“Aw, don’t be like that. We’re your friends, we’ll keep it quiet.” Ulric leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You gotta tell us who you’re poking.”
Quintin met Ulric’s gaze, relieved to give an honest response. “I’m not fornicating. At all.”
“So you haven’t gotten to that point yet.” Terin nodded and took a sip of wine. “It can be an intricate dance. I don’t blame you for not wanting to throw this lot into such a delicate negotiation.”
Quintin dropped his gaze to his mug, his chest aching. If only he did have a woman to court and woo, someone he could introduce to his friends with pride. Instead, the first woman who had interested him in years was an outlaw whom he would never see again. “I’m not negotiating anything.”
“But who is she?” Ophelia asked again. “We must know.”
His shoulders slumped, suddenly too weary to dance around the truth. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“It was a chance encounter. She was nothing more than a pretty face.” A pretty face that masked a quick wit and a distracting passion. He sighed. “I don’t know her name. She merely came to mind when you asked who I might want to poke.”
“We could find her for you.” Terin rubbed his hands together, a gleam in his eye. “Trimble is not very big. If you give us some details, or Elkart shares her scent with the other waccats—”
“No, not a good idea,” Quintin interrupted, appalled at how tempted he was by the notion.
“It’s a great idea,” Terin countered. “It should be easy for us to at least learn her name.”
“Easy? Really?” Ophelia raised her eyebrows. “I can’t imagine how you could pull off this mad scheme without utterly humiliating Quintin.”
His palms prickled. She was right, no matter how much he might wish it otherwise. “I’ve already said too much.”
“This is why Tarina invented prostitutes.” Ulric slapped the table. “Everything is straightforward and simple with a prostitute.”
Ophelia crossed her arms. “This is not the time to try to convince Quintin to accompany you on a trip to the stews.”
He slapped the table again. “There was never a better time for it.”
“I am not visiting a brothel with you, Ulric,” Quintin said flatly. He had accompanied Ulric to the stews once, years ago before the rest of their friends moved to Trimble. The experience had been a disaster, leaving him not only with a distaste for prostitutes, but with his virginity intact.
Ulric grumbled into his mug, looking chagrined.
“Ulric has a good point, though.” Terin stroked his smooth brown chin. “In my experience, the best cure for women troubles is another woman.”
Ophelia heaved a sigh. “Men.”
“That’s my line,” Madi said as she approached their table. Dressed in a flowing sarong, she appeared less formidable than in her guard uniform, though the dirk hanging from her belt dispelled any illusion of softness.
“Yes, only you usually sound more predatory and less disgusted,” Terin said as he filled a mug for the late arrival.
She flopped onto the only open mat at the table and leaned against her waccat. “I’ve felt my share of womanly disgust at men.”
Ulric chortled. “You’ve felt more than your share of men in all kinds of ways, Madi.”
She raised her mug to him. “There, you see? Womanly disgust with a man.”
“You don’t have to be a woman to be disgusted with Ulric,” Terin replied.
Ulric looked at Terin. “I have only one thing to say to that.” He belched loudly.
Madi and Terin laughed, while Quintin and Ophelia exchanged a long-suffering glance.
“What kept you?” Quintin asked Madi, hoping the conversation would not revert back to his pathetic love life.
“I was waylaid by another guard. He has a gift for air and wanted to mind-share an incident at a goat farm this morning.”
“On your day off?” Ulric protested.
“It’s why he wanted to talk to me.” Madi patted Verona, her waccat. “Anything outside the city walls is not part of our official duties, so he couldn’t do much more than look around. He thought Verona and I might investigate on our own today.”
Ulric grunted. “Did you tell him to go get burnt?”
“No, his concern is warranted.” Madi pulled out a bronze dirk and ran her fingers over the blade. “The fence was all busted and the goat had been ravaged. The farmer’s dog was mauled. I’m worried it might be a bogbear.”
“A bogbear?” Ulric frowned. “What would a bogbear be doing this far north?”
She shrugged. “The last Circ troupe to come by packed up in an awful hurry.”
A bogbear! Quintin’s blood buzzed in his ears. Lightheaded and nauseated, he clutched the edge of the table. As a child, he’d sometimes paid a hard-earned cacao bean to see the oddities displayed by a passing Circ troupe. He would never forget the bogbear. The massive creature of earth had roared its displeasure and struggled against its chains, raking the air with claws like scythes, its open maw bracketed by wicked fangs. Even captured and controlled, the bear had set him trembling with terror.
To have such a monster loose in the jungle was a nightmare come to life. He swallowed hard and whispered, “If it escaped from the Circ then it will have lost its fear of people.”
Madi nodded. “And it won’t know how to hunt or forage properly, which explains why it attacked a goat farm.”
“Do you think it will go after the goats again?” Terin asked.
“I don’t know.” Madi shrugged. “Such a beast can be very unpredictable.”
Ophelia leaned forward, her knuckles white around her mug. “Will the guards help the farmer and his family?”
Madi sighed and put her dirk away. “Protecting his homestead is his own responsibility. The city guards will only hunt this animal if it threatens the trade road. The Trimble Reeve won’t station guards at the farm or send a patrol to track it into the trees.”
“It’s not up to the guards,” Terin said. “This is our duty as the Hands of Destin.”
“Exactly.” Madi glanced around the table. “I’m going hunting this afternoon. I would love more than my own waccat at my back.”
Ophelia patted her golden waccat on the head. “Though I can’t get away, Felice would be happy to join you.”
“Maven and I can join you, too,” Terin put in.
“Taric’s balls.” Ulric buried his hand in his beard. “We’re doing a big aqueduct repair this week. Racon and I can only help after dark or if you’re still hunting next Taricday.”
“I don’t want anyone hunting this thing after dark.” Madi turned to Quintin. “What about you?”
“I have duties at the Tribute Office this afternoon.”
Office boring. I go hunting.
“Elkart can go with you.” He smoothed his palm over his waccat’s head. Be careful, fuzzface.
I be with my pack. Four waccats beat one bogbear, every time.
His waccat was right. Madi’s earthen gifts and the pack’s ability to work together was more than a match for the bogbear’s superior size and strength. Yet Quintin couldn’t help worrying.
Ophelia toyed with her waccat’s pointed ears. “What happens if you don’t catch it today?”
Madi grimaced. “I’m back on patrol tomorrow.”
The Tribute Office would be closed the next day, as all the auditors celebrated the day of the week honoring Fermice, the God of Air and Creator of Knots. Quintin drummed his fingers against the table and swallowed his fear. “I can go hunting tomorrow.”
Foolish as it was, he would rather hunt with Elkart, than send his waccat off without him.
“I’m between circuits,” Ter
in said, “so Maven and I can hunt this thing to the end.”
Madi held up her mug. “With the gods’ blessings the end will come quickly.”
Chapter 8
Later in the evening, Quintin rubbed his forehead as he left the Tribute Office. He had made the best assignments he could for the coming week and had to trust the other auditors would do their jobs while he focused on the Merdale estate.
At the thought of the upcoming audit, the headache forming behind his eyes throbbed. He wished Merdale was managed by someone other than a Trilord. Dealing with nobles and all their needlessly complicated rituals was his least favorite part of an already unpleasant task.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stepped away from the warehouse to head home.
A hand reached out of an alley and touched his sleeve.
Quintin gulped in air, gathered his gift to defend himself, and spun to face his assailant. When he saw the features of the woman who had touched him, he blinked and wondered if his obsession with the thief had damaged his mind.
She was no illusion though, as she beckoned him down the alley.
Letting his breath out in a slow exhale, he followed the thief into the shadows. “What are you doing here?”
“The job’s not finished.”
“Not finished?”
“There is the small matter of payment.”
“You didn’t get paid?” He frowned. Why would Ophelia risk exposure by refusing to pay her contact? Or had the thief been cut out of the deal?
“No, and now I want my beans.”
He glanced toward the entrance to the alley. “We can’t talk here. Let’s walk along the riverfront.”
She frowned. “Won’t the guards see us?”
“There is nothing untoward about taking a walk together under the rising moons.” He smiled and offered his arm.
Resting her fingers on his elbow, she returned his smile. “Continuing our charade as lovers?”
“It’s better than trying to explain skulking about in alleys together.” They stepped out from between the buildings. Quintin nodded at the Tribute Office. “I’m not the last to leave, you know.”
She bit her lip. “I see.”
“I thought you would.”
Worry tempered his excitement at seeing her again. A pity Elkart was out on the bogbear hunt. If there was ever a time he needed his waccat at his back, it was now, dealing with his pretty outlaw.
When a bend in the river caused the line of warehouses to end, Quintin led her over to a low wall overlooking the water. Only little Ferlune hung in the evening sky. He took it as an auspicious sign since the smallest moon was the legendary home of the Deities of Air who had always favored him. Though only half full, Ferlune bathed the scene in soft white light which sparkled and danced on the river.
Unable to resist the chance to hold his thief again, he slipped an arm around her waist. His cheek brushed her coiled braids. Her hair smelled exactly as he remembered. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
She let out a sigh and leaned against him. “It is lovely. Perfect camouflage.”
He buried the disappointment her words evoked. She may have haunted his dreams, both awake and asleep, but she was not here to pursue a more personal relationship with him. “Yet it is deserted enough for us to speak freely. What is this about you not getting paid for your work? Is your contact holding out on you?”
“My contact is in the stocks.” A shudder coursed through her body as she spoke.
“Fermice’s breath,” he muttered. Did Ophelia know?
“He was captured before we did the job, so he never got the cacao, as you well know. Now you can pay me instead.”
“I wasn’t in charge of arranging the job,” Quintin said slowly. “Payment, or lack thereof, wasn’t one of my tasks.”
She stepped away.
He shivered, his side cold and empty without her.
She braced her hands against the wall behind her. Her chin tilted up in a challenge. “Are you refusing to pay me?”
He rubbed his lips, searching for a solution. If she was telling the truth, she deserved payment. If she was trying to swindle him, he didn’t want to fall for it. “I could talk to my contact, the one who worked with yours, and verify your story. Then meet you here with your beans tomorrow night.”
Her eyes widened. “You think I’m lying?”
“Listen,” he began, then stopped in frustration. He didn’t know what to call her. “I want to trust you, truly I do, but I don’t even know your name. If what you say is true, then I’ll have your cacao tomorrow. Will waiting one more day be so bad?”
“I was supposed to get paid three days ago,” she said, her breath turning shallow. “I can’t wait another day.”
He flinched at the desperation in her voice. He wanted no part in cheating her out of her rightfully, if unlawfully, earned beans.
“Besides, you’re asking for the very trust you won’t give me,” she said in a stronger voice. “How am I supposed to know you will come back tomorrow?”
“You know where I work.” His lips twisted in a half smile. “And my name.”
“Em.”
“What?”
Her gaze searched his face as she tilted her chin up. “My name is Em.”
“Em.” He said her name like a benediction. Warmth filled his chest. He swayed toward her, his head descending for a kiss.
Something like fear flickered across her face.
He pulled himself upright without touching her. She wanted her payment, not him. The thought stung his heart. Worse yet, she might have allowed a kiss in the hopes of getting her beans. He pinched the bridge of his nose and focused on the problem at hand. “If I can verify your story, I might be able to get you at least some of your cacao tonight.”
“I suppose I could take you to my contact in the stocks,” she said in a doubtful tone. “Though it’s pretty risky.”
“I wouldn’t trust your contact either.”
“Then I don’t know how to prove what I’ve told you.”
“I do.” He licked his lips. “I’m air gifted. I could link us mind-to-mind, where lying is nearly impossible. If you take down your air defenses.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How will letting you control my thoughts prove my honesty?”
“I don’t want to take over your mind, and I couldn’t do it with you paying attention anyway.” He let out a noisy sigh. She could light a candle which meant she was balanced, with small amounts of each of the three elements. Her only experience with air would be shielding her mind. She probably had heard all kinds of horror stories about coercion and deep mind reading, most of which were exaggerated or completely unfounded. “I want to have a conversation, nothing more.”
She rubbed her temple. “We are having a conversation, though it seems to be going in circles.”
“I want to believe you, Em. So much. Too much.” Even frowning, she was beautiful, with her heart-shaped face and button nose. He’d pay fresh beans to see her smile again. “I can’t trust myself to be objective around you. I would trust my gift.”
“To do what?”
“To know the truth. It is very hard to lie in direct thoughts. The words and images flow too fast and clear. If you try to lie it slows everything down and makes it fuzzy. Lies taste bad, too.”
“Thoughts have a taste?”
“To me they do. Probably because I also have a touch of water.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So you want into my mind just to taste my honesty.”
“I promise, I’ll only be able to read your surface thoughts. Your mind and your secrets will remain your own.”
Her brow furrowed in skepticism. “Unless I happen to think about them.”
“Unless you think about them very
hard and loud. My air gift isn’t strong enough to delve into your mind. Linking mind-to-mind with a balanced person like you is going to be a strain as it is.”
Her lips were pinched and bloodless. “Will you also be putting thoughts into my head?”
“Only if you want to know if what I say is true. I assure you, my thoughts will sound and feel as different from your own as the words you hear me speak.”
She looked him in the eye. “You are asking for an awful lot of trust here, Quintin.”
“I know, Em.” He sighed. “If you don’t want to do it, I understand. I swear I will meet you here tomorrow night. Maybe I could give you something of mine to hold in ransom of my return.”
“No. I need the cacao tonight. I’ll let you do it.” She closed her eyes, her entire body a study of tension.
Quintin frowned. She looked like she was bracing for a bone-mending. This would not work if she was fearful or tense.
“Give me your hand,” he said softly.
She opened her eyes, her dark brow knit in a frown. “What? Why?”
“It helps to be touching you, especially when establishing contact.” He took her hand in both of his and let out a long, slow breath to remove his own air protections.
She might not realize it, but this was an act of trust for him as well. With his air gift he was more vulnerable to manipulations of the mind than she was, though he also had more ways to defend himself.
He breathed in and out to center himself and strengthen his gift. Then he reached out to her with his mind. The swirling whirlwind of her defenses brought him up short.
She turned her head to look over her shoulder.
“Your mind is still sheltered,” he said. “The creepy feeling of being watched was me running into your protections. You can let them go now.”
“Can’t you break through them?”
“I could,” he conceded with a nod. “Though it would wear me out and be a rather unpleasant experience for you. Not at all conducive to building trust and honesty. Take it down and then I’ll do the rest.”
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 6