32. The Human Commodity

11th of Dema, Continued

Lady Tarrakarenne was wearing an off-the-shoulder gown of royal-blue iridescent silk embroidered with gold and green birds. She had it designed by Fawadh last year and had never had anywhere to wear it until now. The San Domynne social scene was regrettably quiet, but she kept coming back for the sea air and the people. 

The way she said 'people' while casting her eyes over the nearest Lodesian tray boy indicated exactly what sort of 'people' she meant. I was not 'people.' The woman hadn't given me more than a blank skim before dismissing me in favor of Braeton. 

I didn't mind in the slightest and had spent several minutes looking around while I sipped my iced fruit. It was that, or look at Lord Delmyrre, who had come to join our little group. 

Braeton's conversation with Lady Tarrakarenne was nothing but a ruse. She had been the conveniently placed blind, I was the prettily wrapped bait, and now Lord Delmyrre was circling the trap like the thoroughly predictable viper he was. In theory, my job was to stand there and let Lord Delmyrre ogle me while Braeton talked. In practice, it felt very much like I was letting millions of tiny, dirty insects crawl all over me. Looking at him only made it worse: it was only too easy to imagine what some of the girls on the Island must have seen.

I had just noticed that none of Lady Tarrakarenne's adorai were in the Ballroom when she finally said something that caught my ear: "Oh, by the way, I've been meaning to ask what you would take for that bodyguard of yours. He's utterly delicious." 

I promptly swallowed a lump of frozen fruit the wrong way. 

Lady Tarrakarenne gave me a quizzical little frown as I began coughing as discretely as possible behind my fan. 

Braeton frowned too, but with slightly more concern. He opened his mouth, only to cut his words short when Lady Tarrakarenne leaned in to pat his arm. 

"I would make it very much worth your while. A thousand for the night?" 

I stopped coughing simply because I wasn't breathing. I stared at the woman, my brain stuttering over the image of her trying to get Arramy to do something because she had 'bought' him. Then I turned to stare at Braeton because he wasn't saying no. 

Braeton met my eyes, and I caught a brief flicker of that subtle, calculating gleam. I raised both brows in my best, 'you cannot be serious' glare, which got me a little squint in reply. Then, almost grudgingly, he shook his head. "He's not part of the entertainment." 

"You wouldn't want him, anyway," I added. "Dull as toadstool. Very grumpy."

That made Lady Tarrakarenne laugh. "Oh, sweet pet, it's not his brains I'm after. Two thousand?"

I had been dismissed. Again. I took another sip of my iced fruit and glanced at Arramy. He was standing by the wall next to Enrys, his arms folded over his chest, his attention roaming the crowd on the dance floor. For a moment I saw him the way Lady Tarrakarenne did, all lean military muscle and rugged Northlander features. He was just as much of a commodity as I was, here – an odd thing to have in common. 

"He has other qualities I value," Braeton was saying. "And, my dear Cecine, don't take this the wrong way, but you do have a reputation for losing your playthings. I hope you understand." 

Lady Tarrakarenne gave Braeton a slow smile. "You know me too well, darling... Such a pity. Another time, perhaps." 

"Another time," Braeton dipped his head, a rakish smile crossing his face. "So... the walls have heard a rumor that there's a scheme to be had in copper futures." He lifted his glass of port and aimed a sidelong glance at Delmyrre. "Is that true?"

I took another sip of my iced fruit and made myself relax, watching as Braeton began weaving his trap shut, the strands so silky Delmyrre was cocooned without ever realizing it.

Perhaps he wasn't a viper. Perhaps he was just another moth after all.

~~~

Lord Delmyrre was going to play cards at his club until the early hours.

Lord Braeton declined the invitation to join him.

Lord Delmyrre had also taken a townhouse in Grand Court.

Lord Braeton left the theater early.

When we got back to the Inn, Longwater, Braeton, and Arramy armed themselves to the teeth and headed out for Delmyrre's townhouse, leaving me with Enrys and Ina.

Ina retired to her room in the servants' quarters after helping me dress for bed.

Enrys decided he would nip down to the pub on the corner for a bite, since he hadn't had any supper.

I was alone.

It was very quiet.

With nothing else to do, I sat down to read the Dailies by the fire in the sitting room hearth.

Four hours later, the door opened, then shut, and Braeton came stalking back into the apartment, pulling off his gloves before yanking off the dark knit cap he had used to hide his hair. He tossed both gloves and hat on the bench in the entryway, then swore out loud. 

I sat up, coming wide awake from a fuzzy doze. The fire had dwindled to embers. "Something happened?" I croaked, pulling my dressing gown close.

"Delmyrre came home early... The idiot caught us in his study and came at Arramy with a knife." Braeton paused and swore again. "He's dead."

I didn't even bat an eyelash. "Good." I let my head loll against the back of the chair.

Braeton glowered. Then relented. Slightly. "I can make it work. I found a letter in his desk that mentioned a veildfaste outside Arritagne tomorrow night... Which I suspect is a Shadow Road event. With any luck, Pha Mun-Ghour will be there, possibly even others on the list... If I'm right, it will prove a treasure trove of information."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't turn away when I brought my head up and looked at him. He hadn't said it out loud, but the implication was clear: the next stop wouldn't be Reixham's party, it would be this veildfaste, and I would have to go with him.

Braeton shook his head, his mouth set in an angry line. "I've got an invitation card and Delmyrre's personal seal, but now I can only guess where this veildfaste is, and just hope I'm right, and pray that no one finds the flaighan body." He went quiet, scowling down at the entryway bench. Then he muttered, "I should have listened to my gut and left Arramy here." He turned and started for his bedroom, calling over his shoulder, his voice weary, "Get some sleep. We've got an early morning."

~~~  

The apartment was silent. Still. So still I could hear the timekeep in the sitting room. 

 

Click.

 

Click.

 

Click.

 

Click.

 

Click.

 

With an exasperated sigh I rolled over and flung the covers off. Why am I not sleeping? I'm not even thinking about anything important! 

My bedroom ceiling wasn't offering any answers, no matter how hard I scowled at it. It wasn't the thought of Winn-Cryste or the little girls niggling at me, although that was going to give me nightmares if I did manage to drift off. It wasn't Delmyrre or the fact that we were leaving in the morning, or that Arramy had apparently made things more difficult. 

He hasn't come back yet.

I growled out loud at my own brain. 

Maybe something happened to him. Or maybe he came up so quietly he didn't make a sound. That is entirely possible... Or maybe he has finally grown tired of playing servant and has gone off to join the Coventry. 

I should go get a sleepeasy. There's some in the breakfast pantry... Arramy's room is just off the kitchen... If he's back, his door will be shut...

I chewed my lower lip, but I didn't have any real objections other than that I wasn't wearing my Pretty Pendar mask, and it would be improper to go wandering around an apartment full of men while in my nightclothes. The last argument was handily defeated by the heavy white velvet night wrap draped over the chair at my dressing table, and first by the fact that none of the hotel maids would be in the apartment. 

"Fine!" I hissed, shoving myself upright and off my bed. 

A few minutes later I was in the kitchen, making tea and muttering that it was ridiculous to be that disappointed by an empty bedroom, when the sound of a key at the lock had me wheeling around to look at the main door of the apartment, my heart pounding. 

The key stopped scraping. There was a dull thunk of metal on marble. Silence. A muffled curse in a mountain brogue, followed by some fumbling about on the floor in the hallway. Then the key scraped the lock again. This time it must have worked, because the door suddenly popped open, swinging wide and bringing Arramy right along with it as if he had been leaning on the panel. 

He stood there looking at the door, then backed up a step and closed it with the hand that wasn't lifting a large clay jug to his lips. Still drinking, he turned around and walked through the entryway and into the sitting room, where he began navigating the furniture by trial and error. 

He didn't lower the jug until he nearly fell over a floor cushion and had to catch himself on the arm of the long couch. Then, finally, he saw me standing there in the kitchen and stopped moving. "Brenorra?" 

I closed my mouth. 

Abruptly, he let out a harsh laugh, his teeth flashing in the moonlight that filtered through the sitting room drapes.

My breath snagged in my chest. Even in the half-light his smile was beautiful, popping a matching set of boyish dimples and banishing that unyielding hardness from his face. For an instant he looked years younger, carefree and unburdened, and that deep, rich, husky laugh sank right into me like there had always been a place for it, carved out and waiting.

He didn't say anything. He just kept laughing like someone had told him a good joke, brought the jug back up to his mouth, and managed to step over the floor cushion.

The spell disintegrated. Throat aching, I looked away and went back to making tea until he paused on his way past the kitchen, swaying slightly on unsteady feet. 

"Think I'm a monster, don'ya?... Big monster-man... Only good for killin' things," he slurred, his brogue thicker than usual. "Sure ya do. S'look at ya, all sweet in the moonlight, wi' your hair all down, seein' right through me wi' those beilla eyes." His gaze roamed my features, then he shook his head, his expression somber. "Kannai blame ya. I wouldnai trust me neither... Ye always were a spryga lass..." Then a lopsided, mocking grin flickered across his face, turning sly. "Aye, well... I'll just keep drinkin' till I dinnai see those damned beilla eyes nai more." He let out a bitter chuckle, raised the jug to his lips, turned, and limped the rest of the way into his bedroom. 

The tea kettle suddenly began coughing and sputtering on the round stove. With a jolt, I yanked it off the hob and slammed it down on the counter. Then I went through the motions of making a sleepeasy, pouring hot water into a mug and dropping in the infuser, while growling a furious, "Well, at least I care enough to find out if you're alive, you infuriating, traitorous drunkard!" at his bedroom door.

~~~

Spryga: (spree-gah) (adj.) Roghuari for smart.

Beilla: (Bye-lah) (adj.) Roghuari for beautiful.