter.” Iascat’s full lips flattened into a bitter line. “Though I’m certain my aunt knows.”
“I wouldn’t have given you up.”
“Then why does it feel like you have?”
Before Vargo could respond, the doors behind them creaked. Iascat gave him a last, unreadable look, then strode off.
Renata was leaving, surrounded by a cloud of others. Vargo crossed his arms and lounged against the wall, giving her his most insolent look—but to Alsius he said, I did that to help Renata, but I’m not certain it wasn’t driven partly by the compulsion Ghiscolo somehow put on me at the last Praeteri meeting, to undercut Sostira Novrus and take her place. It’s a good thing you helped counteract that, or I might have killed her by now.
::I assumed as much. Why are you telling—Oh! Very clever. Farewell, Alta Renata. I do hope we have a chance to speak soon!::
She couldn’t respond, of course. But Vargo saw a cloud flicker behind that serene mask, and he wondered what she knew that she hadn’t told him yet.
Kingfisher, Lower Bank: Canilun 8
“Captain,” Ranieri said, “wasn’t this stuff supposed to be sold off?”
He hefted the box, settling it onto his left shoulder this time, having already exhausted the right. Grey felt a little bad making his constable carry the whole weight—but at least it was getting lighter as they went.
He glanced at his notes, identifying the items and who they’d been taken from. “Goods confiscated by the Vigil are supposed to be sold.”
“And these—”
“Weren’t taken by the Vigil. The Ordo Apis is a separate organization, and according to Alta Renata, their charter doesn’t include anything about the disposition of items. They didn’t have the right to take them in the first place, so they don’t have the right to sell them now. And neither do we.” That also applied to the ones his fellow officers had pocketed, but Grey was already pushing a boundary by returning these things to their owners.
Cercel had questioned him for formality’s sake when Gil Vasterbol complained. Grey had cheerfully pointed out the limitations in the charter that allowed Vasterbol to sell hawk-confiscated goods through his pawnshop, and topped that with a comment about repairing Vigil relations in Kingfisher. The former shut Vasterbol up; the latter left Cercel nodding thoughtfully.
There was no doubt that teaming up with the Black Rose had helped the Rook in his mission, but Grey had never let himself consider how satisfying it would be to join forces with Alta Renata.
Or how distracting, he thought as he backtracked to the tenement he’d walked past while thinking of her.
Many of the people whose doors they stopped at were reluctant to open them. Some of those doors still bore scuff marks and bootprints from stingers kicking them down. And while nobody dared to spit on him and Ranieri, thanks were as rare as dreamweavers in winter.
“A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss,” Levinci grumbled when they returned to the wagon for another load. With Lud Kaineto gone, Grey had needed a new lieutenant. He would have preferred to promote Ranieri, but a baker’s boy with mixed ancestry over a delta son… at least with Levinci in Kaineto’s place, Grey’s other troublemakers had become less obnoxious. But they would never understand the silt of resentment settled along the Lower Bank.
“I’ll hang a medal on you when we get back to the Aerie,” Grey said, pointing out another bag for Ranieri to carry.
As they headed to the next street on his list, Ranieri said, “Captain, would you consider the Oyster Crackers dangerous?”
“It depends on what kind of danger you mean. They’re thieves, not killers; they prefer to slip in and out without being seen. Why do you ask?”
“Something Tess asked me to look into.” Ranieri became very occupied with the bag on his shoulder. It was an obvious enough excuse for distraction that Grey didn’t press. He was just glad to hear the two of them were talking, after the rift that came on the heels of Tess discovering Pavlin was a hawk—as long as it didn’t mean Tess was looking to return to a life of crime.
His good mood soured when he looked up and found Kaineto approaching with three other men, all wearing the gold-trimmed black armband of the stingers.
Kaineto’s liver-pale lip curled in a sneer. “Serrado. Your presence is required for questioning.”
Grey motioned for Ranieri to stand back. “Regarding what? I’m on duty right now.”
“Ordo Apis business supersedes your duty. Come with us—unless you want to cause more trouble for Kingfisher.”
Grey glanced around. The street was quiet but not empty; everybody in sight was watching warily, ready to bolt.
Kingfisher had seen enough trouble at the hands of the stingers. “We’re almost done here anyway. Ranieri, tell Levinci he has command.”
“Captain—”
A twitch of Grey’s hand stopped the protest. “Do your work, Constable. I’ll see you back at the Aerie.”
He hoped that was true.
Suncross, Old Island: Canilun 8
Grey had a good guess as to what was coming. The stingers had been formed to deal with the Stadnem Anduske; he was Vraszenian, and he’d worked with the ziemetse last year. Never mind that the ziemetse considered the Anduske almost as much of a threat as the Cinquerat did. In the eyes of Liganti cuffs like Kaineto, every Vraszenian was the same.
He had stories prepared, both if they knew he’d helped Andrejek after the schism, and if they didn’t.
He didn’t get to use either of them, because his guess turned out to be wrong.
Kaineto and the others took him to the plain-faced building in Suncross that the stingers had claimed as their headquarters. They’d already confiscated his sword, his knife, and his sap; they didn’t search him beyond that. Stupid. But lucky. The pocket that held the Rook’s hood was well-hidden, but that didn’t mean a determined search wouldn’t find it. After today, he wouldn’t risk that again.
They marched him into a small stone room, forced him into a chair, and tied him to it. Although a numinat was painted on the flagstones beneath him, Grey didn’t think it was active. The focus would be underneath his chair, so he couldn’t see if it was in place, but he didn’t feel any different.
“Is this really necessary?” he asked, allowing his irritation to show. If tying him up was their starting move, then playing nice wasn’t on the agenda. He fixed his glare on Kaineto. “Or are you just having fun being petty?”
“Yes. To both of those questions. And now perhaps you’ll answer mine. What do you know about the disappearance of Mede Rimbon Beldipassi?”
It felt like the chair had been dropped into a Depths sinkhole, with Grey still bound to it: the airless cold shock of fear. Djek! Ryvček was always warning him about keeping separate lives, and at least a dozen hawks must have witnessed Beldipassi seeking him out at the Aerie. But it was a leap from that to this.
Marpremi, the man who hired Fontimi, had been found floating in the Pomcaro Canal, but Beldipassi’s servants had all vanished. Had one of them—
“His valet claims you arranged a meeting for him, and he hasn’t been seen since. I’ll ask once more. What do you know about his disappearance?”
“Nothing beyond what you’ve already said,” Grey answered. Had they learned whom the meeting was supposed to be with? If so, let them be the ones to admit it. “I didn’t even know he was missing until you told me. He doesn’t live in Kingfisher, so he isn’t my business.”
Although there was an empty chair facing Grey, Kaineto remained standing, the better to lean in. He wasn’t good at being intimidating, but the circumstances lent him a menacing air. “You might want to rethink that answer.”
“There’s no rethinking the facts.”
“With the right pressure, a man can be made to rethink anything.” Kaineto straightened and gestured to one of his fellow stingers, a
woman Grey didn’t recognize. She handed him a small, round object. It wasn’t marked with a god’s sigil, and Grey’s body tensed. Praeteri numinatria.
Kaineto crouched to slot it into place under Grey’s chair, then backed away and let the woman paint shut the activating circle. He grinned at Grey, a pure display of teeth and malice. “We’ll leave you to consider.”
Grey let his head sag as they shut the door on him, tensing for whatever the numinat was meant to do.
He couldn’t feel anything. And that was all the more insidious, because Kaineto wouldn’t smile like that if it weren’t something awful. Grey knew those smiles; he’d grown up with them, little knives slicing shallow cuts over and over so the wounds never healed and scars never formed. An old woman’s smile tearing through you with the sharp edges of every card she drew, leaving you open and bleeding, empty and hollow. In the face of that, death didn’t seem like such a terrible alternative, and you understood why your mama might hold you under the cold water, might wade in herself and never come back up. Your fault, your fault, your fault eating away at him like ripples against the shore.
Grey shuddered, rattling the chair’s legs against the floor. He dragged in a breath, but his lungs felt too tight to hold anything.
No. Kolya had gotten him out. They’d fled to Nadežra and pretended they were hiding from people who didn’t care enough to look for them. But Kolya cared. Leato cared. Donaia cared.
Dead. Dead. And the third dying by inches after so many losses. He’d misled one brother, failed the other, and could do nothing to help a woman too good to mother one such as him. Grey hadn’t fled the suffering; he’d brought it with him and inflicted it on the people around him. Just like them. Just like her. And Ren would be next.
A sob tore from his throat. He was shaking so hard his chair toppled sideways, his shoulder wrenching and bound wrists bending as he slammed into the floor.
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