Josephine slapped his hands away.
“Hey!” he protested.
Josephine adjusted the drape of the coat until it moderately disguised her features. Edgar eyed her critically. Despite her delightful curves, the baggy coat and cap might just be enough to let her pass as a man. If she kept to the shadows. And if no one stared at her for long. She was a tall girl, that would help, but she carried herself too good, almost-he fumbled for the word-stately, like how the nobles in court moved about. That kind of grace probably came from all the different parts she had played on stage, dancer, fighter, and most recently, seductress. His thoughts started to wander, and he had to quickly gather them back up again. Now was not the time to get careless.
“Head for my room, but don’t run and don’t walk too . . . swishy-like.”
“I don’t swish when I walk!”
Edgar choked back a laugh. “I’ve stared at your beautiful bum enough to know you swish. Just hunch your shoulders a bit and try to walk like me and whatever you do, don’t-”
“What are you going to do?”
Edgar removed his fingerless gloves and stuffed them inside his shirt, adjusting them until they formed a very poor imitation of her protruding chest.
“Is that what you think I look like?”
“Hardly, but it’s the best I can do without a thorough examination.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. When she responded with a scowl, he shrugged and shot her a sly smile instead. “I’ll take your little friend on a grand tour of Belyne.” He pulled the knot out of his hair and allowed the long dark strands to drape the sides of his face. “And after I’ve lost him, I’ll meet you back at my place. See you there in a couple of hours.”
“Then you’ll help me find my father?”
Edgar’s lazy smile widened. “Or something just as fun-”
And before she could smother his wishful thinking with any kind of denial, he snickered and slipped away.
Josephine stayed in the shadows of the alcove and watched with growing frustration as Edgar sashayed down the dark street. She did not walk like that!
She glanced at the buildings across the road. No movement disturbed the stillness of the night. The fool! His exaggeration had ruined their impromptu switch. Her tail hadn’t been tricked at all.
She groaned at her gullibility. Edgar had played pranks on her before and this story about a tail was likely just another. He was probably standing around the corner just out of sight, laughing at her, waiting for her to head to his tiny room above the tailor shop on the edge of the Little Ryerton neighborhood. He’d probably follow her back, wait a few minutes and burst in with a wild story about how he’d skillfully eluded-
A shadowy figure skittered spider-like over the roofline and down the wall of the tenement building across the road, dropped the last ten feet or so and landed without making a sound. Josephine stiffened and pressed herself back into the far corner of the dark alcove. The strange figure looked human, but there was something feral and dangerous about the way he moved and sniffed the air. Could he smell her trembling in the shadows? What would happen if she ran? She was fast, but was he faster? She tensed, ready to flee should he come her way.
But instead, the figure darted after Edgar, moving more swiftly than she thought possible. He would have surely caught her had she run, and that realization filled her flush with fear.
“Edgar . . .!” she gasped. What had she done coming to him for help? Edgar wouldn’t be able to outrun that . . . thing . . . either. She darted out of the alcove and down the street after them both, not sure exactly what she could do or how she could help Edgar, but at the intersection she found no sign of either of them. They had both vanished into the night and she found herself utterly alone.
Chapter 6
Lord Ian Weatherall stepped out of the royal courtroom and into the lounge reserved for the noble judges. He quickly removed his heavy, black robe and hung it on one of the pegs by the door. It was not even noon yet, but the back of his silk shirt was already damp with sweat and the mid-morning heat promised an unusually hot spring day.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lord Pilarro shuffled up beside him, his plum colored eyes bloodshot and hooded.
“I was only asked to hear three cases,” Ian said. He headed for the exit.
“We missed you at the gala last night,” Pilarro’s words slurred and tumbled over his thick lips. “Last night . . . early this morning . . . I can’t even remember if I slept . . .”
“My apologies,” Ian said. He let go of the door latch and turned to face the hung-over lord. “Cecily . . .” He had searched for a legitimate excuse for their absence last night and again this morning. The truth would not do but nothing else had come to mind! He opened his mouth. How wonderful would it be if he could tell someone the truth? Perhaps ask for a bit of marital advice. “Cecily . . .” he started again. He had to say more. Even something vague! “Cecily . . . had other plans . . .”
Lord Pilarro raised a hand and his pale face broke into a mirthful grin. “Say no more. Sometimes when the mood strikes the missus, I can’t get her to leave the bedroom for days . . .” his words dissolved into a raucous laugh.
Ian cringed but kept his mouth shut and simply smiled.
“I’ll be at the Blackmore Casino later,” Pilarro said once he could speak again. He tossed his judicial robes over his sagging shoulders. “Care to join me and some of my friends for a bit of fun or does Cecily have ‘other plans’ for you again tonight?”
Ian kept his smile plastered across his face as Pilarro began a new round of laughter. “I appreciate the invitation,” he said, “but Captain Caleachey arrived from Scylthia earlier this morning and I need to inventory the cargo from his ship.”
Pilarro groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh Ian, please show mercy on me. Don’t tell the missus he’s back, otherwise she’ll buy every damn piece of jewelry right off his boat! I swear that woman will drive me into the poor house, no thanks to you!”
“And I always thought it was because you’re such a poor gambler.”
Pilarro snorted and headed toward the courtroom. “Give my regards to the Princess.”
Ian nodded. Once Pilarro was gone his smile dissolved. How could he have allowed that conversation to go so badly? Word would spread now throughout the city about him and Cecily rejoining in bed. The lie would temporarily appease those who feared a break in their marriage would lead to war between their two native countries but once the false rumor of their renewed passion reached Cecily’s ears, it would mean another heated exchange and at least a week’s worth of agonizing dinners filled with icy stares.
A traditional war might be less painful to endure.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. For Gyunwar, he would maintain the peace and for Tyran, he would endure her wrath. For his son, he would endure anything, even hell itself.
Ian passed through the halls of the bustling courthouse and stepped out into the bright sunshine. A wall of heat and humidity slammed into him. If spring was already this hot, what would the summer bring? Perhaps he should plan a trip to Gyunwar. He hadn’t visited his homeland for a few years and the Gyunwarian summers were always cooler. Cecily would refuse to leave Belyne, but he didn’t think a little time apart-
“Lord Ian!”
Ian dismissed his thoughts for the upcoming summer and sought out the source of the familiar voice. At the bottom of the steps leaning against one of the spiral columns was his friend, Sir Lumist Tunney. Heavy bags drooped beneath the old Gyunwarian knight’s dark gray eyes, but his haggard face brightened when Ian waved and headed his way.
“Wynston told me I would find you here,” Lumist spoke their native Gyunwarian language in his usual quiet rasp.
“You could have come inside rather than wait for me out here in the sun,” Ian replied in Yordician.
The old knight glanced up at the towering courthouse looming over them both and scowled. “I think it’s safer out here,” he continued in G
yunwarian.
Ian shook his head. “If you don’t like Belyne, why do you stay?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t know who is worse,” Ian raised a hand to summon a carriage. “You or Wynston.”
“You saved my life, I owe you.”
“That was years ago. Consider the debt paid.”
“Care to save me again?” Lumist asked, switching into Yordician.
Ian glanced over at his long-time friend, unsure which surprised him more, the actual question or hearing Lumist ask it in Yordician. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Bolodenko.” Lumist swallowed hard. “He wants fifteen hundred gold crowns by midnight tonight or I am a dead man.”
Chapter 7
“Jo . . .”
Josephine jerked awake and ran to the door. After pacing for what seemed like hours in Edgar’s dark room, she had finally collapsed on his meager bed exhausted. Her dreams had been bleak, filled with images of spidery men racing up and down the walls of the city searching for her, sniffing the air, and chasing her with unbelievable speed.
But now, sunlight slanted sharply through the lone window as she threw the wooden door open and found Edgar standing in the dimly lit hallway beyond. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide and unfocused, and then he staggered forward, falling heavily against her.
“What are you doing?!” Josephine cried, not sure if he was pulling another of his juvenile pranks. She started to push him away, but he wasn’t pawing at her breasts or trying to kiss her neck . . .
He was wheezing and making a terrible rattling sound deep in his throat.
“Edgar, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. When she glanced down at her suddenly sticky hands, they were covered in bubbly, foaming blood.
“No, no, no!” Josephine cried. She half-dragged, half-carried Edgar across the room to his bed. “What happened?” His face was unnaturally pale and covered in a thick sheen of sweat. Her eyes scanned the rest of his lean frame. A deep crimson-brown stain had spread across the entire left side of his woolen shirt.
Edgar’s bluish lips parted. “Dammit! Just when I have you . . . right where I want you . . . I find myself . . . unable to perform . . . I guess Owen . . . will . . .”
“Who did this to you? The tail? Pervis?” Josephine tore his shirt open and found a wide gash just below his left armpit.
“Bastard . . . knifed me . . . between the ribs . . .” Edgar wheezed. “But he won’t be . . . tailing you . . .” he winced and grabbed for her hand, “. . . ever again. I . . . made sure . . . of that . . .”
“This is beyond my skill. Lie still while I fetch a healer.” She tried to break free. He refused to let her go.
“I’m done . . .” Edgar closed his eyes and his wheezing slowed. “Take this . . .” He opened his other fist. Something silver glimmered in his palm. “And give me . . . a kiss . . .”
Without thinking, Josephine leaned forward and kissed him. His lips did not respond. His grip on her hand slackened. She held still for a moment, mashing her lips against his, praying he had finally conned her into kissing him and that he wasn’t really gone, but he remained unmoved beneath her and she knew it was no trick.
She sank back, stunned. What had she done coming to him for help?!
“Josephine . . .” Her name sounded thin and tinny as if spoken from the end of a very long, metal rod. “I can see ye sittin’ there, girl.”
A prickling of needles spread throughout her. She recognized the foul accent.
Mister Lipscombe.
“Take up th’ disc, girl.”
Josephine glanced down at the silver object in Edgar’s hand. It was one of her father’s magical communication mirrors. The spidery tail must have been carrying it and Edgar had taken it from him after their encounter.
“Ye should’ve listened t’ yer mother,” Lipscombe snarled. His horribly scarred visage suddenly filled the cracked and bloodstained surface of the mirror. “C’mon home. I’m waitin’ with her ‘nd yer sweet-tastin’ sister . . .”
The image within the mirror changed. She saw Leigh bound to a chair, sobbing softly. Blood leaked from the corner of her down-turned mouth and onto her dress.
“If you touch her . . .” Josephine started.
Lipscombe grabbed Leigh by the back of her head and wrenched her chin up. “Don’t think t’ threaten me, girl,” Lipscombe jabbed a dagger against Leigh’s throat. “Or yer boyfriend there won’t be th’ only one ye mourn this day.”
The disc blackened. Josephine gave Edgar another quick kiss, rose, and lingered as she stared back at his pale face. It wasn’t right leaving him like this, but what could she do? He was gone, and she didn’t have time to find Owen. Not with Mister Lipscombe holding a dagger on Leigh. If she hurried home now there might still be a chance for her to save her family. “I’m sorry . . .” she murmured and then she was out the door and away without a backward glance.
Chapter 8
“Where to, M’lord?” the driver asked.
“The Weatherall warehouse on Easton Street,” Ian called out as he settled into the carriage across from Lumist. In the distance, the carillon bells tolled noon and Ian smiled to himself. By now, he assumed Captain Kylpin Caleachey and his crew of sailors would have unloaded most of the cargo, under the protection of Hans Mesbone and his Bloody Fists, and his warehouse would be full again. Inventorying the shipment would take him the rest of the day. Perhaps even the better part of the night. He wouldn’t be home again until after Cecily was asleep. It would make for a very long and yet perfectly planned-out day.
“I understand if you cannot help me,” Lumist said as the carriage lurched forward. “It is a considerable sum.”
“I didn’t say that.” Ian paused long enough to pick his next words carefully. “I was just wondering why you were dealing with Bolodenko again rather than coming to me in the first place.”
“The debt was incurred by my nephew, Riley, may the One protect his soul. He borrowed the money, without my knowledge or permission, to place a wager at the spring joust. Upon himself.”
“But he was slated to face Lord Orrington’s champion,” Ian said. “The odds were twenty-to-one, and no offense intended, but Riley didn’t belong in the same arena with that behemoth.”
“I can only assume he was trying to help me. That damn Thief of Belyne had just emptied my vault two nights earlier and apparently Riley thought his training and skill would see him through.” The old knight shook his head. “I don’t know which was harder, burying him, or sending the news of his death back to his mother in Gyunwar.”
“You should have taken the news to your sister yourself.”
“And leave you behind in this city of Gyunwarian-haters? Not likely.”
Ian rolled his eyes. Despite his outward denial though, he knew there was more than a glimmer of truth to Lumist’s words. He doubted if the hatred ran as deeply as the knight claimed, but there were times when he noticed more than a hint of animosity aimed at him and his fellow countrymen living here in Belyne.
“Obviously, I don’t carry that much gold on me,” Ian broke his silence, “but if a bank draft will suffice, I can write one out for you once we reach the warehouse.”
“Thank you, Ian,” Lumist said. “I will be forever in your debt. Again.”
“Yes, well, perhaps I can persuade you to help me this afternoon. Most of the cargo from Kylpin’s ship will be in my warehouse, but I have a few special pieces I wish to have delivered to my estate. Would you escort the shipment up from the docks and make sure Wynston receives it safely?”
“Of course,” Lumist replied.
“And just tell Wynston I will open the vault myself when I return home.”
“Do you think that is wise?”
“What? My guards can keep the cargo safe until I get there.”
“I mean keeping anything in your vault. Three have been burglarized in just the past two weeks and you know how well
I had mine protected,” Lumist said. “Your vault is no different-”
“I’ve had some modifications done to my vault door. This so-called Thief of Belyne will not be able to enter it. I guarantee if he tries, he will be caught.”
“M’lord!” the driver called out. “There’s a fire up ahead!”
Ian pushed the cloth curtain aside and poked his head out. Orange flames licked the sides of his large warehouse and thick, black smoke belched out of the building’s shattered windows. Fear and frustration fought for control of his mind, but he shut them both out and instead drew upon the steely resolve his countrymen were famous for, “Pull over!”
“What’s burning?” Lumist turned around in his seat and opened his own curtain.
“My warehouse!”
Before the carriage had come to a complete stop, Ian jumped out and ran closer. Across the way, he spotted two city-guardian water mages standing together with their heads bowed and their blue-tinged fingers weaving frantic symbols in the air. Columns of sapphire light coalesced in front of them, faint at first, but quickly gaining in strength and watery substance. Over the roar of the untamed fire, Ian heard their rhythmic chants.
“Eckar unt’yarro fe ag’wah! Eckar unt’yarro fe ag’wah!”
Though he was not a water wizard, Ian recognized their commonly used spell. In situations like this, the city-guardian water mages would flood the area with a cascading deluge. The spell was designed to extinguish the flames, but it often destroyed the burning building as well.
“Help!” a voice shrieked from somewhere above the snarling fire. “Help me!”
“Hold the spell!” Ian shouted to the mages. He scanned the second-floor windows for signs of life. “I think someone is still trapped inside!” He dashed across the street toward the building but two of his regular warehouse guards intercepted him.
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