“Or you both would have been disowned, and you would have had no family.”
“Yes, I suppose that is the most likely of scenarios,” she said.
“My apologies. Why are we talking about this? It’s my fault, isn’t it? I promise never to bring him up again.”
“You needn’t apologize. It’s relevant,” she said. “I thought about taking over myself, all on my own, because I thought that I would always pine for Diago and that I would never be able to bear marrying another man. I was certain Diago was the only man I would ever love.” She shrugged. “I suppose that’s going to be true anyway. I can’t imagine being so stupid as to fall in love again. This way, I will be married to the family. It will be my husband.”
He eyed her for several moments, saying nothing, and then he looked down at the table.
“You don’t approve?”
“Where the blazes is Marta with my coffee?” he muttered. He got up from the table. “I’m going to go and look for her.”
But just then, Marta appeared with a steaming cup.
“Oh,” he said. “Excellent. Thank you.” He took it from her and sat back down at the table. “And tell Jeoff that he must get someone to repair the window in my chambers.”
“Yes, of course,” said Marta, hurrying off.
Chevolere turned back to Ziafiata. He eyed her for several more moments. “I’m not sure about your plan.”
“Listen,” she said, “why don’t you mind your own business when it comes to my goals, hmm? If you help me with this, I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll no longer be your responsibility. And you’ll have an ally in the Abrusse family. It’s a very good deal for you. And that’s without even considering that there’s no other way you’re going to be able to take revenge on my father.”
He sipped his coffee and then set it down. “Perhaps I don’t like the idea of pretending to have fallen for you. That doesn’t really fit with the reputation I’ve built for myself.”
She gave him a sour look. “Well, how else could I convince my father—”
“What if we simply made him believe that you were too strong to be terrorized? That I did my worst to you and that you were unaffected? It’s the truth, anyway. And that way, I wouldn’t have to pretend to…”
“To be attracted to me?” She glared at him.
“I am attracted to you. I don’t care about that. But people would expect me to be demonstrative in public, and that might involve touching, and I’d really… I couldn’t.”
She tilted her head to one side. “You act as though you can’t bear skin-on-skin contact, but you’ve touched me on numerous occasions.”
“Not… tenderly,” he said.
“So, it’s like that.” She blinked at him.
He became very interested in his coffee.
“That’s…” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Why would seeing those men hurt your sister mean that you could only hurt others with your touch? Wouldn’t you—”
“I didn’t say it made sense,” he cut her off curtly. “And I’ll thank you never to speak of that, especially not where people might be able to hear.”
There was no one nearby, and anyone working in the tavern was quite intent on their tasks. She was sure no one had overheard. “My apologies,” she said anyway. “I won’t speak of it, then.”
“Good,” he said. “Anyway, can you agree to that? If so, we have a bargain.”
“Fine,” she said. “So, ours is a relationship of businesslike respect. It’s better, I think. I don’t know why I ever thought to say that it was romantic. Preposterous, really, for both of us.”
“Just so,” he said.
“Can you shake hands?” she said. “Or is that too tender of a touch?”
He thrust his hand out across the table. “Don’t mock me, Ziafiata.”
“I’ll do as I please.” She slid her hand into his.
He sucked in an audible breath and jerked his hand, as if he might pull it away. But he seemed to force himself to tighten his grip, and then he was squeezing her fingers to the point of pain.
She gritted her teeth and squeezed back.
They glared at each other as they shook.
He yanked his hand back and picked up his coffee. He held it between them like a shield. “Then it is decided. I anticipate a pleasant business relationship.”
“Indeed,” she said. “Mutually beneficial.”
* * *
Chevolere had not accompanied her on her excursion to look for fabric for new clothes, and he had made himself scarce when she was sewing garments with the help of Marta and some of the other women. This wasn’t because he did not care for clothing or thought it all beneath him. On the contrary, Ziafiata was right to think that she must dress the part of a street queen if she wished to secure the loyalty of the caporegimes of the Abrusse family.
No, he’d kept out of it because he had been frightened that it would involve seeing her in states of undress, which could never happen again. Even if it didn’t, it would likely require his looking at her and making pronouncements on his opinions of what she’d chosen, and he didn’t like to look at her.
Looking at her was unsettling.
Looking at her would have rendered him useless, anyway. It didn’t matter what she was wearing. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She dazzled him.
He was vaguely aware that this hadn’t been the case when he’d first seen her, and he wasn’t sure what had made it change. He tried to convince himself it was because he’d been within inches of her naked skin, but he knew it wasn’t that.
Maybe that was part of it, but other things were part of it, too. She was dazzling because she was strong and stubborn, because she was ruthless and ambitious. She was dazzling because she would not surrender no matter what he did to her. She was dazzling because she had struck out against Diago. She was dazzling because she wanted her father’s position.
Why all this should change the way she looked to him, he didn’t know, but it was the way of things. She had grown more beautiful to him, and now she took his breath away.
Which was what made standing next to her here, in the lower rooms of Caporegime Donato’s tavern, so very distracting. She was gazing around the room, looking at the customers. This tavern didn’t have entertainment on a stage, not like his did. Instead, it specialized almost entirely in gambling—with tables devoted to cards and dice. She was focused on her task here, but Chevolere could only focus on her.
She was wearing a dress with metal accents at the shoulders. The bodice was structured, cut high so as only to give a tantalizing hint of her cleavage. She looked strong and fierce, almost as if she were wearing armor for battle. But there was softness there too, an enticing glimpse of her femininity.
“…in the corner,” Ziafiata was saying.
“What?” said Chevolere.
“Aren’t you paying attention?” said Ziafiata. “You’re staring right at me.”
“It’s, um, it’s loud in here,” said Chevolere.
“You’re standing next to me,” she said. It wasn’t loud, anyway. His tavern was louder than this, what with music and dancing always going on.
“My apologies,” said Chevolere.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, anyway, what I said was that I don’t see Donato, but that there is Linguio, who is his right hand. We should speak to him, see if he will arrange a meeting with Donato.”
“Fine,” said Chevolere. “Point him out to me?”
She nodded across the room. “Right there. With the red tunic.”
Chevolere started across the room and she followed him. When he reached the table, he gestured to two empty chairs. “Are these seats taken?”
Linguio looked up. “Chevolere Vox.”
“Oh, have we met?” said Chevolere. “Or is it just that my reputation precedes me?” He pulled out a chair for Ziafiata, and then another for himself. They both sat.
“I know no other masked man who prowls th
e Barrens,” said Linguio. “Why join our table?”
“My companion pointed you out to me,” said Chevolere. “We wish to speak to your caporegime, Donato.”
Linguio had ignored Ziafiata until this point, but now, he turned to her. His eyebrows rose in recognition. “Why, if it isn’t little Zia Abrusse.”
“Not so little anymore,” said Ziafiata with a wide smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Linguio looked back and forth between them. “I suppose we did hear a story about your father and a card game. But I did not expect that Chevolere had procured you in order to dress you up and take you around the town.”
“You have it the wrong way round,” said Chevolere in a low voice. “I am here at her behest. She proved… rather impenetrable. I’ve never met a person with such resolve. We’ve come to an arrangement, she and I, and we’d like to speak to Donato. Is there some way that you think you could relay that to him?”
“An arrangement,” said Linguio, drawing his brows together.
“A business arrangement,” said Ziafiata. “One that might have significant advantages for Donato if he chose to speak to us about it.”
“Speak to you, you mean, Chevolere,” said Linguio. “It’s clear what’s happened here. You’ve cowed this poor girl into submission and now you mean to take advantage of her connections for your own benefit.”
“I do not submit to Chevolere,” said Ziafiata coldly.
“Indeed not,” said Chevolere, and he couldn’t keep his admiration out of his voice, which was probably the wrong thing to do, because when Linguio looked at him, he seemed to understand it all wrong.
Linguio smirked. “Whatever the case, she’s compromised by her association with you, and Donato has no interest in meeting with Chevolere’s whore.”
Chevolere ripped his dagger out of its sheath and slammed it into the middle of the table. “Want to rephrase that?”
Ziafiata snatched the dagger up. “That won’t be necessary.” She shot him a look.
His nostrils flared.
Ziafiata toyed with the tip of the knife. “Think what you wish, Linguio. It’s interesting to me that most insults to women are truly commentary on the behavior of men, but think what you will. What’s more important to know is that Chevolere and I are working together. The details of our arrangement aren’t really pertinent. What is important, however, is that his resources can be brought to bear. Perhaps Donato needs some enticing to meet with me. We would come to the meeting bearing gifts, of course.”
“Cainlach,” said Chevolere. “Or iubilia, if that’s his pleasure.”
“You’ll speak to Donato,” said Ziafiata. “If he agrees, he can send word to the Popina.” She got up from the table.
Chevolere followed suit.
She walked away, still holding his dagger.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
* * *
It was late, after midnight, and Ziafiata had a glass of ale, half-drunk, as she stopped by the corner where Chevolere was leaning against the wall, watching one of the female entertainers on stage, who was belting out a song about some man who had done her wrong.
“Any word?” said Ziafiata.
“How much have you had to drink?” said Chevolere.
“That’s none of your business,” she said. “I suppose you’ve heard nothing, then.”
“It’s barely been four hours since we left Linguio,” said Chevolere. “Give it time. And it is my business if you come barging into my room in the middle of the night again.”
“You needn’t worry about that,” she said. “I can’t be so drunk as all that, not in public. It wouldn’t look good. People would talk, and a street queen can’t be seen that way.”
“Indeed not,” he said, taking the glass from her and slugging down the rest of it in one long draught.
She glowered at him. “That wasn’t very polite.”
“I suppose it wasn’t.” He looked over her shoulder at the stage. “They seem to think it anyway.”
“Who seems to think what?”
“They think you’re warming my bed.” He gazed ruefully into the empty glass.
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” she said. “But your trying to defend my honor certainly doesn’t quell the rumors.”
“What? I’m supposed to smile when someone calls you wretched names?”
“I don’t care what you do,” she said. “But I can’t be seen as needing you to fight my battles. I’ll hear much worse if I am running the Abrusse family. You have to let me defend myself.”
He glanced at her and then back to the stage. “Yes, fine. I suppose you don’t need me, anyway.”
“I do need you,” she said. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t have struck this bargain.”
“To defend yourself, I mean,” he said. “But here I am, bringing up Diago Caputio when I promised I never would again. So, perhaps let’s forget about all that.” He squinted at something over her shoulder.
She turned. “What is it?”
“Those musqueteers,” he said. “I think they’re wearing Dumonte uniforms.”
She saw what he was talking about. They’d just come in the door, and their uniforms didn’t have the same colors at the shoulders and wrists. “I saw a uniform like that on a musqueteer earlier when we were speaking to Linguio.”
“Oh?” Chevolere wasn’t really listening to her.
“He was walking by as we were talking about cainlach,” she said. “In fact…” She pointed. “I think that was the musqueteer.” The musqueteer she’d seen had a trimmed beard and he had turned to another man, who’d come in behind the musqueteers. The other man was wearing a long, dark cloak, and he was brushing shoulder length dark hair away from his face as he spoke to the musqueteer. The musqueteer pointed at Chevolere, and the other man’s gaze settled on the masked tavern over. The dark man strode toward them both, flanked by his musqueteers.
Chevolere stood up straight, pushing past her. “I think he wants to speak to me, whoever that is.” He went to intercept the man, who was several inches taller than Chevolere.
“Chevolere Vox, I presume,” said the man.
“That’s right,” said Chevolere. “And you are?”
“Remy Toussaint,” said the man.
Chevolere stiffened, and Ziafiata’s eyes widened. That was the name of the King of Dumonte. Now, she took in the man’s clothing, how fine it was, and how many musqueteers were escorting him, and she felt a bit agitated. This was a king standing in this tavern in the Barrens. What was he doing here? What was he even doing in this part of the city?
Chevolere lifted his chin. “Interesting way to announce yourself. If you’re wanting honorifics or bowing and scraping—”
“I’m here about cainlach,” said Remy, the King of Dumonte. “You’re the man who provides the cainlach for this city, aren’t you? In fact, almost all of the cainlach in all the countries comes from you, if I’m not mistaken. You distribute it to a network of sellers who take it far and wide.”
Now, Chevolere bowed, deep and low. The movement was exaggerated enough it could have been taken for mocking. When he spoke, his voice was similarly so full of deference that might have been too thick. “If Your Majesty is wishing to make a purchase, of course I would be happy to assist you in whatever manner you desire. Shall we sit down to discuss cost?” He gestured to a nearby empty table.
Remy folded his arms over his chest. “I want all of it. Every bit of cainlach you have.”
Chevolere was surprised by this. “All of it? Pardon me, but I don’t know how I could possibly have such a large supply delivered—”
“I want it destroyed,” said Remy.
Chevolere blinked several times, processing this.
“And when you get more,” said Remy, “then I’ll buy that too and also destroy it. I’ll buy every bit of cainlach you get for as long as the both of us live.”
Chevolere still didn’t say anything.
Ziafiata w
as also confused.
Remy turned on his heel and marched over to the table that Chevolere had gestured to. He threw himself down in a chair and waited expectantly.
Chevolere hesitated and then crossed to the table.
Ziafiata trailed after him, curious.
Chevolere was sitting down, and Ziafiata decided to sit down, too. She waited for Chevolere to tell her to leave, but he didn’t say anything, and the king didn’t seem to be paying her any attention.
“So, if you want it destroyed,” said Chevolere, “that could incur a higher cost.”
“Then I’ll destroy it myself,” said Remy.
“Then we’ve still got the issue of delivery,” said Chevolere.
“If I have you destroy it, how can I be sure that you’re actually getting rid of it and not trying to resell it for double the profit?”
“You could observe the destruction,” said Chevolere. “But we should talk about how that might be done. We could probably douse it in seawater and that would ruin it. If you wanted to be quite sure, I suppose it should be burned, however.”
“Yes, let’s burn it,” said Remy.
“Well, that’s going to be costly,” said Chevolere. “We’ll need something flammable to douse the cainlach in. I don’t think it will burn freely otherwise. You’d need to purchase large quantities of that as well.”
“Fine,” said Remy. “If I give you the money for both, can you see to it all? I’ll just arrive to oversee the burning.”
“That can be arranged,” said Chevolere.
“Why do want to destroy it?” said Ziafiata.
Chevolere shot her an annoyed look. “Ignore her.”
“Your wife shouldn’t think it so strange that I want the cainlach destroyed,” said Remy.
“I’m not his wife.”
“She’s not my wife,” said Chevolere at the same time.
“Your Majesty,” said Ziafiata belatedly, with a small smile.
Remy shrugged. “Apologies. I assumed… well, it’s of no matter. The fact remains that cainlach is evil, through and through. Its use is only pain. There is no reason for it to exist.”
The Beast of the Barrens Page 12
