by Queen, Nyna
“The GemRock Consortium?” Darken blinked in surprise. “Isn’t that the business started up by Old Prime Willem?”
“Indeed, it is.” Belaris nodded. “After Willem’s untimely death, his son, our revered Prime Gerald, took over the family business, and since the end of the war the jewelry trade has been flourishing, obviously.” He shrugged. “After the Peace Treaty was signed, Arcadia resumed its trade with Tharsis. The jewelry business isn’t the only sector which has been booming since, but it is definitely one that profited the most, which explains why the trust fund has done so well.”
“So Ferhus made a good investment,” Darken resumed. “He jumped in at a time when the company shares were still low because of the war. He made a good gamble and his investment was rewarded. Frankly, I don’t see anything odd about this yet.”
“Oh, that’s because there isn’t,” Belaris told him with infuriating calmness.
“Then what is?” Alex felt her impatience getting the better of her. So far, she had no clue where all of this was supposed to lead. Shareholders, funds, investments—these things meant nothing to her. A coin in her hand, that she understood. It bought her a piece of bread or a jug of milk. But investments and speculation were entirely uncharted waters for her.
“Ah.” Belaris raised a hand as if to say ‘wait for it’. “So far you’re absolutely right, but here comes the interesting part.”
About freaking time.
“On the very day before Governor Ferhus joined the GemRock Consortium and set up his trust fund, he made a payment of a quarter of a million dollars.”
Alex let out a little gasp. A quarter of a million! Just to imagine that much money!
Belaris gave her a knowing look. “Picanto, eh? At that time, the money should have gone straight into debt repayments, but it never landed with any of the creditors.”
“How come nobody ever complained about that?” Alex could hardly imagine nobody noticing a missing quarter of a million. That should have caused a riot among his creditors. Her stupid proprietor in the Bin had threatened to evict her when she was only ten bucks short on her rent!
“That’s because nobody knew.” Belaris fished out two pieces of paper from the inside of his jacket, unfolding them across the table side by side. “The payment doesn’t appear in any of Ferhus’ official documents or in the books at the Department of Taxes.” He pointed to the left paper. “I only found it in one of Ferhus’ personal accounts, in a folder that suggested it to be something else entirely. See? Here and here.” His hand indicated the other paper.
Darken let out a low whistle as he looked at the figures. There was something deeply predatory in the way he leaned toward Belaris.
“Who was the recipient of the payment?”
“Now we’re talking, bro.” Belaris grinned. “The money’s recipient was some run-of-the-mill company I’m sure I would never have heard of hadn’t I stumbled across its name incidentally only a few weeks ago in a different context.” He made a dramatic pause, making sure he had all their attention. “It’s the company behind the Bluetail Grand Theatre.”
Alex became so rigid her body protested. Wait just a minute! “Are we talking about the same Bluetail Grand Theatre? The Master’s crime joint?”
“The very same.” Belaris’ smile held a sleepy, knife-cutting edge. A true Forfeit’s smile. Alex felt the urge to move a little further away from him.
“You said you checked the Bluetail Grand, and it was clean!” Darken’s voice was sharp with disapproval.
“And I did, man,” Belaris growled. “As I said, all the audits were clean as a whistle. The auditor must’ve turned a blind eye to it. Fucking corruption!” A disgusted grimace contorted his dashing features. “As soon as I dug deeper into the rabbit hole, though, more and more dirt accumulated. According to my research, while some of the money paid by Ferhus actually went into new furniture for the theatre, the lion’s share of it went right up through the company line to the very top. And it isn’t the only payment that has gone that route, it seems. Someone’s been naughty, and that someone went through a lot of trouble to conceal the real company interrelations. It took me a while to worm my way through the mesh of holdings and straw men, yet, without boring you with all of the details, I can finally confirm this: the ultimate beneficiary of the money paid to the Bluetail Grand Theatre was none other than a certain Maria P. Carvalis.”
A long silence filled the room.
Alex clicked her tongue. “Well, blow me down.” So there really was a Maria, and apparently she was in this whole shit up to her eyeballs.
Josy stirred. She seemed a little reluctant to speak, but after Darken gave her an encouraging nod, she pushed a lock away from her forehead and said tentatively, “Just so I understand it correctly—a couple of years ago, Lord Ferhus spent a lot of money on the Bluetail Grand Theatre, the place the Master uses to recruit his minions, and where he probably recruited the men who tried to abduct Maxwell and me so Daddy would renounce his candidacy, right?”
Dry amusement filled Darken’s eyes. “Your parents didn’t mean for you to know all this, darling. How come you do?”
“I have ears,” his niece said simply. Then she blushed as she realized she’d just admitted to eavesdropping on their conversations. When nobody called her on it, she went on, “But the money really went to this Maria Carvalis, whom Governor Ferhus mentioned in the maze. The Maria who might be unsafe if we—I mean you—continue investigating.”
Darken inclined his head.
“At the same time, Lord Ferhus set up a trust fund for his granddaughters, which has grown very well since the war. And we suspect all of this to be somehow connected?”
“Oh, it certainly is connected.” Belaris’ mouth was smiling but his eyes were dead serious. “We just don’t know how yet.” All the seductive polish had worn off, and Alex could see the Servant of Death beneath all the winks and chat-up—and he was furious.
“We’ve been on the game too long to still believe in cute little coincidences. That’s some serious money Ferhus invested, so it stands to reason he expected it to pay off. The question is how? This Maria, she is the missing piece in this puzzle that will connect them all.”
Josy nodded. “Understood. So, who is she?”
If possible, Belaris’ gaze turned even darker. “That’s what I haven’t been able to find out yet,” he admitted, sounding none too pleased by the fact. “I tried to get access to the Consortium’s company files as a starting point, but it is the Prime’s business, so it’s all classified documents and restricted files. I’m still working on that.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Isn’t Carvalis a Tharsian name?” Josy wondered.
“It is,” Belaris confirmed. “Or, at least, of Tharsian origin. But that’s neither here nor there. Before the war, there was a lot of cross-border intermingling between Arcadians and Tharsians, so nowadays it’s not uncommon for Arcadians on this side of the border to carry that name. It still doesn’t answer the question how the governor is connected to this Maria, and why he would spend such an obscene amount of money on her.”
“A mistress, perhaps?” Darken mused aloud. “Or an illegitimate child?”
“I don’t believe that.” Alex slowly shook her head. “The other guy in the maze, he said ‘we’re all in this together’. It didn’t sound as if they were talking about a personal affair of the governor. And if this Maria really is the beneficiary behind the Bluetail Grand Theatre, she must be connected to the Master in some way. This has to be something bigger.”
“Well, whatever it is, it is eluding me so far,” Belaris said sourly. “I checked the name against every available trueborn register and database.” And he seemed to take it rather personally that they had failed him. “While there are, of course, some dozen women bearing that name, not a single one of them has any ties whatsoever to the Bluetail Grand Theatre, to the Ferhus family in general, or to the governor personally. Believe me, I was thorough. If there was any connect
ion, I would have found it.”
He hesitated. “Of course, if this Maria is a Tharsian, or if she is a halfborn, then she wouldn’t pop up in any of our registers…”
Darken rose smoothly and walked over to the window, looking into the late golden afternoon. When he turned back to them, his eyes matched the sun in its deep fiery glow.
“Luckily for us, I know a man who happens to know everybody’s darkest secrets.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ONE of Blayde’s bushy black eyebrows rose an inch above his shaded glasses when Darken entered the lobby of his tower hotel.
“Back again so soon, Forfeit?” He put a hand against his wide chest, grinning. “You’re crushing me.”
Not returning his smile, Darken stalked across the lobby’s elegant beige-and-brown marble floor with the cunning grace of a hunting predator and stopped in front of the counter. “I have a question, Blayde, and I won’t leave before I get an answer.”
“And what would that be about?” Blayde asked mildly, still smiling. “That you call on me at such a late hour.”
“Maria P. Carvalis.”
The smile slid from the Custodian’s face like oil from a bubble of water, and for the first time in all the years they had known each other, Darken saw Blayde turn pale behind his black sunglasses.
For a long second, they simply stared at each other, as if time itself was shocked by Darken’s audacious request, then the Custodian abruptly raised his head and bellowed for one of his employees.
A chair scraped over wooden floor in a room behind the counter, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps, and a young man in a receptionist’s uniform poked his startled face out of the back office. Blayde tapped the counter with one finger and left his station behind the reception desk without further explanation.
He turned to Darken. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”
Darken bowed slightly, indicating for him to lead the way.
They rode up one of the many all-glass elevators in silence. Darken stood with his hands folded behind his back, a picture of calm and control, while inwardly he was trying to curb the raging impatience that was burning though him like a wildfire.
He threw a covert glance at Blayde, but the Custodian had long since regained control over his features, his coal-dark face giving away less than a crag of granite.
But there had been a reaction, and that was the point. Blayde’s response to the mention of Maria Carvalis intrigued him. More, it worried him. Whatever it was that made the Custodian of the Pacified Zone flinch, it boded ill. It also meant they were on the right track. A track that might quickly turn into silt.
Darken had the distinct feeling that he was about to face a difficult conversation. Driving the custodian into a corner wasn’t exactly a wise move, but they were finally on to something and they needed answers. Quickly. With every passing day, the threat for his family grew. As it did for Alex.
Darken stifled a sigh.
Ah, Alex. Prickly-sweet Alex. No matter what he did, his thoughts always returned to the spider. She was like a wicked magnet, drawing all his attention.
Alex had wanted to accompany him to the Pacified Zone but, of course, that had been out of the question. According to their own carefully constructed story, the shaper woman who had been with him when he had taken refuge in the Custodian’s territory with his niece and nephew was dead, feeding the crows outside the border alongside the men who had made the second abduction attempt on the children.
Nevertheless, part of him fiercely wished he could have brought her along. Back to the place where she had given herself to him when he needed it most and unwittingly stolen something from him in return. Just the two of them, without people constantly barging in on them. Without a chance to slip away.
He wanted to finally sit her down and find out what was going on behind those icy blue eyes.
Of all the riddles he was trying to solve at the moment, she was by far the most frustrating—and the most delicious.
One moment she seemed as drawn to him as he was to her, yet in the next she would suddenly turn evasive, cold even, or she would throw insults at him and threaten to rip off his head—or something worse.
A tiny grin stole across Darken’s lips. Life with her would never be dull. It would be kiss or kill—only a two-letter difference, but such a tremendously different outcome.
No, it would never be boring between the two of them. But, ah, what a sweet, worthy challenge that would be.
Of course, he wasn’t the only man who enjoyed a good challenge. When Darken had taken Alex to the dance floor at the Summerball, he had known that he was playing a daring game—a dangerous game—but, ah, just to see the look on her face when he had asked her to dance: shock, surprise, outrage—and a flash of something else. Excitement? Desire? A bit of both perhaps?
It was the honey-sweet taste of the forbidden, the knowledge that you shouldn’t pursue this, but at the same time so full of excitement you couldn’t possibly pass up the chance.
When he had snatched her hand and dragged her out onto the dance floor, Darken had told himself he was doing it for the mission, to taunt Roukewood into a suitably possessive reaction. It had been true to some extent, but a piece of his heart was honest enough to admit he had done it mainly for selfish reasons.
He had wanted that dance. He had wanted, in front of all of those witnesses, and even if it was just for the briefest moment, to stake his claim on her. Had wanted everybody in that ballroom, including themselves, to acknowledge that undeniable attraction between them in a socially acceptable way.
Holding her in his arms when they danced had been the sweetest torture. Her feminine scent, the feeling of her increasing heartbeat, the flush of her cheeks, all of it had made him want to kiss her so badly it had almost driven all reason from his mind. When they left the floor, it was all he could do to walk away before his restraints snapped, not sure even the dampening bracelets would be able to stop him if he lost himself. He’d needed to cool off and let things take their course. Alex was right, Darken thought with a wry grimace, men were easy to predict. The look on Roukewood’s face as he had watched the spider in the cloister had been all he needed to see. It was the look of a man who needed to possess something beautiful and unique, to call it his own just to prove to the rest of them that he could.
Letting her go upstairs to meet the bastard had cost Darken every last bit of self-control. All he had wanted to do was to pull her back into the alcove and kiss her senseless. She had been aroused, too. The glazed look in her eyes had spoken louder than any words could have. But Darken hadn’t wanted to seduce her in the heat of the moment, hadn’t wanted to catch her off balance, so that’s why he’d stopped, although it had nearly killed him to let her go. And just imagining that sleek, polished bastard Roukewood ogling her, possibly touching her…
Blade softly cleared his throat, and Darken realized that his magic had leaked into his eyes, suffusing the elevator with a ruby glow. Clenching his fingers, he forced his emotions back into that dark, enclosed space deep inside him and jerked up the protective walls, a cage of will that was beginning to show more and more small cracks. The pressure was riding him again, growing stronger every day. He would need to kill soon. But that was a worry for later. Now he needed to focus. Dealing with the Custodian would demand all his skills if he intended to walk away from this place with the information they needed.
The elevator stopped with a soft bing, and a lilting female voice announced them to be on the fifth floor.
Darken followed Blayde through a glitterati cocktail bar filled with exuberant chatter, laughter and piano live music. Women in expensive cocktail dresses and men in dapper shirts were unsuccessfully pretending to be casual and carefree while they showed off their ritzy lifestyle and looked for someone to hook up for the night, trying to fill the emptiness of their wealthy existences with booze and sex and the promise of something that these things most likely weren’t going to deliv
er. If money had a smell, this place would have reeked of it.
Blade benevolently nodded at his customers as they made their way past the tightly stuffed tables, dropping a couple of words here, a joke there; an attentive host, interested in the needs and wants of his well-paying patrons.
Darken felt a great relief when they finally left the cocktail bar and stepped out onto the wrap-around balcony bathed in the golden glow of the many magic-fueled torches spread in even spaces along the walls. Out here, the summer evening was mellow and gentle. Twilight cloaked the world beyond the balcony in a mantel of quiet gloom, giving it that particular silence of transition that was reserved for the brief moment when day and night kissed.
It was the same balcony on which they had spoken only a couple of weeks ago, he tense to the point of breaking and yearning for a release that seemed out of reach. Ah, the irony of it. So much had changed since then, but at the same time, nothing had changed at all. He was still the desperate supplicant, Blayde still the mystery-shrouded host whose help he depended on, and he was still aching for the spider with the same fierce desperation as back then.
Blayde didn’t speak outright. Instead, he led them farther away from potential ears and eyes, his thick tangle of black dreadlocks swaying gently in time with his steps.
Darken didn’t push, knowing deep down that, if he did, he wouldn’t get anything out of the Custodian at all.
Eventually, Blayde stopped where the balcony was at its quietest. Here, it overlooked an untroubled silver lake in the park down below around which tiny glowworms in pastel colors blinked in the trees like natural fairy lights, and emperor dragonflies snacked on careless mosquitos floating above the water.
The Custodian turned slowly, his floor-length leather coat swishing softly with the movement. Caught half in light and half in darkness, he took Darken’s measure from behind his concealing sunglasses.