Taxing Courtship

by Jaycee Jarvis

  “What did you do?”

  “I refused. What else could I do? I couldn’t betray Patricia after all she had done for my mother, though my father didn’t agree. My mother sequestered herself at Aerynet at the end, letting us all pretend she wasn’t dying. I think deep in his heart my father blames Patricia for my mother’s death, which is ludicrous. When I refused to get rid of her, he was furious.”

  She jerked her chin up, resentment surging through her. It never stayed buried long. “He said if I wasn’t going to listen to his advice, then he didn’t want me crying to him for handouts. And so I haven’t asked him for help, not ever again.”

  Quintin tugged at his ear. “He told you to fend for yourself? Inexcusable. A temple is too heavy a responsibility for one so young.”

  “I was twelve, fully grown in the eyes of the law, and my mother always wanted me to inherit. I’m glad the Novenary named me the next Lady a’Fermena in our line. Aerynet is truly my greatest source of joy, though I do wish Patricia had recovered more fully.”

  “How did she survive at all?”

  “By the grace of Fermena, obviously. I spent a day and a night in my temple praying for help.” Her legs had gone numb from kneeling on the steamroom floor as desperation and panic made it hard to push the prayers past her lips. Lucy kept vigil with her, proving herself to be more loyal and steadfast than Em’s own father. “And then Simon came, a gift from the Goddess.”

  Quintin’s eyes widened. “Your criminal contact is blessed by Fermena?”

  “I’ve always thought so. As we were praying, he arrived at Aerynet.” Simon had a habit of showing up at odd moments with gifts for his sister, though his help then proved far more valuable than a piece of honeycomb or a bent hairpin. “When he heard our plight, he offered to trade some valuables for cacao. I did sell some clothes and jewelry then, out of sheer desperation.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged, not sure if he was sorry for his earlier pique, or for the general state of her life. “I’m much happier earning my beans than begging for charity. I am beholden enough to my father as it is, for saris and such.” She waved at the remains of their meal.

  “I’m growing less fond of your father by the minute.”

  “I shouldn’t be so candid.” She bent to pick up the tray. “It is difficult not to be honest, since you already know the worst of my secrets.”

  “I’ve never had much use for dissembling.” Warmth flickered in his eyes. “I’m glad you can be honest with me.”

  Chapter 17

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur for Quintin as he tried to focus on mundane accounting tasks.

  Every time Lord Harold opened his mouth, Quintin’s hands twitched with the urge to yank the breath from the pompous fool’s throat rather than listen to him speak. If the Trilord had been able to put aside his grief long enough to help his daughter, then Lady Em would not have turned to lockpicking as a profession. Which meant Ophelia would not have hired her, and then Fredrick would not have caught them kissing.

  Better caught stealing? Elkart’s tail twitched. He lay on the floor at his Hand’s back, where he had dozed away the afternoon.

  No. Kissing is safer than stealing. Em was right about that, though their charade had led directly to their current dilemma. He suppressed a sigh. Despite the risks, he could not truly regret meeting Em.

  “My daughter will be here shortly to escort you out,” Lord Harold said as they concluded their tasks for the day.

  With a nod, Quintin mentally braced himself for the encounter. His feelings for her were as tangled as an apprentice’s quipu, though the effect she had on his body was as straightforward as it was alarming. Anxiety churned in his stomach, followed by annoyance.

  By Fermice’s Breath!

  He was a tax-collector on a routine audit. The task should barely engage his mind, not swamp his heart with unruly emotions. Thank Fermena Em would be away at temple the next day, giving him a reprieve from his inappropriate reactions.

  “Tomorrow I’ll want to inspect your lands,” he told the Trilord. “Perhaps Master Jonathan would be good enough to escort me.”

  “My daughter can show you around well enough.”

  Quintin paused in the act of wrapping a quipu around his hand. “Lady Emmanuella?”

  “As I’ve said, she will see to your needs during your audit.”

  Aghast at the suggestion, Quintin choked on a protest. Riding around in the forest with her for hours would be pure torture.

  She was utterly untouchable, he knew that. A lowly tax-collector did not go around mauling a Lady of the Realm. Even flirting with the daughter of the Lord he was auditing risked his position. But away from the prying eyes of her family it would be too easy to forget she was Lady Emmanuella. Over the course of a day alone together, he was sure to give in to the temptation of finding out if she still smelled like jasmine.

  “Lady Emmanuella is quite familiar with the homestead lands and surrounding forest,” Lord Harold said in a reassuring voice. “She won’t lead you astray, I assure you.”

  Quintin took a deep breath to clear his mind and focus on the most salient argument against Lady Em leading him anywhere. He had expected to be spared her distracting presence the next day because she was a Lady of Air, of Fermena to be exact. He frowned and unwound the quipu to check his memory. “She is Lady Emmanuella a’Fermena, is she not?”

  “She may be a Lady of the Realm,” Lord Harold agreed, “but she is very comfortable on her okapi.”

  “I’m not questioning her ability to ride. I do wonder what she will be doing at Merdale at all tomorrow, on Fermenasday of all days.”

  “She has a duty to you.” Lord Harold sniffed. “I will not have Merdale accused of dishonoring an agent of the Luminary.”

  “To be attended by such an esteemed personage is a far greater honor than a simple auditor has any right to expect.” Quintin pressed his hands together and bent at the waist, the bow awkward in his seated position. “I assure you, I will take no offense if your son escorts me tomorrow. A patron’s place is at her temple on its holy day. It would be passing strange to have her stay at Merdale for my sake.”

  A ruddy tone suffused the Trilord’s leathery cheeks, but he waved a negligent hand, as if the matter did not concern him in the slightest. “Very well. Master Jonathan will greet you in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” Quintin finished wrapping the quipu around his hand.

  Elkart raised his haunches and stretched his forelegs out in front of him. Trilord playing tricks?

  I’m not sure. While it was common for landowners to try to curry his favor by having an underling see to his needs during audits, Lord Harold’s insistence that his noble daughter attend him was unusual. The Trilord might be hiding something and want Quintin distracted, or he might truly see nothing wrong with Lady Em missing the holy day of her temple. Does he smell nervous?

  He smell like a deer in rut. On purpose. Elkart sneezed. Human noses very broken.

  Quintin hid a smile and tried to pay attention as Lord Harold described what to expect riding the land the next day.

  Lady Em appeared moments later.

  He struggled not to look at her, since the Trilord had yet to acknowledge her. Her presence pulled at him like a lodestone.

  “Do you have any more questions?” Lord Harold asked.

  “No, I expect the survey to go smoothly tomorrow.” Quintin stood and bowed.

  The Trilord returned his bow without rising and made a shooing motion at his daughter. “Show the auditor out.”

  Irritation flashed in her eyes before it was hidden by her bow. “It is an honor to serve.”

  Quintin’s fingers curled around the cord encasing his palm. Dried flowers in a vase on the desk rustled in the breeze he stirred,
but he harnessed his gift before it snatched the Trilord’s air.

  Em smiled a little too brightly. “Please come with me, good Han-Auditor.”

  Cursing his ridiculous reaction, he followed her from the room. He had plenty of experiencing dealing with arrogant nobles and knew better than to take offense at every little thing. In truth, Lord Harold was no worse than Quintin’s own half-brothers. Em’s perilous situation would unravel entirely if he didn’t get himself under control.

  In an effort to regain tranquility, Quintin inhaled slowly. The slightest hint of jasmine danced on the air, distracting him in a different way. Em’s sparkling sari emphasized the graceful curve of her back and the subtle sway of her hips. From behind she looked like any other gently bred woman, but he would never forget her easy humor when teaching him to pick locks or the ardor in her reckless kisses.

  Quintin felt like he should speak, though he had no idea how to talk to women under circumstances far less charged than these.

  The bells of her payal chimed with every step as they crossed a courtyard.

  When they reached the entryway, Lady Em turned and bowed low, one leg behind and her arms out to the sides. “Thank you for your work here this day. May the Luminary be pleased with your efforts.”

  He frowned. Her flowery language offended his sense of honesty. He loathed the hidden meanings and secret barbs behind every word and gesture of the nobles. Trying to puzzle it all out was liable to give him a headache.

  On the other hand, he didn’t want to be rude, so he dredged up long forgotten etiquette lessons. “Your hospitality has been without equal.”

  “It has been my pleasure to serve.”

  Quintin cleared his throat, unsure if the spark of warmth he saw in her eyes was real or wishful thinking. He pressed his palms together and bowed deeply, before exiting the Merdale estate with Elkart at his side.

  He rubbed his thumb against the rough threads wrapped around his hand. Should he take the quipu to Trimble tonight? Jardin was off the trade road between Merdale and Trimble, which meant he would have to walk nearly past his home on the way to the Tribute Office, adding more than an hour of travel to his evening.

  If this had been an ordinary homestead audit, he would head straight home without question. Unfortunately, nothing about this audit was ordinary.

  Should we go home or should we go to the Tribute Office? he asked his waccat. While he did not expect Elkart to have a satisfactory answer, the conversation might clarify his own thinking. At least he could trust his waccat to be honest.

  Elkart’s tail lashed in agitation. Go home. Eat dinner. Office boring, useless.

  Fredrick is probably waiting for us, hoping to gloat.

  Let him wait.

  Quintin stroked the strands of the quipu. I don’t want him to think I’m avoiding him, that I’m afraid of him.

  You not afraid. He wrong twice.

  Yet I am afraid. Quintin’s feet slowed to a stop in the middle of the trade road. Fear lurked under his sympathy for Em, his irritation with her father. Even his lingering distrust because of her deception held an edge of fear.

  Afraid of Fredrick? You Hand. He only weasel.

  I’m not afraid of Fredrick. There was only so much the Bursar could do to him without appealing to the Troika and exposing himself. I am afraid of what he has set in motion.

  Ever since Quintin had recognized Em in the Merdale vestibule, he had been stalked by the feeling something vital was lost or possibly gained. Somehow the foundations of his life had been altered, and deep in his heart he was terrified.

  ~ ~ ~

  The sun disappeared behind the canopy trees surrounding the Merdale manor as Em positioned two low tables for the evening meal. She moved them close enough to the fountain for the diners to enjoy a refreshing mist while being far enough away to hold a polite conversation over the noise of tinkling water. The delicate balance would only get more complex as more guests arrived.

  “Is supper ready?” Jonathan asked as he entered the courtyard.

  “Not quite. I’m not done arranging the place settings.”

  “You didn’t put me next to Gregory, did you?”

  “I hadn’t planned to. Why?”

  “He’s on a tear again, and I’d rather not have my appetite spoiled with lectures.”

  “What have you done this time?”

  Jon gave her a wounded look. “Why do you assume it’s my fault?”

  Em shrugged. “Because it usually is.”

  “Gregory’s in a snit about how much cacao I owe Curtis.”

  “I thought the bones were being good to you.”

  Jon waved a hand. “That was days ago. The bones are quite fickle, you know.”

  Em didn’t know, not firsthand, and was glad of it. Her life was precarious enough without adding a penchant for gambling to the mix.

  “Is Curtis here?” she asked. “Do I need to find a place for him at the table?”

  “No, I chased him off as soon as he collected his beans. He was saying the most outrageous things to Mistress Catherine.”

  “He says the most outrageous things to me all the time and you just laugh.”

  “It’s not the same. I’ve seen you practice knife fighting with the guards. You could eviscerate Curtis if you wanted. Catherine is different.” Jonathan pulled an iris out of an arrangement in a nearby urn. He twirled the stalk between his fingers. “She’s a shy and delicate flower. I don’t want Curtis making her uncomfortable.”

  Em plucked the flower out of Jon’s hand and returned it to the urn. “You’re sitting there,” she said shortly, pointing at a pillow at one end of the table. “Conveniently far from Gregory.”

  “Bless you, Em, for getting this all straightened out,” Isabel bustled into the room with her babe on one hip. She made a few adjustments to the seats while the rest of the family trickled in to the courtyard.

  Soon Em was seated on a pillow next to Lord Evan with her father across from her.

  Once everyone was served, Lord Harold leaned forward to address Em directly. “I wanted to let you know, Emmie, the auditor does not want you attending him tomorrow.”

  Em stilled, torn between relief and regret. “Did he say why?”

  “He gave me quite the lecture about how you should be at your temple on Fermenasday. As if a mere tax collector knows more than a Trilord about the duties of a patron.”

  “What nonsense,” Lord Evan exclaimed. “A well-run temple has no need of its patron’s attendance every week. The Novenary herself doesn’t live in the same town as most of her temples and she is a fine patron.”

  “Nevertheless, there is no need to antagonize the taxman.” Isabel pushed her plate out of the baby’s reach. “I have enough to do without a triad of inquisitors underfoot while we prepare for the Allgoday festival.”

  “You are quite correct, Isabel.” Lord Harold picked up his goblet and gestured at Em. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to go to Trimble tomorrow.”

  “I am delighted to be at Aerynet tomorrow,” Em said, with a genuine smile. “It is what I wished all along.”

  Lord Evan patted her hand. “I’m sure your temple is very nice, and your devotion to it does you credit. But it is only a minor temple. Not a nobleman himself, the taxman has no comprehension of the scope of your duties or how your time is best spent.”

  Lord Harold laughed. “You have the right of it, Evan. If I visited each of my temples on their holy days, I would spend a third of my time in prayer, and my temples are much larger and more influential than Emmie’s little air shrine.”

  Her chin tilted up. “Aerynet may be small, but it does important work.”

  “I’m sure it does. It just doesn’t need you there to do it.” Her father tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. �
�You are old enough to do something more meaningful with your life.”

  Em took a sip of wine, swallowing the urge to argue in front of their guests.

  Mistress Catherine cleared her throat. “Maybe we can all go to Trimble tomorrow. I would like to see if the Verisian fabric vendor stayed in town.”

  Jonathan leaned forward with a grin. “Trimble offers a number of delights.”

  “Which you will have to miss.” Lord Harold pointed at Jonathan with a gnawed curassow leg. “The Han-Auditor requested your escort specifically.”

  “What?” Jonathan gaped. “This is outrageous. I’m stuck squiring the little twerp around because Em doesn’t know how to flirt properly?”

  Isabel’s shoulders moved in a languid shrug. “Maybe the auditor prefers the company of men. Perhaps Jonathan will be the one who needs to practice his flirting.”

  Em snorted at the ridiculous suggestion. “The Han-Auditor does not prefer men.”

  Isabel cocked her head. “How would you know?”

  Em twisted her ring. Heat coiled in her belly at the memory of his kisses and the passion they shared mind-to-mind. “He called me lovely,” she said quietly.

  Gregory swirled the wine in his goblet. “From the gossip in the servants’ quarters, his flattery was probably to cover his embarrassment after you tossed the welcoming tray on the floor.”

  “You threw the tray at him?” Jon rolled his eyes. “Taric’s balls, no wonder he doesn’t want you to greet him tomorrow.”

  “Language, Jonathan!” Isabel scolded.

  Jon’s gaze darted to Mistress Catherine as he muttered an apology.