“Really?” She looked disgusted.
“I want to make sure there’s someone I trust involved.”
She bit at her lip. “Fine. What’s the other?”
“There’s a pub owner on Silver, who says that some night shift horsepatrol have been rattling him for crowns. Find me some names.”
She glanced about nervously and dropped her voice. “I’m not rutting well going to rat—”
“Get me names, Corrie. I’ll handle the rest.”
“You’ll owe me.” With a nod to Nyla she went off to the back stairs.
“Let’s go,” he told his cousin, taking the newssheets from her. “I’ll pay for a cab.”
“Damn right you’re paying,” she said. “You’re the one on inspector’s wages.”
The walk through High River was long and dreadful. The rains had stopped, or had never started on the north bank. Satrine’s wet coat coupled with the failures of the day had given her a completely foul mood. The sight of the fashionably dressed students at the street tables of the High River Wine Club didn’t help. They laughed, drank, argued, and generally had a wonderful time, blissfully unaware of all the misery across the river. Or even right next to them. Satrine envied them even as she loathed them. The young couple kissing at one table made her think of Rian. Soon she would be one of the girls at a place like this.
Wait.
Satrine turned back and looked again. That girl wasn’t like Rian.
It was Rian.
Rian kissing some boy. Rian sitting at a table with a glass of wine.
Anger paralyzed Satrine, thoughts racing through her head. The first thoughts were about money, irrationally raging over the idea that Rian might waste even a single tick on a glass of wine at the High River. More frenzied thoughts came: Why is this boy buying her wine? Who is this boy buying her wine? Why is the High River selling wine to a fourteen-year-old girl? Why is this boy, who is clearly seventeen if he is a day, kissing a fourteen-year-old girl? Who is he and why is Rian kissing him?
Her anger took voice, as her feet leaped over the low fence surrounding the street tables. “Rian Rainey, what in the blasted name of all the blazing saints do you think you’re doing?”
All the people at the street tables startled, but Rian jumped away from her paramour. The boy, for his part, held his ground, barely moving in his chair.
“That’s rather rude, ma’am,” he said, his accent crisp with privilege and education.
“Rude?” Satrine’s voice cracked to a screech. “You’re shoving your tongue into the mouth of my daughter—my fourteen-year-old daughter, young man—while plying her with wine!” Satrine took a real good look at the boy, staring him hard in the face. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, ridiculously pretty. Add in the tailored suit with silver hasps, the boy clearly had money to spend. It was easy to see why Rian was star-eyed for him. “It’s damn polite of me not to knock your teeth out!”
“Mother!”
“I should do the same to you!” Satrine snarled at her daughter. “How dare you be here when your father is . . .”
“Missus Rainey,” the young man said, holding up his hands peacefully. “I’m so sorry for our first meeting to be marred with this unpleasantness.” His voice dripped charm like an overfilled oil lamp.
“That’s Inspector Rainey to you—”
“Poul Tullen,” the boy said, extending his hand to her. “I’m at the Royal College of Maradaine.”
Satrine resisted the urge to slap the hand away, instead only glaring at it in disgust. “Is that where you learn to seduce schoolgirls?”
“Mother!” Rian grabbed Satrine’s shoulder and yanked.
“You start walking home right now, Rian,” Satrine said. “If you’re lucky you’ll stay far enough ahead of me to avoid getting cuffed across the head!”
Rian took a moment, looking between her mother and Poul, before letting out a scream of exasperation and stomping off.
Satrine turned back to Poul. “I don’t want to see you near her again, you hear me?”
The boy flashed a grin. “If that’s what you want, Inspector, you won’t see me.”
Satrine didn’t like that answer. She slammed her hand down on the table, knocking the wineglasses over. “I don’t want it to happen, Mister Tullen.”
“Mister Tullen is my father,” the boy said. There was an edge of a threat in his voice.
“Stay away from my daughter, boy.”
Poul stood, picked up his empty glass, and walked off, calling to the nearest server. He never lost the self-assured smirk as he left Satrine’s view.
The rest of the patrons of the High River were staring at Satrine, making her feel more than a little conspicuous. She had made enough of a scene, and she didn’t need any more time wasted. She hurried down the street toward home.
Rian was a good block ahead of her, easily spotted with her red hair and school uniform. Her pace was hard and deliberate, pushing through the crowd of buskers and hawkers with practiced ease that reminded Satrine of herself at that age.
Satrine remembered that at fourteen she was doing much worse than kissing rich boys in wine shops. Not that kissing rich boys in wine shops had ever been an opportunity afforded to her at that age.
At full walking pace, Satrine could barely keep Rian in her sight. She’d have to run to catch up. Her knee flared, her feet screamed—her body did not want to run right now. It barely wanted to walk. Rian had reached Beltner, she would be in the house shortly. Satrine pushed through the pain and sprinted after her.
“Rian!” she shouted as she closed in on her daughter. Rian didn’t turn around, just continued stalking to the stairs. Satrine caught up and grabbed Rian by the shoulder just as the girl was getting out her key. “What the blazes were you doing there?”
“What did it look like I was doing, Mother?” Rian snapped. “Now thanks to you, he’ll never call on me again. He won’t even look at me.”
“No, he won’t, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him to stay away from you, and since you’re the daughter of a stick, he’ll know to do just that.”
“You are such a rutting bully, Mother!” Rian fumbled with the key, trying to get it in the latch despite her hands shaking. Satrine felt her own hands shaking just as much, her anger getting the better of her.
“You do not talk that way to me!”
“Don’t you rutting well tell me how to blasted talk to you!”
Satrine’s fist raised up before she even knew what she was doing. “How dare you talk to me that way!”
Rian had never, to Satrine’s knowledge, been hit in her life. Satrine had never done it, nor had Loren, and if it had happened at school, Rian had never shared it with her. At Rian’s age, Satrine had been hit more times than she could count, by her own mother and plenty of others. Satrine had long known how to hit back, and would have scrapped anyone who would dare cross her.
Rian was not Satrine.
Rian burst into tears, her face shocked as she cowered behind her hands.
“Baby, I’m sorry, I—” Satrine stammered out, but Rian’s cries drowned her out.
The door opened, Missus Abernand scowling at them both. “What are you ruckusing about?”
Rian pushed past Missus Abernand and ran inside the apartment.
“What was that about?” Missus Abernand asked.
“Nothing,” Satrine said. She stepped toward the door, but Missus Abernand didn’t move, and unlike Rian, she wasn’t small enough to easily push past the woman. “Can I get in my own home, please?”
“Maybe,” Missus Abernand said. “What happened there?”
“Foolishness,” Satrine said. “Rian’s and mine.” She flexed and relaxed her hand, the urge to strike still in her muscles. If she had swung, it wouldn
’t have been a simple slap.
“Hmm,” Missus Abernand said. “I need to go to the market, anyway.” She brushed past Satrine, letting the door swing shut behind her.
Satrine still didn’t have her key.
Chapter 21
RICH, MEATY SMELLS and raucous laughter greeted Minox and Nyla as they entered the house. Lamb, beef, and pork, to Minox’s nose. That was highly unusual. “Is something special happening tonight?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Nyla said, hanging her coat.
Ferah came into the cloakroom, still wearing her Yellowshield vest. “Minox!” she said, her face bright and warm. “Your friend is so charming!”
“His friend?” Nyla asked.
“I’m at a loss,” Minox said.
“Charming, handsome, and no marriage bracelet,” Ferah said. Nyla’s interest perked up, and she brushed past Ferah to go to the sitting room. Ferah laughed, and looked at Minox again. “You look horrible. What happened?”
“Constabulary work,” Minox said. “What friend is this?”
“Joshea,” Ferah said. She raised an eyebrow. “He said you invited him here.”
Joshea was here? That was surprising. Though it was accurate, Minox had told him to come. He never expected he would call so early. “No, of course. It has been a trying day, is all.” He passed the newssheets to Ferah. “Leave those on the back stoop for me. I’ll bring them out to Evoy later.”
She took them, nodding. “Mother is a bit put out you didn’t see him yesterday.”
“I will rectify tonight,” Minox said. “Solemn promise.”
She led him to the sitting room, where Minox’s uncles and male cousins—save for Evoy—all howled with laughter while listening to Joshea, who held court in front of the fireplace, beer in hand.
“—and he didn’t even realize! He just stood there, proudly, sword in hand, while—Minox!”
“Joshea,” Minox said. “I see you’ve met just about everyone already.” He noticed Ferah, Nyla, and even Alma all standing in the archway to the dining room, looking more than a little lovestruck. It seemed almost ridiculous.
“Indeed,” Joshea said, crossing over to take Minox’s hand. “Your whole family has been quite welcoming.”
“I would expect nothing less of them,” Minox said.
“He’s been telling us old war stories,” Uncle Tal said.
“Army stories, Tal,” Joshea said jovially. “I may have been in a few skirmishes, but never a war.”
Uncle Timmothen shook his head. “If wearing the Gray is like the Red and Green, every day is a war.” The room at large nodded in agreement.
“You take a few to the chin, brother?” Oren asked. “Anyone check you out?”
“It’s nothing,” Minox said. “Though I should clean myself up.”
“Don’t be too long, son,” Uncle Cole said. “Your mother and aunts are cooking up quite the feast tonight.”
“Are they now?” Minox asked, looking at Joshea.
“I couldn’t possibly arrive empty-handed,” Joshea said. “I brought a large selection of meat.”
“And we can’t stay, Pop,” Colm said fiercely. “We’ve got to go check in.”
“We could come late, Colm,” Tal said. “Saints know the chief isn’t paying attention.”
The room launched into raucous jibes, as Minox’s various uncles, cousins, and brothers all admonished Tal for daring to say such a thing. “Duty first,” was the most commonly repeated phrase. Minox himself almost said it out of habit. There was no need to add his voice to the chorus, though.
“All right, all right,” Tal said. “Forget I said it. But I better find some still left in the morning, hear?”
“Can’t promise that,” Edard said, patting his own father’s stomach. “It’s been a hungry day for all of us.”
Jace piped up, “And I bet Joshea can eat as much as Minox can!”
The room went quiet for a moment.
Colm broke the silence. “Really, Pop, we’ve got to move along.”
“Aye,” Tal said. “It’s been a pleasure, Mister Brondar.”
They brushed past Minox and left.
“You said something about cleaning up,” Joshea said quietly.
“Indeed,” Minox said. “If you’ll all excuse me.”
“If I may join you?” Joshea asked.
Minox nodded and went to the stairway, Joshea at his side. Regular conversation resumed in the sitting room.
“I’m terribly sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you,” Joshea said. “But you said—”
“It’s quite all right. I did tell you to look me up here. I was not expecting you to be so well received, though.”
Joshea gave a weak smile. “Arrive with full hands, be welcomed with open arms. That’s what my mother used to say.”
“Wise woman,” Minox said, leading Joshea over to the washroom. “I have to offer apologies of my own. Today’s work was . . . trying.”
“The . . . murder in the alley? You haven’t solved it?”
“Hardly. In fact, there have been two more deaths. I’m sure the newssheets are already printing the salacious details.” Minox stripped off his vest and shirt.
“There’s more to it than that, though,” Joshea said.
Minox glanced out the door to make sure no one was listening in. “Indeed. But I think we should discuss it at a later point, with more privacy.”
“Of course,” Joshea said. He gave his own glance while Minox pumped water into the basin. “Does your family know? About—”
“It’s not something anyone speaks of,” Minox said. Of course they knew. Most of the Inemar stationhouse knew, and that included Corrie and Nyla. The only way anyone in the family didn’t know was out of willful ignorance, which was not something he’d put past Uncle Timmothen or his sons. But there was the unspoken agreement throughout the house that no one brought it up.
Minox washed off his face. “How bad do I look?”
“Bit of bruising is all. If you were army, the Yellow would send you right back out.”
“Fair enough,” Minox said, drying off his face. He tossed the soiled clothes into Zura’s laundering hamper and went to his room to collect a fresh shirt. “Though I’m sure Aunt Beliah will say otherwise.”
“She’s the brown-haired one with the gray streaks?”
“Right.” Minox finished dressing. “Nurse at Ironheart, and she can be tireless in her fussing.”
“She seems sweet,” Joshea said. “The whole household does.”
“Who’s talking out there?” A sharp, crackling voice called from the back bedroom. Grandmother Jillian.
“Minox.”
“I know it’s you, rascal. I mean the other voice.” With slow stomps, Grandmother came out in the hallway, wrapped in a dressing gown. “Not many strange men come up here.”
Joshea saluted her with military crispness. “Ma’am. I had no intention of disturbing you.”
“Pff,” Grandmother said with a dismissive wave. “He’s not here from the asylum, is he?”
“No, Grandmother. He’s just a friend.”
“Good.” She looked Joshea over. “You’ve got army in you, don’t you?”
“Three years, ma’am,” Joshea said with a smile.
“We aren’t still mucking about in the islands, are we?”
“I spent one year out there, but we’re not engaging in direct action. That war has been over—”
“For fifteen years, I know. I’m not mad yet.” Grandmother smiled and approached, resting one hand on Minox’s arm. “That war took up most of my life, you know. And what was the point of it?”
“My father would say ‘principle,’” Joshea offered.
“Hmm,” Grandmother said. “You lost people in that, didn’t you?”
“None I kne
w. But there’s a whole list. My father even says there was a Brondar among the Twenty at New Fencal.”
Grandmother laughed. “Everyone claims an ancestor among the Twenty. They must have sowed a lot of bastards before they shipped out.”
“Grandmother!” Minox said. He wasn’t entirely shocked; Corrie’s salty mouth didn’t come from nowhere.
“Oh, hush. He’s a soldier, they expect that sort of talk.”
“It’s quite all right, ma’am.”
“You call me Jill or I’ll box your ear,” she said. “Minox, dear, help me down. Supper at the table seems worth the effort tonight.”
After Satrine knocked several times, Caribet opened the door. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Satrine said, coming in. “Where’s your sister?” Satrine asked. Caribet pointed to their shared room. Rian had already closed herself inside. Satrine tried to open it, but Rian must have moved the beds to block the door. Satrine spoke as gently and calmly as she could manage. “Rian, let me in.”
“Go away, Mother!”
Satrine didn’t have any fight left. She turned back to her younger daughter. “Did you have a good day?”
“Fine,” Caribet said warily. “We worked on penmanship most of the day.”
“Good,” Satrine said. “Practical skill.”
“Are you all right, Mother?”
“Far from,” Satrine said. “I’m going to check on your father.”
“All right,” Caribet said.
Satrine went into the bedroom. Loren lay in the bed, face a blank, as it had been for nearly a month. No change. Never a change.
“Is this what it was like every day, love?” Satrine asked. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots off. “I don’t know how you managed to come home smiling most of the time.”
She touched his face. His eyes moved around, searching the room, never landing on any one thing for more than a moment. She leaned in close to him, cradling his face in her hands. His eyes still didn’t find hers.
She kissed him. His lips were soft, open, and unresponsive.
She pulled away, tears welling at her eyes. “I don’t have much to come home to, do I?”
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