Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
“It’s a distraction,” Lute said. “But why would the knights drop everything and ride to rescue a small fort?”
“That’s the best part.” I smiled at him. “Falcon Point is where Dreantia hides her stolen gold. She will do anything to protect it.”
“That is clever,” Clover murmured.
I faced the Magnars. “Filderon is due to ship out in two days. If we do nothing, all of those mercenaries will die a pointless death. If we do something, we will draw attention to ourselves.”
And hit the timeline with a hammer the size of Gort’s maul.
Silence claimed the table.
“The company can’t ship out without the broker,” Will said. “Filderon is the linchpin.”
“Take him out and it all falls down,” Lute said.
“How is our friend Filderon?” Shana said. “I haven’t seen him in ages. We should have dinner.”
“If the four of you take action against Filderon and it’s discovered, you will never work as mercenaries again,” I warned. “You know what happens to mercenaries who kill a broker.”
“We will be blacklisted,” Will said. He didn’t sound the least bit upset about it.
“Oh no,” Lute said, his voice bland. “Whatever shall we do?”
Gort faced me. “What happens to Filderon after Falcon Point?”
“He gets his payout and buys an estate near Praul Britin. He grows grapes and makes wine.”
“Is it any good?” Gort asked.
“He thinks so. Calls it Falcon’s Tears.”
Gort looked at Reynald.
“Don’t be seen,” the blademaster said.
Gort smiled.
The two Magnar brothers grinned at me in unison. Next to Gort, Shana bared her teeth. They looked like a family of werewolves about to sprout fangs and claws. If their eyes started glowing, I wouldn’t be at all surprised.
Gort rose. “I’ll go set up a meet. We’ll want to discuss this job somewhere quiet.”
“What if he rejects that invite?” I asked.
“Oh, he’ll see us.” Gort’s eyes turned cold and angry. “When he was trying to lure me in, he kept mentioning the boys, and I couldn’t understand why. It’s an old-dog job.”
“He didn’t want two grown men coming around asking how their father died,” Reynald said.
And if Gort and both his sons died at Falcon Point, the only one asking questions would be Shana, and Filderon must’ve decided he could handle her. That fucking slime.
“Go get him, love,” Shana said.
Gort motioned to Lute. “Think you can play the part?”
“I have this.” Lute nodded. “I’ll tell him all about how times are tough, and my brother is breaking his back at the docks.”
The two of them left the kitchen.
“Well, it’s about time for dinner.” Shana nodded to Kaiden. “Come with me. I’ll need things from the cellar.”
“I’m going to wash the wharf off.” Will headed into the hallway.
In a moment it was just Reynald, Clover, and me.
“I’ll see Gort and Lute out,” Clover said. She got up and turned to me. “You were amazing, my lady.”
Aw.
Clover left the kitchen.
Reynald stood up. I looked at him.
“Regrets?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Filderon is a man who sacrifices other people to put coin in his pocket. He deserves everything that’s coming to him.”
Reynald leaned slightly toward me. A little light played in his green eyes. He was strikingly handsome right now for some reason. Suddenly I was acutely aware of the space between us. I knew exactly where his hands rested on the table and how close his face was to mine.
“For the record,” he said, his voice quiet, almost intimate, “I also think you’re amazing.”
The world stopped. Say something, don’t just stare at him . . . “Thank you, Sir Reynald.”
He gave me a scorching smile and left the room.
All of the air went out of me, and I slumped into my chair. That was too much.
Entirely too much.
CHAPTER 16
Writing with a reed pen wasn’t my favorite.
I had found all sorts of paper in my office: the rougher sheets; the smoother ones; thin, brownish everyday paper; the pale formal paper; even the thick fancy paper, embossed with an ornate border and accented by a thin magenta thread. I probably would’ve found a bullet journal if I looked long enough. All of that was great. The reed pens were something else entirely.
Rellasian reed pens were carved out of hollow reeds, which were then tipped with a metal nib and filled with ink. Lasa, the horrible shit smear that he was, had used them to produce a feathery, beautiful script. How he’d managed that escaped me. I kept scratching the paper and leaving holes everywhere.
Outside the last of the sunset had burned down to twilight, the sky like purple velvet. Fortunately, I had two oil lanterns—the larger floor lamp and the smaller one for my desk. They weren’t as good as electric lamps, but they weren’t bad either, and their soft yellow glow turned my study into a cozy den.
My handwriting was never great and had gotten worse. I typed at the speed of light and texted like a pro, but neither of those options were available here. Besides, I was taught to write fast and clearly. No frills, just legible letters. Writing in Rellasian was an exercise in pretty whorls. I still couldn’t get over the fact that I knew how to do it. I set the pen to paper, and Rellasian script came out. I’d tried the Shears cypher for laughs and that worked, too. If I ever got into the Shears’ HQ, all their secrets would be mine.