“Can’t argue with your caution, even if it is uncharacteristic coming from you.”
Cyriana watched two men enter through a doorway and saunter toward the counter where Aridon busied himself sorting bottles. “I promised I’d play this game smart. Sailing on a hope and prayer won’t get me through our scheme unscathed.”
“Who would’ve thought you’d do this much maturing in so short a time? Why, I’d almost be willing to call you an adult.”
Cyriana rolled her eyes and swallowed a mouthful of ale.
“I hope whatever place I find that suits your requests still has vacancy,” noted Maylene. “I’ll wager all the inns reach capacity during the festival days.”
“Yeah, I probably should’ve mentioned this earlier. If there aren’t any rooms, then pull the proprietor aside and outbid the other guests without their knowledge. The owner can pocket extra coins and just claim overbooking. Easy solution.”
“Don’t think we’ll have problems. I’m a persuasive gal.”
Creaking boards drew her attention to the staircase in time to glimpse Desin descend into view. He stopped at its base, tousled dark hair and surveyed the room until his eyes settled on Cyriana. Hasty strides brought him to her table without delay.
“Afternoon, Desin,” she said through a mouthful of cheese. “Care for a plate?”
“I want more.”
“Sorry. I ate the rest.”
“Not that. I mean I want to be doing more.”
“You’re doing plenty. Remember when you brought me more booze the other day? No matter how much I wished for it, my mug wasn’t going to refill itself.”
“No jokes. Give me a chore. I can handle it.”
Cyriana belched and sucked chicken morsels from her teeth. “Where’s this coming from?”
“I haven’t done shit for weeks. You keep me waiting here with both thumbs shoved up my arse. Now that we all have traveling papers I’ve had nothing to do.”
“Then I overestimated how much we’d need a sleight of hand guru. Thought it’d be a common necessity leading to our heist. Still no cause for all this whining. You’re being paid to lounge in a quaint inn. I can think of several apathetic blokes who’d kill for the chance. I haven’t had Baskaran doing much either since strangers stopped trying to murder us, except I don’t hear him grousing.”
“You brought him to be a bodyguard,” Desin countered. “They spend days with nothing to do. But I was supposed to be in on this like all the others. Look how much Maylene and Thorkell do for you.”
“Don’t drag me into this spat,” Maylene grumbled.
“She and Thorkell have more varied talents than tugging packages from other chaps’ pantaloons,” Cyriana explained. “Learn to impersonate a wealthy aristocrat and we’ll talk.”
“I know I can’t do none of that, but I can still help if you’d damn well let me.”
“This isn’t a conversation I much feel like having at the moment. I’ll holler when you’re needed.”
Desin balled his hand into a fist and whacked it against the table’s surface, rattling plates and knocking a bone to the floor. “Why can’t you just admit I’m being treated like shit?”
“You’re acting petulant.”
“What—?”
“It means you’re being childish.” Cyriana lifted her boots off a neighboring chair and thumped them onto unclean floorboards. “I’ll ask you to do something when I have a use for your skillset. Not before. I can’t help it if you’re feeling slighted or bored or whatever the hell this is. And I won’t permit unnecessary tasks so you can feel more included. Go get drunk in a tavern if you can’t stand being cramped in here with us. I know you’ve done that enough already.”
“Might as well if you don’t want me doing nothing else.”
“You’ve had a free ride. Learn to appreciate it.” Cyriana narrowed her weary eyes. “You can leave if you insist on sulking.”
Desin looked eager to utter further inane complaints but evidently thought better of it and took the blatant hint, departing without another word. One palm smacked the inn’s door open and Cyriana watched him trudge down the dirt pathway until gusting wind hurled the entry shut.
She rubbed her brow and faced Maylene wearing an exasperated expression. “Gods I miss Aelina. Why’d the brat have to travel north? She’d know better than to run her mouth over asinine quibbles. Take a mental note, Maylene. No more working with pickpockets unless it’s her.”
“Or not at all. I can do what they do. Bunch of arrogant finger thieves.”
“An even more appealing thought. Pickpockets are henceforth barred from our crew.”
Maylene crossed one leg atop the other and lounged backward on her chair, eyeing the entryway. “I hope the kid doesn’t do something stupid.”
“Like go turncoat on us and run his mouth? I’m confident money will purchase his everlasting silence. And there’s always the fact we promised to kill anyone who betrayed us.”
“No we didn’t.”
“Damn it. I’m getting my exploits jumbled. I threatened a nitwit’s life during another heist I pulled. Doesn’t matter. I’m certain his truncated mind still appreciates the risks. How else should we respond to betrayal?”
“I wouldn’t do anything different.”
Cyriana cocked her head to one side. “Did you have a fun time with Thorkell shopping for that swanky jacket?”
“I’ll be in our room.”
She shifted her eyes toward the counter, glimpsing one man reaching a gaunt hand into his jacket. Something about the gesture triggered a warning in her mind. It was purposeful, lacking the casual motion that accompanied most benign movements. Cyriana grasped Maylene’s wrist as the woman started to stand. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
Cyriana flicked one finger sideward, prompting Maylene to turn as the scrawny man closed fingers around leather and removed a dagger. Iron likewise appeared in his companion’s beefy hand while he staggered upright from the stool.
The slender felon clanked his pommel against a wooden surface, earning the startled attention of Aridon and Jenian. “All the coins you got on the counter! Or we start cutting.”
“I wondered when something similar might finally happen,” Cyriana whispered.
“Surprised it took this long,” responded Maylene. “Given what they said about frequent robberies here.”
“Do you think those goons even realize we’re sitting across the room?”
“I’m not certain they think at all.”
She faced Maylene and grinned. “Feel like beating the crap out of some churlish strangers?”
“Gods yes.” Maylene closed eager hands into fists and climbed to her feet without eliciting noise. “I’ll take the fat one.”
Cyriana sidled over straw sprinkling the dining hall, sighting the frightened proprietors shaking and struggling to follow instructions. Neither seemed to notice the approaching women.
“Hey, tubby,” Maylene called.
A family of jiggling chins turned around as Maylene’s knuckles smashed into his globular nose. Liquids squirted from ruined cartilage and he shrieked, spreading wetness over his face with clawing hands. Unwilling to let him off with a mere warning, Maylene hammered a boot into his paunch and wrenched one forearm in a manner the limb was never meant to bend.
Meanwhile Cyriana stepped close and caught her foe’s spearing wrist in one hand, twisting the dagger to clatter harmlessly between his feet. A boot heel pounded into his knee as she cracked one fist beneath the man’s jawbone, snapping his head and its accompanying mop of shaggy hair backward. He collapsed trailing spittle from a gaping mouth, but Cyriana plucked greasy strands in one hand before he could reach the ground and pummeled his forehead into a wooden counter. The man rebounded with a hearty clunk and smacked onto a dirty floor.
Cyriana leaned close to the sprawled man as scarlet bubbles foamed beyond his lips. “This fine establishment is under our protection now.” A descending fist rende
red him insensate.
“Some tension has drained from me,” murmured Maylene. “Who needs massages when you can hit someone? Especially someone with so much padding.”
Jenian peeked over the counter and directed her wide eyes to Cyriana, who offered a wink in response. “Told you we discouraged thievery.”
*
9 Nashrenir
Maylene bit her lower lip and rubbed a tender wrist with fingers slicked in sweat. Stupid martial training and this insufferable need to spend most days in Starwatch hobnobbing with her adversaries. She tilted her head in a courteous nod to one galen when he passed on an intersecting pathway. Maylene paused as though an uncertain visitor struggling to remember which route to take, only faking some of the confusion she felt. Finally she noticed the proper statuary perched near a hedgerow blooming with flowers and walked closer. Kimiko sat quietly on a shaded bench with one leg crossed over the other and a book cradled in her hands.
She glanced up at Maylene’s arrival and flicked furtive eyes to either side, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Who are you today? Just so I don’t call you by the wrong name.”
“Kalyna.”
“Is this even smart, meeting here during the day?”
“I’ve already engaged in pointless chitchat with other students to allay suspicion. I’m a temporary guard being friendly and looking to get hired. No one will bat an eye.” Maylene passed a folded note to the girl. “Here.”
She took the envelope and slipped it within one pocket. “What is this?”
“Instructions. Things we expect you to do during the festival. And before you ask in an unintentionally insulting way, I had someone else scribe them for me.”
“I’ll read it over in my room.”
“Were you able to learn what I asked?”
Uncrossing her legs, Kimiko leaned forward on the bench and nodded. “Headmaster Chaereas will give his welcoming speech one hour after sundown on the solstice.”
“And he typically follows his routines without deviations?”
“He’s too obsessed with being punctual. It’s a matter of competence for him. Trust me, he’ll be standing ready to speak when bells toll from the harbor.”
“I love folks like him. You didn’t raise any suspicion asking questions?”
“Nope. The Headmaster wants us to be in attendance for his speech if we can. I barely even needed to ask.”
“What about my other request?”
Kimiko slanted back, resting one arm atop the bench. “Didn’t need to ask anyone at all. Every student knows Professor Vanrir despises celebrations. He’s never spent time at the festival in the five years I’ve been here.”
“What makes you certain he’ll be in the library rather than his study?”
“Third floor library is the quietest place. He goes there each year to escape the carousing.”
“His curmudgeon ways will make me a happy lady.”
A soft voice called from the lawn beyond, interrupting their conversation. “Kimiko?”
“Shit. Looks like our time’s done.” Maylene jabbed a finger toward Kimiko’s pocket. “Do precisely what’s written on that sheet. No deviations.”
“Kimiko?” A red haired girl moseyed around the hedgerow wearing a carefree smile. “There you are. Birnir said he remembered seeing you here.” She halted when her eyes settled on Maylene, abruptly unsure how to proceed. “Uh, sorry. Am I intruding?”
“Forgive me, young student,” Maylene said. “I don’t mean to bother you. Your friend was only giving me directions.”
“It’s no bother at all.”
Kimiko pointed toward one redbrick building trimmed in white paint. “You’ll find Lieutenant Sarin’s office in Whitehall. One of the doors in the first hallway. Sorry I can’t be more specific. I’m not in there often.”
“Nonsense. You’ve helped me greatly. Thanks for your time. It was nice meeting you, Learner Kimiko.”
“And you, Kalyna.”
Maylene nodded to the other girl and departed, rounding the shrubs as a professor strode past with eager children following. Stroking his gray beard with one hand, he delivered a history lecture about ancient monarchs and forgotten wars. She waited for the flock to tread past and continued onward, skirting a shallow reflecting pool encircled with marble blocks. The pathway led to an open gate monitored by sentries displaying impressive alertness considering the tedium of their assignment.
One smiled at Maylene’s approach. “Back again tomorrow?”
“First thing in the morning.”
“See you then.” He extended a buckskin glove banded in iron. “Have a good afternoon, Kalyna.”
For the life of her, Maylene could not remember this guard’s name. Something short and entirely forgetful most likely. She needed to start putting effort into caring. If only for the sake of her charade. “You too,” she replied, clasping his hand.
Maylene walked beneath a stone arch and followed smooth cobbles threading between myriad flora. Galens cultivated trees and plants beyond Starwatch’s walls, cared for with more love and doting attention than most children. Much to her chagrin, Maylene had recently learned that every species was valued for its herbal and medicinal properties. Bark from willow trees was used for pain relief, while thyme, cumin and dill grew in nearby rows. Cinchona trees flowered opposite the willows, though she had forgotten what benefit was derived from its bark or leaves. The entire conversation proved to be morbidly dull, and her head throbbed after listening to what seemed like an inconsequential oration.
Pristine lawns soon gave way to brick constructs and Maylene entered the city alongside carriages dragged behind docile horses. She turned down several avenues, perusing storefronts as though an average citizen on a pleasant stroll. One slanting roadway brought her to a quiet market where Thorkell awaited outside a bakery, munching on slices of dark pumpernickel loaf.
“How was practice?”
“Oh, shut it.” Maylene rolled her aching shoulder and grumbled. “I’d forgotten how much I hate swordplay. Give me a couple daggers and I’m a content woman.”
“I have something else for you instead.” He tossed her a bun made from sourdough rye and spiced with caraway fruit.
She snatched the bread and tore a chunk free. “You’ve no idea how famished I am.”
“Shall we find our reputable shop?”
“Lead on.”
Thorkell strode the boulevard, eyeing Maylene while she ate. “They giving you any fun assignments the next time you’re on duty?”
“I wish. In two days I have to stand guard in their frigging tree garden. Good practice, they tell me.” She swallowed a soggy lump and licked dry fruit from her teeth. “Apparently some arseholes try to sneak in and rip roots from the ground, hoping to earn coins selling their horde to apothecaries. I have to wander through the shrubbery making sure that doesn’t happen. If I’m lucky I might get to crack a few skulls. If I’m not, I anticipate a monotonous day I’d rather not partake in. Of course it can’t be much worse than enduring a lecture about all the plants I’ll be babysitting. Lofty galens insist their guards be informed.”
“A clever person might have chosen to surround their precious orchards with a wall, rather than erect one on the opposite side. You wouldn’t need to bother with guards in that scenario.”
“Thank you,” Maylene groaned. “I can’t tell you how much I wanted to point that out to the shriveled professor who bored me to tears. I don’t understand why you merrily volunteer for these intricate confidence games. I hate all this interaction with people I’m stealing from.”
“I enjoy besting an adversary to his face. I want the bloke to know afterward who outwitted him. I’m humble enough to admit it’s arrogance that compels me.”
“Isn’t that a contradiction?”
“Someone as talented as I am can be humble and arrogant in equal measure.”
“You have a seed lodged between your front teeth, oh talented one.”
“Damn it,” he r
eplied, extricating the obstruction with one probing fingernail.
Their afternoon saunter continued in silence through the city until her companion halted outside one shop facing a congested intersection. “Here we are,” Thorkell announced.
“Let’s get this over with.”
“My dear, you really ought to cultivate more appreciation for the finer things in life.”
“Moccasins are dirt cheap and practical for skulking. I don’t feel a particular desire for fancy footwear.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Everyone has a need for fancy footwear.”
He ambled through the entry ahead of Maylene, releasing an audible sigh of contentment once inside. She sniffed pungent air and scrunched her nose. “Smells like a farm.”
“All quality cobbler shops should.”
The proprietor glanced upward at the noise and tugged iron nails clenched between his lips. “Welcome, my friends. I’m here to serve.”
“I have a need for boots,” Thorkell said.
“Ah, no place finer to suit your wishes.” He scattered the nails atop his counter and fetched a blank wax tablet. “I have materials and designs catering to all manner of tastes. Do you have a particular style in mind?”
“Simple traveling boots made from varghol or calfskin. Whatever’s on hand that won’t require you to make a special order.”
“For a discerning gentleman such as yourself, I have oceanic speartooth varghol. Pricier than calfskin it’s true, but the quality is better. More durable and worth admiration from your peers.”
Maylene responded with a mental sigh. Such an obvious ploy to attract a more expensive sale. Not that Thorkell would care though. He only wore the finest fabrics on a regular basis, and today their shady benefactor was paying the cost of these duds.
“I’ve always fancied speartooth skin,” answered Thorkell. “That would be most satisfactory.”
The cobbler turned his beady, money grubbing stare toward Maylene. “And for you, ma’am? No reason why your husband should be the only one to make a purchase today.”
A hoarse cough vented from Thorkell’s throat. “We aren’t—”
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