Jaeger glanced up from the redaction of his formal letters when the door to his office slammed shut. As Diel Dathirii’s personal steward and secretary, he sometimes stood outside to ensure unwelcome visitors never reached the Head of the Dathirii House. Diel had gone into the Lower City, however, and Jaeger had hoped to use the spare time to knock a few things off his long list of tasks. The brutal sound snapped his concentration, but as he noticed who had walked in, Jaeger’s stern reproach died on his lips, his mouth turning a little dry.

The door slammer was Diel himself. He stood at the entrance, panting, his fists clenched at his side. Wild strands of golden hair escaped his braids’ hold, crowning him, and his cheeks had a rosy colour. Either it was windy outside—nothing surprising there, for a city perched on a cliff and built ever-upward—or he had been running. The latter, Jaeger guessed. Diel’s short breath, fiery gaze, and grimace convinced his secretary something had happened. The longer Jaeger stared, the more he ached to kiss the smile back onto his lips. Diel pinched his nose, then let out a frustrated groan.

“How do such horrible people live with themselves? This is ridiculous!”

He threw his hands up with another angry cry, and Jaeger struggled to maintain his neutral expression. He wanted to stride to Diel, wrap his arms around him, and hold him until he simmered down. After a hundred years with him, however, Jaeger knew the other elf would go from silent, frustrated huffing to emptying his heart. The steward clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

“How can you stay so calm, Jaeger?” Diel paced forward, sharp movements punctuating his words. “He mocks our laws, our lifestyle, the core principles toward which I’m trying to push this city! He thinks he can bully us until we give in! He won’t stop at worming his way into financial control of half the Golden Table. I’m not going to let him piss on everything I love anymore. ‘Naive admonitions’? Listen to him, using words bigger than he is! Don’t you want to throw him out, too?”

Jaeger allowed a moment to slide by. Most of the time, Diel did not expect answers to his rants. When you offered him a chance to go on and he stopped, however, it meant his enquiry warranted a response. This one obviously did. Diel was staring at him, hoping Jaeger would share in his fury.

“Hard to say, milord,” he said. “I have my suspicions, but perhaps if you told me who we’re talking about …”

“Oh.” For a moment Diel seemed confused, then a smile curved his lips. He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I did it again, didn’t I? You’re so often by my side, silent and faithful, I imagine you witness everything.”

Jaeger wished he did, but if he followed Lord Dathirii to all his appointments, he would never get the paperwork done. Someone needed to keep track of schedules, organize the household, and write the official letters while Diel met with nobles and merchants. They formed an efficient team because they could rely on each other, trusting their counterpart to do their job.

“Then I apologize for not being present this time.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Jaeger frowned. He was not being silly. Something had upset Diel, and Jaeger hated when he missed an occasion to support him. Seeing Diel distressed sent tiny needles through his stomach. Jaeger went around his desk and put his hand on Diel’s upper arm. The other elf’s shoulders sagged as he relaxed.

“Tell me what happened, milord,” Jaeger said.

A mischievous smile curved Diel’s lips. “Only if you stop calling me that.”

“Milord?” Jaeger hadn’t needed to ask. They’d first had this argument a century ago, and it resurfaced every now and then, more as a joke than a real conflict. Despite Jaeger’s adamant insistence on proper titles, Diel always tried to make him stop. The discussion unfolded the same way every time, but Jaeger enjoyed the banter too much to give in. “I’m afraid I’ll have to live on without knowing, then, milord.”

Diel laughed, the clear and melodic sound music to Jaeger’s ears. It eased his worry, spreading a warm feeling inside him. The steward smiled, certain he had won again, until Diel surprised him by sliding his fingers across Jaeger’s cheek and into his dark hair. “You always go on about what’s proper and what’s not, but …” Diel pulled Jaeger closer, green eyes shining with amusement, and kissed him. The steward relaxed, enjoyed the slight spice of Diel’s cologne and the caress of fingers on his neck. “I’m not hearing any protests now.”

“I was unaware my kisses constituted an insult to your station, your family, or your person.” He kept his tone contrived, despite knowing that wasn’t Diel’s point at all. Horror flashed through his companion’s delicate features.

“Of course not! I didn’t mean—”

“Oh! Then I see no contradiction in my actions, milord.” Jaeger squared his shoulders and allowed a victorious smile to peek through his otherwise professional mask. “Besides, I enjoy the twitch in your eyebrows every time I use the proper title too much to let it go.”

Diel gave him a playful shove. “Damn you. You always win these arguments. And I need your help with this, so I have to tell you what happened.”

“I know.”

Jaeger clasped his hands behind his back, and Diel rewarded his little smirk with another push. The truth was, Lord Dathirii never worked alone. He had hired Jaeger before he became Head of the House, but even before the steward’s arrival, Diel had relied on his sister and cousins a lot. He was at the heart of a close-knit family where every member had a role to fulfill. The Dathirii elves formed one of the six founding merchant Houses of Isandor, and while most human Houses rose and fell through the decades, they had endured with substantial wealth and influence. They had all been playing the games, trades, and politics for longer than most nobles stayed alive—even the youngest Dathirii had almost twenty years of solid experience. They were a team, and if every elf was a different muscle in the body, then Jaeger was their nerves, transmitting the signal.

And what a signal it was.

Lord Diel Dathirii had inherited the mantle from his father and promptly broken from his conservative ways. It had taken a lot of arguing with other family members, immense passion and stubbornness, but he’d put an end to trade agreements exploiting labour in distant regions of the world—a staple of most of Isandor’s powerful families, even today—then developed new partnerships with local merchants. Their considerable wealth had stalled, but Diel preferred his money clean. It wasn’t rare for certain cousins—always the same—to complain that they could be at the top of the city’s hierarchy and own more than half the Golden Table without this nonsense. The rest of the family agreed it was better to have fewer seats if it meant resisting immoral practices, however. And so when Jaeger asked again who had ruined Diel’s afternoon, he was not surprised by the answer.

“Master Avenazar, from the Myrian Enclave.”

Jaeger’s stomach churned anyway. They had watched the Myrians get a foothold in this city with dread, knowing this confrontation would come. The Myrian Empire needed to go through Isandor to trade with most of the northeastern regions, and two years ago, they had sent Master Avenazar to establish an outpost on the outskirts of the city. The wizard had confirmed the Empire’s reputation: ruthless enemies, shrewd tacticians, unapologetic slavers. He’d concluded several substantial trade deals with major houses in Isandor, using the Empire’s wealth to rise as an important economic power. Lord Dathirii would only tolerate them so long before he provoked a trading war.

‘So long’ had lasted two years—a record for Diel.

Three sharp knocks at the door interrupted their conversation. Diel called for the newcomer to enter, and in walked Lord Kellian Dathirii. One of Diel’s cousins, Kellian had inherited the golden hair typical to the Dathirii family and kept it tied in a loose ponytail. He could barely claim two inches above five feet, but his muscular build and cat-like agility made sure no one mistook him for a harmless soldier. Most days he wore the Dathirii ceremonial armour, but this time only the sword hung by his side. It bore the family crest: a silver D on a green background. Kellian stopped after two strides, then stood straight and waited for permission to speak. Jaeger enjoyed his discipline and respect of etiquette—qualities sorely lacking in most others.

“You sent?” Kellian asked at a sign from Lord Dathirii.

“Drop everything you’re working on,” Diel answered.

Kellian’s lips became a thin line as he struggled with the order. “Milord, we’re just about to catch the thief who—”

“I don’t care about one robber, Kellian,” Diel said. “You tell me he’s been stealing for years, and yet we never really missed anything he took. Let him be. You’ll have more pressing concerns.”

That gave Kellian pause. His brown eyes settled on Lord Dathirii, then narrowed. As captain of their guard, he was well-acquainted with how Diel’s idealist impulses could stir trouble.

“Pressing concerns?” he repeated without hiding his accusatory undertone. “Can’t it be delayed long enough for my partner and me to catch this thief?”

Diel exchanged a quick glance with Jaeger. Kellian had been spending a lot of time with Detective Sora Sharpe over the last month, and they both agreed his interest in her had outgrown professional matters. Not that it moved very fast. They had worked together for a year now, and neither had pushed for the relationship to develop. Either Diel and Jaeger were mistaken, or Kellian preferred to take extra care with his heart—understandable, considering how long he’d needed to recover from his first wife’s death. Whichever it was, however, it would have to be postponed.

“I’m afraid it cannot wait,” Diel said. “He won’t, after the threats I made.”

“Who, Diel?”

“Master Avenazar.”

“You—” Kellian stopped, clacked his tongue, shook his head. “Of course you did.”

“Of course.” Diel’s tone had no trace of guilt or shame. He never apologized for standing up to wrong-doings, even if it put the whole family in danger. “He was torturing his apprentice.”

Jaeger imagined the scene without a problem. He had seen this same scenario happen time and again. Diel spotted an injustice, flushed red, then called the perpetrator out. It didn’t matter if he was jumping into the middle of dangerous business, unguarded and unprepared. He always interrupted. His name often sufficed as a shield, but he had been wounded in the past. Jaeger wouldn’t change that for all the gold in the world. Judging from Kellian’s annoyed frown, however, he might. The guard clacked his tongue again.

“Has anyone ever told you, Lord Dathirii, that you are this family’s greatest peril?”

Diel’s laughter once more filled the room. He put a hand over his heart in mock hurt, then met Kellian’s gaze with a confident smile. A strange light burned in Diel’s eyes, like a man about to jump down a high bridge, certain he would survive the fall. Despite his chirpy disposition, Lord Dathirii knew what he had just unleashed.

“Greatest peril? You do me a disservice, Kellian.” He leaned forward a little, grinning. “I’m its greatest challenge.”

Jaeger couldn’t tear his gaze away. Diel’s wild confidence when he threw himself at a trial entranced him. This was the man he loved. The one who laughed as he put his entire life on the line to defend others, the daring noble who relentlessly pushed back against horrible acts and damaging systems. Kellian grunted, but Jaeger noticed a hint of a smile on his square features. Diel must have seen it, too. He spread his arms with a chuckle, then settled his hands on his hips. He breathed out slowly, as if exhaling his desire to joke.

“I have no fear that everyone will be up to the task. Kellian, please brief your men on the new circumstances. We’ll build a list of potential targets to defend as soon as possible. Jaeger, we’ll need everything we know about the Myrian Enclave. Activities, members, allies—everything. See Garith about it. At this hour he shouldn’t be with a lady yet. I’ll contact the other families likely to lend us a hand. The Myrians might have an empire behind them, but if Isandor stands together, nothing can stop us.”

Lord Diel Dathirii inhaled, eyes closed and gathering his focus, then his gaze went from Kellian to Jaeger. Under the determination Jaeger loved hid a hint of fear. The steward doubted anyone else could see it, but it was there, in his expression and in the slight tension of his shoulders. Master Avenazar’s reputation described a violent and unpredictable man. Rumours said the wizard had brought down an entire block of houses in Myria before being sent here. Isandor’s trade wars most often resolved themselves through deals and bribes, but this one might turn into a bloody exception. Yet the more dangerous Avenazar was, the more necessary throwing him out became. Diel lifted his chin, perhaps following a similar train of thought.

“Gentlemen,” Diel Dathirii said, “it’s time to clean our city.”

 

✵

 

Jaeger knocked on Lord Garith Dathirii’s door with more than a little apprehension. Despite Diel’s belief that he wouldn’t have company at this hour of the day, Jaeger expected the young lord to answer half-clothed, his golden hair tumbling down his shoulders and back. Many instances of Garith opening in a hurry were followed by a woman’s voice asking, “Is it important?” or worse, “Should I dress?” It seemed to the steward that he was always interrupting one bout of lustful pleasure or another. There was no avoiding it, however, because Garith refused to keep a regular schedule. Sometimes he worked in the middle of the night, sometimes early afternoon. Yet at the end of the day, House Dathirii’s accounts were always up to date.

Long minutes passed as Jaeger waited at the door. He pressed his lips together, his dread increasing with every additional second. The more time Garith took to answer, the more likely it became that the young elf was putting clothes back on. As the handle turned, the steward offered one last prayer to the gods.

When Jaeger’s gaze fell upon the lord’s clean, wine-coloured outfit, sporting more buttons than he could’ve reasonably fastened since he’d knocked, he heaved a sigh of relief. Garith wore his round optics and had tied his hair into a half ponytail, both signs he had been working. Excellent. With his current attire, Jaeger was once more struck by the resemblance between Garith and Diel. They shared a similar build along with the wide green eyes, the luscious hair, and the pointed chin. Garith’s face was rounder, however, his nose smaller. And as charming as the ladies found the young lord’s half-smile, Jaeger preferred Diel’s honest grin and how it drew out the little crow’s feet at his eyes. He was, however, horribly biased when it came to Diel Dathirii.

“I’m sorry,” Garith said. “I was finishing a calculation. You need anything?”

“Indeed. Did you have company?”

Jaeger preferred to ask, on the off-chance Garith had cracked the finance books while a naked lady slept in the bed behind him. He would still let him in, if that was the case. It had happened once, and Jaeger didn’t intend to ever repeat the experience. Garith laughed and pulled the door wide open.

“No woman with me, I’m afraid. I’m all yours.” He sighed as Jaeger entered, faking heart-broken desperation. “You’re lucky, too, because I was supposed to dine with Sora—you know, Kellian’s charming partner? She had questions for me but cancelled. So here I am, buried under endless strings of numbers instead of enjoying a glass of wine with an amazing and witty lady. What a waste.”

“Her time is better spent now.”

“You wound me, Jaeger!”

The steward’s eyebrows arched. If it took so little …

“Your time will also be better spent,” Jaeger answered. “We have work.”

“You always prioritize duty over dinner.” Garith moved back to his desk, removed his glasses, and set them down. Although Garith’s quarters were a mess—clothes strewn across a luxurious rug, half-read books scattered on every surface, even an empty bottle of wine—he kept his workplace neat and organized. “What can I do for you?”

“You hold a detailed account of trade deals in this city, classified by which noble families are involved, don’t you?”

“Well, detailed …” Garith made a dismissive sign with his hand. “Branwen puts a lot of time and energy into following the flow of coins, but such information is guarded.” He strode to a bookshelf, stretched to reach a fair-sized crate, and pulled it down. “Who are our lucky fellows?”

“The Myrian Enclave.”

Garith paled and raised his gaze from the dozens of rolled-up scrolls inside the crate. For all his flights of fancy and wild nights, the Dathirii bookkeeper did have a drop of common sense. After his initial shock passed, his smile returned. Nothing dampened his mood for long. He plunged his hand into the scrolls and lined the ones tied by a black ribbon on the table. One colour per noble House, all with their corresponding symbols for Jaeger’s benefit. A code easy to remember, and easy to share. Jaeger had developed the habit of marking his notes in a similar fashion. As the number of scrolls on the desk grew, the steward’s eyes widened.

“How much information do we have on them?”

“Lots.” Garith put the crate down, returned to his library, and scanned it. He retrieved a leather-bound notebook, half an inch thick, and set it next to the scrolls. “Diel fumed when the Table voted that Myrian laws would govern the Myrian Enclave instead of ours. Branwen and I knew he’d try to run them out of Isandor one day. It’s not a surprise to anyone, is it? So we prepared.”

Jaeger cracked the notebook open, then flipped through the pages to get an overview of the information within. Names, positions, rumours about the enclave’s members, their contacts and relationships in town—everything they could unearth, waiting for this occasion. Branwen’s work, while the scrolls would be Garith’s tally of their trades. He unrolled one to confirm and smiled at the numbers lined in a perfect column. The amount of information varied depending on the trade deal, but they had decent estimates of their values, as well as when they’d been agreed upon. In Isandor, a profitable trade meant a solid alliance, and the precision behind Garith’s work might save them all.

“I’m impressed.”

Garith laughed as he stored the crate once more. “Now those are words I don’t often hear from you. Glad to be of help. Come back if there’s anything you don’t understand.”

Jaeger gathered the precious information in his arms. He wanted to start reading right away. It would mean hour upon hour of deciphering the web of trade deals, half-secret agreements, and allies and enemies, but he liked to sift through the information and reorganize it for Diel. It would help him get a good grip of the situation, and decide how to approach the Myrians.

It might take them until dawn, but the idea only made Jaeger smile. He knew how such nights went: they would sit on the floor like teenagers, Diel leaning on him while Jaeger placed the scrolls in organized piles. Diel wouldn’t stop talking, sometimes bending forward slightly to retie his golden hair. He’d ask a question to Jaeger, and while the steward went diving through the information for an answer, Diel would outline the beginning of a plan. Hours would fly by as they refined the idea. Jaeger’s great organizational skills provided Diel’s keen political instincts with a more concrete form, and by dawn, the elven lord knew which orders to give but was too exhausted to enact the plan. He often fell asleep with his head in Jaeger’s lap long before the steward finished his notes.

Jaeger loved his work, and he loved Diel even more. A night with both was his idea of perfection.

“Thank you, Lord Garith,” he said. “I advise you remain available tomorrow afternoon. Lord Dathirii will want to discuss these with you.”

“Don’t worry, my friend, I’ll be right here until he needs me.” He tapped the desk and wished Jaeger a good day. “Close the door, will you?”

Jaeger nodded his agreement. As he left, arms full of scrolls, the bookkeeper put his glasses back on and dipped his quill in dark ink. Garith might not pull an all-nighter, but with the dangerous task of taking down the Myrian Enclave, he could kiss a lot of his free time goodbye. Jaeger shut the door with his heel, leaving the young lord to his duties, then hurried to his own.