Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1)

by Jaycee Jarvis

  Lord Harold puffed out his chest. “We would never use your blood to curse you.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t, most honorable Trilord.” Quintin gave him a respectful nod. “However, you can’t speak for every charmaid on the estate. I’ll be more comfortable taking it home with me, unless Lady Emmanuella doesn’t wish to part with it or is likely to wear it again.”

  Em held out the skirt of her kaftan displaying bloodstains and the ragged edge where she had cut off bandages. She shuddered.

  “She won’t be wearing that again. You may take it with you.”

  Eyes flashing, her head jerked up.

  “Besides, the bloodstains will alarm my year-mate,” Quintin said, in case she had forgotten Terin’s arrival. “Much better to meet him in a clean sari.”

  Em’s eyes widened. “I’ll return shortly.”

  She graced her father with a respectful bow before sweeping from the room with all the poise of a Lady despite her tattered garments.

  “Willful chit,” Lord Harold muttered, the bejeweled curtain swaying from her passage. “After she washes up, she should be attending to my other guests, not returning here.”

  Other guests not bleeding. Elkart’s tail beat an irritated tattoo against the cushions. Other guests not Hands.

  Quintin raised his eyebrows. “My deepest apologies for throwing your household into disarray with my injuries.”

  “It is an honor to serve,” the Trilord muttered, though his peeved tone belied the polite words.

  “I’m sure the Luminary will be glad to hear it.” Quintin stroked Elkart’s head. As a tax collector, dealing with irritated nobles was nothing new, though usually he did more to annoy them than dare to bleed in their presence. “As I said, my year-mate will be here soon. He’ll escort me home after the healer stitches my wounds. I’m afraid I’ll have to impose on your hospitality until then.”

  “I welcome you to make yourself comfortable in my home,” the Trilord said graciously, either overcoming his irritation or hiding it better. He settled onto the other divan and picked up a hookah.

  Quintin nearly groaned aloud. His arm throbbed with every beat of his heart, and his emotions felt scraped raw by his brush with death. The last thing he wanted was a cozy chat with Em’s father.

  “Has a healer been sent for?” Lord Harold asked as he cupped his hands around the glass base of the hookah.

  “Your daughter took care of it.” Quintin rubbed his waccat’s back, taking comfort from the great cat. If only he could pretend Lord Harold was nothing more than a man he was auditing who he now had to impose upon. “I expect my friend to arrive first, since he was also in the jungle hunting the bogbear.”

  “Is that why you were on my lands?”

  The leather cushion squeaked as Quintin shifted in his seat. Was the Trilord accusing him of trespassing? “Well, I’d given up the hunt and was trying to find my way home. Praise be to Marana for protecting my future and sending Lady Emmanuella to help me.”

  Lord Harold’s eyebrows lifted skeptically. “So you claim my daughter encountered you by chance?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You seem an honorable man.” Lord Harold took a pull on the hookah and blew out a puff of steam. “May I be blunt?”

  Say no, Elkart urged.

  Quintin buried his fingers in the waccat’s fur, tempted to follow Elkart’s advice, though it probably wouldn’t stop the Trilord from speaking his piece. Instead Quintin dipped his head in a nod. “Honesty is always valued by the Luminary, my lord.”

  Lord Harold tapped his fingers against the bowl of the hookah. “Whatever games you are playing with my daughter, I’d like them to stop.”

  Quintin’s body froze, though his heart raced. What had the Trilord discovered? “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said carefully.

  “From the first day, you eyed her like a treat to be gobbled up, which was bad enough.” Lord Harold sighed. “I let it go. I figured it was no bad thing to have the tax collector enamored of my daughter as long as he kept his hands to himself. But you haven’t kept your hands to yourself, have you?”

  Quintin licked his lips. “I won’t deny your daughter is a lovely woman—”

  “Do you take me for a fool?” Lord Harold’s hand slapped against the leather seat. “She neglected her duties to meet with you in the jungle.”

  “You mistake the situation, sir,” Quintin protested, his pulse rising in agitation. “It was sheer good fortune she found me when she did.”

  “And did I mistake what I saw here?” The Trilord’s voice dripped with scorn. “She was crawling all over you in a public room, where anyone could have walked in. If you are going to dally with my daughter, at least have the decency not to do it in my own house!”

  A low growl rumbled in Elkart’s throat. No yell at you! I bite?

  “Peace, Elkart.” Quintin pressed his palm against the top of the waccat’s head, trying to soothe them both with the gesture.

  Lord Harold leaned back and took a drag off the hookah. “I apologize for my outburst. I’m very worried about her.”

  “We were not touching,” Quintin pointed out, struggling to keep his tone calm. Guilt gnawed at him. If the Trilord had arrived a moment later, he would not be able to make such a claim.

  Lord Harold’s expression was flat and humorless as he blew out a stream of scented fog. “I ask you again to not take me for a fool.”

  Quintin toyed with the loose end of the bandage near his wrist. By Marana’s tears, his arm hurt. “The bogbear attack was terrifying. Dangerous. Peril can stir the blood, the passions.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Lord Harold waved the end of the hookah. “Emmie is going to turn eighteen with the new year, entering her third cycle, and the full flower of womanhood. It will be an auspicious year for her to wed, but she won’t consider our eligible guests this week if she’s pining for an injured Hand. While heroics are all well and good, my daughter needs a husband who can provide for a Lady.”

  “Your daughter knows what makes a good suitor.” Quintin winced at his loose tongue. Em’s father did not need to know she only dallied with ineligible men. Grieving anew for impossible dreams, Quintin sighed. “She would never contemplate marrying me.”

  “She’s never contemplated anyone else either.” The Trilord took a drag on the hookah, steam curling from his mouth as he spoke. “My Emmie has always had a fascination with Hands. It’s a pity the Reeve is already married.”

  Though Quintin wanted to gag at the thought of Em wedded and bedded by anyone else, if he loved her then he had to hope for her ultimate happiness. He struggled to match the Trilord’s blasé tone. “Perhaps she would have better luck finding an eligible Hand in the capital.”

  “An excellent idea. Important Hands always gather when the new trainees are presented to the Troika. Perhaps someone there will catch Emmie’s fancy. A Han-General or a prince, someone suitable for an alliance with a Lady of the Realm. Yes, a trip to the capitol will be a just the thing.” The Trilord nodded at Quintin. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

  “It is an honor to serve, my lord,” he answered by rote.

  Lady not go, Elkart protested. Lady stay here with you.

  Quintin’s heart wept, echoing his waccat’s sentiment. His high emotion threatened his fragile water control. He pressed a hand against the sling on his arm and contained his blood.

  “You’re a good sort, Han-Auditor.” Lord Harold offered the end of the hookah to Quintin.

  He waved it away, not trusting himself to speak. He wished the Trilord would leave him to suffer in peace.

  I scare him away?

  No, Elkart, we’re not chasing him out of his own receiving room. Quintin slumped against the waccat, grateful for his support, even with his temptingly i
mpossible suggestions.

  Lord Harold took a long pull on the pipe. “I’m sorry my daughter has put you in such a spot. Must be embarrassing to have a Lady fawning over you, with no hope for the future. You’ll be better off not seeing her again.”

  Quintin’s fingers clenched around his sling. The Trilord’s attitude reminded him of his eldest brother’s protestations that he and his mother would be so much happier and more comfortable living in Gramma’s cottage as he threw them off his lands. His brother had been correct, just as Lord Harold was now. Yet the truth of their words did not mask the contempt behind their hollow concern.

  Elkart rubbed his head against Quintin’s lap. Healer come soon?

  I hope so. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his blood in check.

  The sound of laughter in the hallway preceded Em’s return. She glided into the room with one hand on Terin’s elbow, her smiling face turned up to him.

  Quintin’s stomach lurched to see her looking so elegant and at ease with his charming friend. His wounds cracked and bled as his control slipped.

  Elkart’s tail lashed. Not funny.

  Lord Harold rose to his feet, his face grim. “You must be the Hand the auditor is expecting.”

  Terin dropped Em’s arm and bent in a low bow. “Han-Advocate Terin d’Outcounty at your service.”

  “You’ll excuse me for staying seated, Terin,” Quintin murmured woozily.

  Bells jangled as Em hurried to his side. She splashed pungent amber liquid into a chalice. “I brought you those promised spirits.”

  He tried to smile at her, though he was afraid it came off more like a grimace. His fingers were red and sticky as he pulled them away from the sling to accept the liqueur. “Did you fetch it yourself?”

  “All on my own,” she said with a hint of pride.

  “Brave Em,” he murmured. His hand shook as he sipped the potent liquid. It burned sliding down his throat but failed to warm him.

  Her hand flew to her lips. “Oh, Quintin, you’re bleeding again.”

  He peered down at his arm, lacking the focus to control his blood.

  A woman in a sari appeared next to Em. “Let me help.”

  “Ophelia.” He said her name like a prayer. “Thank Marana you’ve come.”

  Elkart jumped down from the divan and Ophelia settled into his place. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rested a hand above his injury.

  He sagged against her, grateful to relax his water gift and let her take over the complicated job of keeping his blood in check.

  He could hear Terin talking to Lord Harold and Em on the other side of the room. He watched them through his lashes, his eyelids too heavy to open properly. Terin’s teeth glinted in a charming smile as Em served him honey spirits. While neither Lady Emmanuella nor her father would find a landless advocate any more eligible than a mere auditor, Terin would not have any qualms about dallying with a Lady, especially one as beautiful as Em.

  Quintin closed his eyes, unable to watch his friend flirt with the woman he loved.

  Chapter 26

  Blue ribbons of predawn light framed the edges of Quintin’s door the next morning. His injured arm rested across his chest, pinning him on his back. Between the ache of his wounds and his spinning thoughts, he doubted he would get another moment of sleep. He lurched to his feet.

  Elkart raised his head off his paws. Too early.

  I can’t sleep. Quintin dumped some meat in a dish for the waccat. Usually when he awoke early, he ran through forms with his staff, calming his mind by working his body. With his injury, such exercise wasn’t possible.

  Feeling restless and irritated, he served himself a bowl of curry lefthanded. His cumbersome motions annoyed him further. He gripped the edge of the table and hung his head. What an ungrateful wretch he was to curse his injured arm when he was lucky to be alive. I’m going to visit Em’s temple before work.

  The waccat stretched, his mouth gaping wide in a yawn. Hope to see lady thief?

  She probably won’t be there. Quintin put their dishes on a tray and managed to pick it up with just one hand.

  Grumbling, Elkart rose to his feet to amble outside. Why visit if Lady not there?

  I want to show my appreciation for her bravery yesterday. Em would like a gift for her temple more than anything for herself, which was good since he owned precious little fit to impress a Lady. Besides, there was something about Aerynet that didn’t add up. He wanted to visit it in person to see how it fared.

  Quintin was attempting to wash his dish one-handed when his mother awoke.

  “I’ll clean up,” she offered, taking the bowl from him. “I could have warmed something up for you, too.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  She tutted at him as she dunked his bowl in the bucket. “What will you do today? Should I stay home from market?”

  “I’m going in to work since I’m behind from yesterday.”

  She frowned at his sling. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure the Bursar is annoyed with me for skipping work. I’m not going to ask for special treatment today.”

  “Well, take a long aestivation, at least. Maybe sleep a little.”

  “Yes, Mother.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading to Trimble.

  Quintin rested a hand on the head of the great cat at his side, comforted by his warmth. Elkart pressed closer than usual. Quintin had the feeling his waccat would never let him out of his sight again.

  The early morning streets were sparsely populated, making for a quiet walk. The solitude refreshed Quintin, giving him new energy as he roamed the riverfront in search of Aerynet.

  Tucked between towering warehouses, the tiny temple was a relic of a bygone era when the spiritual needs of the people were served by intimate community shrines. Now most pilgrims seeking Fermena’s wisdom visited a larger sanctuary in the fashionable Temple district on the other side of the market.

  Small. Elkart’s muzzle wrinkled. And stinky.

  I think it looks cozy. Perched on top of pilings, the whitewashed cone reminded Quintin of a dove brooding on a nest. Audible over the drone of the river, colorful parrots cackled and cawed from the branches of a yarumo tree sprouting from the tip of the cone. The riverfront always stinks.

  Elkart chuffed. Smells extra bad.

  The flock of birds probably added to the assault on the waccat’s sensitive nose. You can wait for me here, Quintin suggested.

  With wordless disagreement, Elkart loped up the staircase.

  Quintin stepped through the bead curtain and stooped to store his sandals under a bench beside the door. When he straightened, a woman dressed in a white sari that looked suspiciously like one of Em’s stood beside him.

  “May the blessings of Fermena blow through your life, honorable Hand.” The acolyte bent at the waist with her palms pressed together. “How may we serve you?”

  “Your patron, Lady Emmanuella, did me a great service yesterday.” He held out a cloth pouch, tied at the top with a colorful ribbon. “Please accept this small token of my gratitude.”

  “I’m sure our Lady was pleased to serve.” The acolyte held the pouch to her nose. She inhaled deeply, a smile lighting her face. “Kapok tea. This is a worthy gift. Lady Emmanuella will be honored.”

  “Your Lady spoke most fondly of this temple. I thought to visit since I have never been here, though I have always favored Fermena.” He stepped past the acolyte to peer around the conical room. The wooden planks of the floor chilled his feet, while birds cooed in the boughs of the tree. A feeling of peace settled over him as he stopped before the altar.

  A brown leaf drifted past a statue of Fermena, then down from the high table to the floor, where it joined a dozen or more other fallen leaves.

&nbs
p; Elkart sat at Quintin’s feet, his tail wrapped around his paws. Tree dying?

  I don’t know. Quintin frowned at the curling leaves, his sense of peace shaken by how little he knew. In a less than a week, the year of Fermena would begin, yet this sanctuary bore no signs of preparation or celebration.

  Elkart’s lips curled. Still smells bad.

  Quintin sniffed, disturbed by the faint odor of stale urine. The temple and its holy tree needed earthworking badly. The sole acolyte had disappeared, making the place feel deserted, neglected. He shivered. What was Em spending all her cacao on?

  Lady here! Elkart bounced to his feet, sending birds squawking.

  “Quintin?” Em emerged from a hidden hallway behind the tree. “What are you doing here? How is your arm?”

  Elkart nudged his head against her hip, leaving a sprinkling of brown hairs on her cream-colored kaftan.

  “Lady Em.” Quintin pressed his palms together and gave her a deep bow, his wounds twinging with the motion. He envied Elkart’s freedom to touch her. “Though my arm is better, it wasn’t allowing me to sleep past sunrise. I came to repay your service to me yesterday with a gift to your temple. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  She scratched the waccat’s pointed ears, then pushed his head away from her skirts. “I’m delivering the curassow I caught yesterday and spending a moment in peace here before the Merdale household wakes up.”

  “Was your gift well received?”

  “Oh, yes.” She beamed and took his arm. “Let me show you around a bit before I return to Merdale.”

  Bemused, Quintin watched her face as she enthused about the history of Aerynet. Her eyes danced, free of the tension and worry usually veiling her features. “You must love it here.”