It’s hardly damning evidence. Darius has to remind himself of that, has to stop himself from barging into Kopitar’s office with the name in triumphant hand. If Persie’s books are to be believed, then this Ynglot serva woman is acting entirely above the board, because the monthly order that this Una collects for Breakwater not only comes from the majordomo herself, but also includes about seventeen other parcels in addition to water hemlock. Still. She has access. And she knows who else might be dipping their hands in the well. She might be the very link Darius needs to the culprit himself.
That still presents a problem.
Because it’s not like he can just bring her into the Ministerium of Intelligentia for questioning. He can’t even ride up to Breakwater House and ask to see her there. Too many eyes and ears, even if he were to leave his uniform behind, and Darius knows better than to think that word wouldn’t get back to Kopitar about someone bothering Kleios familia servae before he even had a chance to finish up his questions. So he has to be smarter than that. He needs a go-between who won’t look out of place.
That presents a solution.
Getting her address isn’t hard. The clerk at Naevia Kleios’s office gives him a strange look when he asks. “You know she’s first gen, right?” the clerk says, a judgmental brow raised, as though that should make some sort of difference. And then, “Word of advice, you’re not the first man to ask me for this today.”
He has no idea what to make of that.
Doesn’t, anyway, until he’s out the door and halfway across the Plaza Capitolio and has to bring his roan mare to an abrupt stop. Oh. That. Darius is halfway to turning around, riding back up to the Senate to correct the man’s obvious assumption about Theodora Arlot’s extracurricular activities, before he stops himself. It’s a waste of time, and anyway, it’s not . . . well, it’s not the worst rumor in the world. He urges the horse onward.
She is first generation. She’s hardly suitable for a wife. That doesn’t mean he can’t entertain the rumor mill, if the story spreads that they’re more than just professionally involved. He wouldn’t even mind stoking the flame. Nothing like dinners on the Boardwalk, of course, and he can never take her to social events. That’s not the kind of rumor he’s interested in, anyway. But maybe they can spend their meridiem hour together under the javhouse’s blue tiles instead of in their separate corners, just close enough to get people talking about a different kind of attachment altogether.
It’s not like it would be awful. Maybe she’s a little wider than ideal, but objectively he can appreciate that she’s attractive enough. And she listens to him. She can keep up. Moreover, she won’t look down on him for his family. She can’t. That, if nothing else, is a fragging breath of fresh air.
Except that when he does find Theodora Arlot, leaving the tiny apartment complex in the Fourth Ward as the sun goes down, she’s already hand in hand with another young man. Annoyance flares hot in his chest.
“Deputy Miranda,” she says, surprised, when he calls her name before they can get swept away in the crowd. “This is unexpected.”
“Less so than you’d think,” he says, eyeing the man at her side. So that’s what the clerk was talking about.
She shifts uncomfortably. “Can I introduce Arran Alexander?”
Unbelievable. Unbelievable. Darius has to work very hard to keep the rising heat off his face.
He knows who Arran Alexander is, of course, but he’s never seen him in person. Tall and broad as his father was, with the same intelligent green eyes, and nearly as pale. But his curling hair is dark where the Historian’s was light, with scattered moles arrayed over a stronger jaw and fuller lips, something almost native to his features. Or maybe that’s just projection. The boy is an abomination either way. Darius ignores his outstretched hand.
“A word in private?” he asks Theo, pointed. And then, once Arran Alexander’s gone: “You’ve been busy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, brows shooting up as she lets him draw her away to the shade of a cobbled side street.
“Nothing.”
Except that the scheming bitch is smart. Too smart. Sleeping with Alexander Kleios’s mongrel son is a brilliant move. The boy’s apparently considered a Kleios in all but name, but he is still and will always be a client. Half crim. Half-caste. A match with him would position Theo favorably within a powerful familia without her seeming to overreach herself. The very same familia Darius has got his eye on, he reminds himself with a stern nudge. The reason why he’s here in the first place.
“I took your advice,” he tells her instead, leaning against the brick wall as he offers her a cigarette.
“And?”
“And I have a lead.”
“Good for you.” She leans forward, lights her cigarette on his match. “I’m guessing you aren’t here just to brag about it, though.”
Despite himself, Darius rolls his eyes. She is clever, really. Maybe her attachment to Arran Alexander isn’t a complete non-starter. Girls like that can be seen with multiple men. “No,” he says, and moves a little closer in. “I was wondering, actually, if I could get your help.” And then, leaning forward. “I could really use it.”
Theo blinks at him, then exhales through a knowing grin. “Darius Miranda, are you about to bring me in on top secret Intelligentia information?”
He smiles, almost despite himself. “No, but I will tell you as much as you need to know if you agree to be . . . discreet about it.”
“Not tell Senator Kleios, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“Hm . . .” She takes another drag. “I think I could be convinced.”
Yeah, he just bets she could. Information is power to people like her, and if he can give Theo more power than the senator can, then he can turn her loyalty to him in an instant. He sees the politico game for what it is now, knows how that strategy goes into play. Take that, Naevia Kleios.
But he’ll have to tread carefully. He can’t play his hand too early, not before she’s firmly on his side. “There’s a serva at Breakwater,” he tells her. “I can’t go talk to her, obviously—”
“Obviously?”
“If I’m asking for forgiveness instead of permission from the Chief.”
“Right.”
“But no one’s going to bat an eye if you’re seen up there instead.”
“And what am I talking to her about, exactly?”
This. This is where he has to be careful. “Between you and me?” he starts. “She has . . . access to some dangerous substances. Above the board, of course, but it’s the water hemlock that worries me.” He leans in close again. “Water hemlock is the primary ingredient in parcae. That’s the poison that killed Alexander Kleios.”
Theo’s eyes go wide. “You think that she—”
“I think she had access, yes, but something like poison? She’s Ynglot. They’re exceptionally prone to violence, I’ll grant that, but they aren’t subtle about it. And anyway, it’s not like she would have had the motive. So what I think is that she knows who else could have been dipping into the stores, and those are the names I need.”
“Right . . .” she says faintly, eyes still wide as she processes what he’s asking her to do. “Right, of course. That makes sense.”
“This has to be discreet.”
“I know that.” She snaps back to herself then, back to attention. Good girl. “Not a word. I can go tomorrow.”
Darius shakes his head. “No, we have to go now.”
“I’m—”
“Please.” It’s not in his nature to beg, and that’s far from what’s happening now, but he finds himself taking her hands all the same, the jolt of urgency in his gut, because this has to happen tonight. Before Theo has a chance to change her mind, before she can tell Naevia Kleios what he’s asking her to do. Before Kopitar catches onto his movements or, even worse, the lead runs dry. “I know, you’ve probably got other things on your plate, but this is important.”
“Miranda—”
“Darius. Call me Darius.”
He holds her hands fast in his, and wills her to understand just how important this is. He may never get this chance again. And he’s already put too much on the line to go back now. Dark eyes meet his, that thread of something suddenly back from last night, and they’re the same, he and Theodora Arlot. He remembers that now.
“I’ve been missing from the Intelligentia already for a day,” he tells her. Screw the political game and the rumor mill, it’s integrity and honesty that have always gotten him where he needs to be. “I have to have something to show for it. If I don’t . . .” He can’t even think it, though the truth is he doesn’t need to. Kopitar would never go through with it. Still, it looms like a noxious smoking cloud. “Say you’ll help me.”
There’s a long moment then, with nothing but the ghost of his father’s drunken shouts echoing in the space between. Quietly, at last, Theo nods, and Darius can fragging breathe.
“Thank you,” he says.
“What’s her name? The serva.”
“Una. Her name is Una.” A flash of something darts across Theo’s face, something too quick to catch—but no, it’s just a frown, like she’s trying to place the name to a face. “Ring any bells?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I think we’ve met.”