The Master of Bobcats faced down an enemy with far greater numbers proclaiming, Woe unto he who trusts the odds. For he is defeated before he is begun.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jasminda saw Rosira in the daylight for the first time as the town car she rode in rolled through the streets. She reached the city center more quickly than she would have liked. The government offices were housed in a sprawling building of white marble that straddled three city blocks. Its architecture was similar to the palace’s, with arched windows and carved columns, only a great dome sat at the center of the government building, and its copper roof had corroded to green long ago.
The auto pulled to a stop in front of a set of grand steps leading to one of the building’s many doors. The driver—a friendly man with sparkling eyes—had assured her this was the correct entrance to the Tax Bureau. Now Jasminda swallowed nervously, smoothed out her skirt, and began to climb.
Earlier that morning, Nadal had arrived with a stunning array of clothing for her to choose from, with hemlines ranging from a respectable midcalf to an eyebrow-raising above-the-knee. Beading, sequins, and tassels adorned the collection. But Jasminda had chosen the simplest frock, navy blue and stylishly loose-fitting, with a waistline that grazed her hips. Now she wished she’d selected something fancier, something that screamed, I’m staying in the palace and am the very close acquaintance of the Prince Regent.
Inside, she crossed the lobby to the information desk. The woman seated there peered curiously above the rim of her spectacles but directed Jasminda to the property tax office without further comment. After traveling hallways only slightly less convoluted than the palace’s, she located the proper door. The office’s tiny antechamber was a waiting room. Though the hour was early, already three people sat in the wooden chairs lining the walls.
Jasminda scanned the small space and spotted a clipboard sitting on the open half door leading to the inner office. She added her name and took the seat farthest from everyone else. The two men and one woman couldn’t seem to take their eyes off her. She sat up straight, determined to ignore their scrutiny.
A portly security guard ambled by and did an almost comical double take. “Oy,” he called. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see the Eastern Manager about my property taxes,” Jasminda replied coolly, maintaining eye contact. The guard tilted his head, gaping at her like she’d grown horns.
A harried-looking woman appeared in the half-door and called a name from the clipboard. One of the waiting men stood and was admitted into the office.
The security guard stared a bit longer at Jasminda, who looked straight ahead, sitting up tall. Eventually, he muttered something unintelligible and sauntered away. What could he do? She wasn’t breaking any laws, and despite all appearances, she was a citizen.
It was an hour before her name was called.
“Jasminda ool-Sareefour?” The clerk pronounced the words as if speaking around marbles in her cheeks.
Jasminda stood and marched to the door. Everyone else had been let in without comment; however, the clerk made no move to grant her entry.
“What are you here for?” the woman asked, eyeing her up and down. Dark auburn strands escaped from her messy bun.
Jasminda bit back an exasperated sigh. “My case number is Y seven oh three three. I’ve appealed my tax judgment in writing and was told that the only option was to come here and appeal in person. You see, we never received—”
“Wait here,” the woman said brusquely, then turned to rummage around in the large file cabinet behind her. She retrieved a folder and riffled through it for a few moments before her gaze shot back to Jasminda.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Only the Director can hear in-person appeals, and he’s not here today.”
Jasminda chanced a connection to Earthsong to test the woman’s statement. The press of the city made her stumble in place almost drunkenly as the energies pressed into her from all sides. Thousands upon thousands of people so close by. She barely managed to keep hold of the connection and sense the woman before her.
Lying. Or rather, hedging. Confident that she was doing right but still scared. It was confusing. But Jasminda gathered her file had been marked somehow.
“When is the Director expected to return?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I don’t know. It may be some time.” Another lie.
“Just enough time for my window to appeal to close? Today is my last day.”
The woman blinked and slammed the file closed. “I can’t help you.”
Almost the truth. She wouldn’t help, that was clear. Jasminda released Earthsong and fought the urge to sag with relief. She turned away, then back again, an idea forming in her mind. The clerk was pale, her eyes wide and frightened.
“I don’t suppose the Director knows a man named Marvus Zinadeel, does he?”
The woman swallowed nervously. “Y-yes. They have lunch together once a month.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
Jasminda snorted and turned on her heel. She strode through the government building, her steps echoing on the marble floors. At the town car, she was ready to wrench open the door in anger, but the driver beat her to it.
“Do you know a merchant named Zinadeel?” she asked him.
He seemed surprised, but nodded. “Yes, miss. He owns several department stores in midtown.”
“Which is the biggest?”
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped in front of Olivesse’s, a three-story monstrosity in the middle of the bustling merchant district. Mannequins wearing the latest fashions filled the windows. An irrational burst of pride zinged through her to see that the very dress she wore was currently displayed, only in sea-foam green.
It reminded her that she did have allies. At least one, and he was a fairly important one. But she could do this on her own. She was not a leech and would not earn any of the gossip sure to follow in her wake. Before she could second-guess herself, she went inside.
In all her life, she’d never seen so many clothes in one place. She’d thought the wardrobe Nadal had procured for her was fine, but this was unimaginable.
She fought to hide her amazement as she walked down the center aisle, passing racks upon racks of clothing. Her fingers itched to reach out and explore the fabrics. Silk and chiffon, lace and linen. This was the true wealth of her family. This was what Mama had walked away from to live in their little valley, which suddenly seemed like it was on the other side of the world, not just the country.
A sprightly saleswoman approached, her forehead lined with uncertainty. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Where is the owner’s office?” Jasminda asked.
With a bewildered look, the woman pointed her to the back of the store. In moments, Jasminda stood in front of Marvus Zinadeel’s secretary, who appeared just as flummoxed to see her as everyone else she’d encountered this morning.
“He doesn’t know I’m coming, so I’m certain he hasn’t given you any excuses as to why he can’t see me,” Jasminda said. “I’ll be going in now.”
“But, but you can’t—” The secretary stood, however, Jasminda towered over the diminutive woman, glaring at her fiercely. She flinched, allowing Jasminda to smoothly step around her and open the great mahogany door to her grandfather’s office.
The interior was all dark wood, somber, heavy furniture, thick hand-woven rugs, and bulky brocades. The intercom crackled to life as the secretary’s warbled voice announced the arrival of an unwelcome visitor.
Jasminda stopped short just inside the door, her confident forward motion arrested by the sight of the man before her.
He stood, cutting an imposing figure in his tailored suit. His hair had gone white at the temples but retained its reddish-blond color on top. He was handsome in a distinguished, distant way. Tall and lean and more intimidating than she’d imagined.
“Grandfather?” she said, her bravado falling away under the intense scrutiny of his golden eyes.
“Jasminda.” His face was inscrutable. He leaned against the side of his highly polished desk and crossed his arms, looking her up and down. Finding her lacking.
She took a few more steps but stopped, not wanting to stand too close to him. She didn’t bother to greet him properly, and he made no move to do so with her. With effort, she steeled her spine. “I went to the Taxation Bureau to lodge my appeal in person this morning, but it seems I won’t be allowed to.”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flashed.
“I believe you and the Director are quite chummy. Perhaps you have some insight as to why he will not be able to hear my appeal.”
Zinadeel’s eyes burned into her. “Can’t say that I do. Best take it up with them if you have some complaint.”
This would be a test of wills, then. “And what of this document you want me to sign?” She produced the folded and crumpled paper from her pocket. It had gotten soaked in the rain and then dried out and was overall a bit worse for the wear.
Zinadeel tracked the paper with his gaze. “What is there to discuss? It is a generous offer. You should be speaking with my solicitors at any rate. They handle these types of affairs.”
“But I wanted to talk to you in person, Grandfather. I have questions.” Gathering her strength, she strode forward and sat in front of him, perching gently on the very edge of one of the two chairs facing his desk. A deep furrow appeared in his forehead, but he walked behind his desk and sat.
“Well?” His voice was suspicious. Unyielding.
“I know that Papa contacted you after Mama’s death.” She wasn’t sure if she imagined the wince he gave. This was the man who had cut Mama off two decades earlier without a word—was it possible he felt some regret?
“And I myself wrote to you on numerous occasions over the past two years. Yet you did not see fit to respond until now. The first time I hear from you is mere months after the first time I heard from the Taxation Bureau. Twenty years without a tax bill, can you imagine?”
She forced herself to smile. “And then, out of the blue, your generous offer arrives, which would provide enough to pay this sudden debt. I am very curious why that is. Can you enlighten me?” She sat primly, hands clasped on her knee.
His frown deepened. “Is it not obvious why? I am a respected man. I am running for city Alderman in the spring. My daughter Eminette’s poor decisions reflect back on me, on all of us. I am doing my duty as head of this family by trying to mitigate the unsuitability of her choices.”
Jasminda held her face very still. “So you want me to accept hush money to never reveal your daughter’s transgressions?” She shook her head. “You cannot erase my mother from this world. She loved my father, and I am the result of that. It happened, and your money cannot destroy it.”
Zinadeel snorted. “Money is a great motivator. It makes people forget. Or remember, depending on which is convenient.” He peered down at her, sizing her up. “What do you really want?”
“I want to know the true reason you offered me this deal.”
“I’ve told you.” He waved his hand impatiently.
She shook her head, watching his brow descend.
“And where do you expect to live once your little farm is sold at auction tomorrow, hmm? What will you do? How will you eat?” He gave her a self-satisfied smirk. “If forty thousand isn’t enough, how about fifty? Is your sense of nostalgia worth fifty thousand pieces? Eminette is dead, she can have no opinion on the matter.”
Red stole across her vision. She gripped the arms of the seat to keep her limbs still. “My parentage isn’t for sale.”
“Everything is for sale. It’s just a matter of negotiating the proper price. Your home and your life for mine. It is a fair exchange, I should think.” His shrewd gaze seemed to cut right through her. “Or have you some other option?”
She thought of Jack. He had offered to pay off her debts, and then what? Would that make her the whore the soldiers whispered of? She shivered at the thought. That was nearly as bad as renouncing her mother and taking this man’s money. But she was well and truly stuck.
She stood. “I will not make this easy for you,” she said through gritted teeth.
Her grandfather chuckled maddeningly as she stalked out of the office, past the wide-eyed secretary. The timbre of his amusement echoed in her ears as she left the store without another look at the fine clothing or beautiful things.
Back at the town car, the driver rushed to open the door for her.
“Back to the palace, please.”
She didn’t look back as they pulled away.