Dancing on the Block Page 5

  “You just try touching me! I have friends!”

  “Would you care to enlighten me as to which friends, exactly, you have? I would be more than happy to have a discussion with them about everything that happened here.”

  Matteo gritted his teeth silently. In response, Artanna just sighed and shook her head.

  “The gods know I wanted to just have a talk with you. Screw you with a pepper, Matteo. Why do you have to be such a moron?”

  The Hundred leader dropped his pants and clucked her tongue.

  “You managed to knock that poor girl up with this thing?” she laughed. “Actually, it’s better this way. The ladies won’t have anything to miss.”

  She laid her dagger blade against his scrotum before looking back up at his face.

  “Your last chance, my dear. Next is me stuffing these sad sacks down your gullet.”

  “Chironi!” Matteo screeched so loud it was almost as if Artanna had actually gone to work with her knife. “Chironi said I could!”

  “Which Chironi?” the mercenary asked, her blade staying right where it was.

  “The older one! The older one! Take that knife away, by the gods!”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know! I swear by the Keeper, I don’t know,” Matteo howled. “I just mentioned that I wanted that girl, and he said I could have her. He said there wouldn’t be any problems. That’s all I know! You have to believe me!”

  “What a shame,” Artanna sighed. “Fester, my sweet, turn this little place into somewhere Arzimat might live.”

  “What’s that, Commander?”

  “Burn it to the ground.”

  “Oh, I can do that.” He smiled mockingly from ear to ear and started pulling burning sticks out of the fire.

  Artanna leaned over to whisper directly into Matteo’s ear.

  “You knew what the consequences would be. I take care of the people who help the Hundred, take responsibility for what happens to them. Vazash was a good guy who looked out for more than the Hundred—and you killed him. Now I’m going to kill you, and if they catch me, I’ll pay the fine. Your family will absolutely find out what you did and live with the shame of that knowledge. Because nobody dares touch my friends.”

  Matteo moaned and shook his head. As soon as the fire took hold, Artanna carefully slit his throat before pulling the knives out of his palms and handing them to Fester. The flames were already licking their way down the hallway. The thick smoke made it hard to breathe—there was plenty of resin lying around the carpenter’s house.

  “Time to go,” Artanna said, stepping toward the door. She stopped so suddenly when she got there that Fester almost smacked right into her back.

  “That’s a problem, Commander,” he said thoughtfully.

  There was a battle going on in the alley right outside Vazash’s house. Two Brotherhood bodies were tucked neatly behind a small wall, while four more were taking on Vezzam and Hank. Fester jumped in right then; Daron was nowhere to be seen.

  Artanna recognized Piraf. One of Tanor’s squad leaders, he was a thin character wearing an odd-looking hat at a jaunty angle. The short sword with its tastelessly gilded hilt in his hand flashed as he attacked Vezzam.

  “Enough!” barked the Vagran woman. The hirelings peered over at her dubiously. “Piraf, please, tell your men to back off.”

  The squad leader gestured to his fighters to stand down.

  “Hey there, cutie.” A crooked smile bared his few remaining teeth. “What are you doing cutting up my people?”

  Artanna stepped over to him, sheathing her sword as she went.

  “Let’s talk. First, tell me why your people came after the family living here.”

  “I have no idea,” Piraf replied with a shrug. He nodded at one of his fighters. “That one ran up and started yelling about how your people had attacked some of ours.”

  “And he didn’t tell you why?”

  “Nope.”

  Artanna snorted. “Well, he should have. Your boys broke into the house of one of my people, killed him, and violated his daughter. We had to step in.”

  The fire was starting to break through the small windows in the carpenter’s house.

  “Interesting,” Piraf said with a shake of his head. “Which of ours were there?”

  “Matteo brought four with him. The only one left alive, it looks like, is the one that got away, so you’ll have to ask him what their names were. But that’s not what worries me.” Artanna threw a dark look at Piraf. “Tanor and I agreed not to touch each other’s people, and here you are going to town on them. If you’d be so kind, tell the Chironis that if they try something like that again, I’ll break every bone in their body. And if Tanor has anything to say about what happened here today, have him say it at the town hall in the signors’ court. I’ll be happy to admit to the truth and pay the fine.”

  Piraf grabbed the kid by the lapels.

  “Is that what happened? Out with it, you fool!”

  “Y-yes…”

  The squad leader reared back and slammed his fist into the fighter’s jaw. The latter collapsed to his knees and crawled away.

  “Let me apologize on behalf of Tanor. Is there anyone left in the family?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll pay them. We can’t bring their breadwinner back, but that will at least be something. And I’ll let Tanor know personally.”

  “Excellent.” Artanna gestured for her people to put away their weapons. “And now, if we’re all good here, we’re going to head out. And you should…”

  She paused when she saw Piraf’s eyes widen. Spinning around, she barely had time to jump away from Daron as he dashed by her.

  “What got into you?”

  “Careful, Commander!” yelped the Green as he pushed her to the side. “Arrows!”

  Piraf turned around in confusion. Artanna jerked her head up and saw an archer on the roof wearing a Brotherhood patch. But when the Brotherhood squad leader took a step to his right, the archer adjusted his aim.

  He wasn’t shooting at her.

  “Get down!” the mercenary woman yelled, leaping toward the squad leader.

  “What?”

  A bowstring twanged. Artanna hurled herself through the air, knocking Piraf off his feet. His rakish hat flew off and landed in the dirt. A second later, something burned its way through Artanna’s rear end, a sharp pain lanced up her body, and she let out a scream. Piraf looked at her agonized face.

  “Who’d you rub the wrong way in the Brotherhood, my man?” she mumbled quietly. “Not the Chironis, by any chance?”

  Somebody’s strong arms grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. Her butt burned.

  “He’s gone,” Vezzam said darkly with an unpleasant look at Piraf. “And we won’t catch him on the roofs. I swear, though, he was wearing a Brotherhood patch.”

  Piraf got up and glanced over at the arrow jutting out of Artanna’s rear end.

  “It looks like I owe you,” he grunted. “I’m going to have to pay you back for that.”

  “Stay alive, first,” she wheezed. “Let’s get out of here. Daron!”

  “Yes, Commander?”

  “You’re fired, damn it!”

  Chapter 4. Missolen

  Idiot! I’m trying to save her!

  Demos Devaton, the imperial treasurer, dropped his feather pen, let some hair down to cover the scorched side of his face, and stared at his guest. The woman’s head was topped with a conical headpiece, the height of which spoke to her status as a baroness.

  “If I were in your shoes, I would immediately agree to the offer my house is making,” Demos said out loud. He gave the woman an appraising gaze. “My brother has good taste, though I can’t say the same of his brains. Your wisdom, on the other hand, I have every confidence in. Give me a yes, Lady Lisetta.”

  “My husband…”

  “He’ll survive this, as will my brother’s wife. Everything is ready. When is the bastard showing up?”

  Lise
tta Tiare jerked when she heard the rough, if accurate phrase.

  “At the beginning of the fall.”

  “In that case, you should spend the entire summer far from here. The baron is already in agreement.” Demos flashed his pointy teeth into a smile. It ended up crooked as always—some muscles in his face still hadn’t recovered. “You’ll head off for a cloister and stay there with the Keeper’s servants until the child is born and you’ve regained your strength, at which point you’ll return to the palace and keep everything a secret.”

  His even tone seemed to do more to agitate the baroness than his disfigured face. Her eyes dropping to the floor, and she asked a subdued question.

  “What will happen to the baby? What kind of future will it have?”

  Demos shrugged.

  “It’ll stay in the cloister until it turns seven. The superior has already been given a generous gift. If it’s a girl, she’ll serve the Keeper in Ulfiss or Berk. If the Keeper gives us a boy, the bastard will be turned over to the Order, for example, in Laklan or even Mirvir.”

  “Oh, god, Mirvir? But that’s in Highligland…”

  “The farther, the better for everyone,” Demos replied drily. “Help us keep this scandal under wraps, and I promise we’ll take care of the kid.”

  “But the church? Is that really the only service you can find for the baby?”

  “The bastard is a blot on the reputation of the empire’s greatest house!” Demos’ outburst caused the woman to cower back in her chair, and he was forced to regain control of himself. He cut an unpleasant enough figure as it was. His brother’s escapades were getting more dangerous every time, and Demos had less and less time to fix the problems they caused. “You should thank the Keeper for allowing the bastard to live.”

  The baroness’ face hardened slightly before she could get a grip on her emotions. Demos appreciated the young woman’s composure.

  “You have my agreement. Will we be permitted to see each other? Will the child know who its parents are?”

  Devaton shook his head.

  “With time, the kid will realize that its parents are high-ranking people, and we’ll see what happens them. Start preparing for the trip. My people will escort you to the cloister and make sure you have everything you need. Remember, everything will be okay so long as you don’t say a word.”

  “I understand. Goodbye, Your Grace.” Lisetta Tiare got up from the chair and bowed slightly. “Thank you for your help.”

  She even thanked me. Well, fine, so long as the issue is resolved.

  Demos opened his ledger once more, losing interest in the conversation. His back, knees, and even elbows ached after landing poorly that night when the imperial office burned to the ground along with the emperor’s last will and testament. He’d been forced to save himself by jumping out the window. And ever since the tragedy, he’d had to keep a stiff upper lip in order to make sure the court officials didn’t suspect anything. Allantain, also, hadn’t shown up a single time in the intervening period.

  Probably biding his time, the old bastard.

  Skirts swishing, the baroness made her way toward the door, though she squeaked in surprise when it flew open. An out-of-breath secretary flew in.

  “Your Grace!” he said with a hurried bow. “The chancellor summoned you. There’s urgent news!”

  Speak of the devil.

  Demos put his quill pen down again.

  “What is it this time?”

  The secretary glanced at the woman hesitantly. She nodded understandingly and stepped out of the room, leaving the secretary to close the door tightly behind her.

  “Well?” The treasurer was losing his patience.

  “The dowager empress… Lady Izara… She’s gone!”

  ***

  “Duke of Belter and High Treasurer for His Imperial Highness Demos of House Devaton!” the herald announced, and a deathly silence blanketed the reception hall for a few moments.

  Demos caught the looks fixed on him. His job as treasurer meant he was constantly in the palace, though it certainly did nothing to force a social life on him. Still, he understood why everyone was so interested in him right then.

  Look, the Burned Lord himself is out for a stroll. I wonder if they’re imagining how the crown would look on my head or how my head would look on a pike.

  Demos lazily looked around the once again animated reception hall. The large, well-lit space with its two marble arcades along the sides was packed with people. Noting where the chancellor’s servants were, Demos worked his way through the crowd accompanied by his usual Ennian bodyguards. This time, he had a man and a woman, their faces covered by colorful silk scarves that revealed nothing besides their dark and narrow eyes. The pair cleared a path forward for the treasurer, their job made easier by the fact that the nobility treated him as though he were a leper. Demos could taste the anxiety that hung lightly in the air.

  Have these idiots already found something out about Izara? Doubtful. Or could somebody have said something?

  In the five years Demos had served the empire in the capital, he’d seen it all. Almost—he’d never heard of an empress disappearing from her chambers without a trace.

  Why would Her Grace have left the palace without saying goodbye to her late husband? Well, unless she decided that the same people who destroyed the last will would want to get rid of her, too. But could she have known about that?

  The bodyguards stopped. Allantain’s servant, dressed in black and red livery, came over to Demos.

  “Follow me, Your Grace. The chancellor is expecting you.”

  They left the crowded hall by way of a long corridor bathed in light from a dozen torches. Demos felt a pain shoot through his knee—an old injury, one he’d sustained in his youth, told him of an upcoming change in the weather. His head ached again.

  Finally, the servant stopped in front of a massive wooden door with flowers carved into it. He knocked several times, the sound echoing in the mourning silence that blanketed the imperial wing.

  “I know where to go,” Demos said quietly when the door cracked open. “Thanks.”

  Seeing Demos, the guards assigned to the empress’ quarters pulled themselves to attention and pulled the door wide. The Ennians stayed outside.

  Irving Allantain thoughtfully paced the luxuriously furnished room, a scrap of paper clutched in his shaking hands. Golden sunlight streamed down onto his bald, speckled head. Hearing the door creak open, the chancellor turned, and his colorless lips curled into a slim smile.

  “Hi, Demos. Come in.”

  Devaton nodded a greeting and stepped closer.

  “What’s that?” he asked, glancing at the piece of paper.

  “A letter from the empress. A farewell riddle, if you will. I wanted you to see it with your own eyes.”

  Demos took the page and read it with brows furrowed.

  “Written by Izara’s own hand,” he said slowly. “I intercepted her communications, so I recognize it.”

  “Read it!” the chancellor said impatiently. “Then, tell me what you think.”

  This doesn’t make sense at all. She says she decided to devote herself to the service of the Keeper in the wake of losing her husband, but that’s hard to believe—Izara was never all that devout. And why did she pick the god-forsaken cloister in Ulfiss? That place is a freezing cold pit, and her delicate constitution won’t last long in that kind of climate. She might be just trying to hide from us all. But why Ulfiss when there are safer places?

  Demos handed the letter back to the chancellor when he was done.

  “Izara’s up to something, that’s what I think. If I were in her shoes, I’d run back home to Targos. Definitely not to a cloister in the north of the empire.”

  “Exactly,” Allantain mumbled. “She at least has friends left in Targos. Queen Agala would have brought her sister in and kept her safe…”

  As long as the two still have a good relationship.

  Demos sank down onto a chair to mas
sage his aching leg.

  “Izara says she decided to become a sister for the Keeper. Noble widows often find solace in the service of god, since that can actually offer them more freedom. But why Ulfiss?”

  Irving shrugged his decrepit shoulders.

  “Figure it out. Despite your peaceful work as treasurer, I’m well aware that you have the necessary means to…uncover the truth, let’s say.”

  That was diplomatic.

  Demos nodded unwillingly.

  “I’ll use them if needed.”

  “Do what you have to do, but find Izara and bring her to Missolen. And do it quickly.”

  Irving turned around, making it clear that the conversation was over. Devaton left the old man alone with the letter.

  The Ennians hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time he’d be talking with the chancellor.

  “Follow me,” Demos said as he hobbled off down the corridor. “Ihraz, send news to Master Archella. I need his people to check into something.”

  I’d bet my life all these threads are connected somehow.

  Chapter 5. The free city Givoi

  “Damn it, Rianos! Stop that crap and just get the damn arrow out of me!”

  The light-haired southerner with the slave’s brand on his cheek shook his enormous pincers at the mercenary.

  “Stop moving, Artanna.”

  “The arrowhead is smooth—it could have been worse.”

  “It would have been better if you hadn’t jumped in there,” Baby Shrain said in her ear. “Took an arrow, and for an enemy, no less. Use your head!”

  Artanna grimaced in pain.

  “Piraf is no enemy. And believe me, we’ll be talking about what happened. In the meantime, my dears, shut up and just…get…that…thing…out of me!”

  Shrain and Vezzam had asked to visit her in the infirmary for some reason even though Reanos was perfectly capable of getting by on his own. Anyway, the Hundred leader understood why her Second and Third were worried, and their awkward concern was touching. But she still would have preferred being alone with the healer—she didn’t like showing weakness. Artanna also knew Shrain would read her the riot act, while Vezzam would sit there dramatic and silent as though his world was falling apart, his hopes and dreams coming crashing down all around him. That was the face he’d been born with.