Sapphire Crescent (17 page)

At the mention of the woman’s name, Neely smiled, but the grin vanished again just as quickly.

“Is there a problem?” he asked. “Mirolyn is a fine girl and a hard worker for me, and I would hate to see anything happen to either of them, especially after—”

“Nor would I,” Vambran interrupted, “which is why I would ask you not mention what you were about to bring up, or me, to anyone else.”

The man gave Vambran a long, hard look before he finally nodded.

“You can wait upstairs in the parlor. Straight back there”—he jerked his head behind the counter and into the back room—”up the stairs, first doorway in the right-hand corner.”

Vambran thanked the man and slipped past the end of the counter and strode into the back part of the house. There, he found that the whole building was a large square, with a very small open courtyard in the middle. The courtyard was surrounded on all four sides by two stories of open balcony, literally covered with climbing plants and hanging baskets. In the middle of the courtyard was a single large rain barrel. One set of stairs rose up along the back wall, and Vambran made his way there, climbing them quickly. At the top, he went to the right, as the man had instructed, and found a small patio that opened back out onto the front, where the street was. He cast a quick glance down the lane in both directions, then retreated into the shade and settled into a wooden chair to wait.

The mercenary did not have to wait long. Shortly after nine bells, he heard voices emanating from

below, in the courtyard, and slow, methodical footsteps on the stairs. Soon, Nimra’s graying head appeared, accompanied by Mirolyn’s, and the pair of women made their way into the little tiled parlor. Mirolyn helped her mother to a seat and settled her there before moving to a chair of her own.

Vambran simply sat and watched the blind woman for a moment, waiting to see her demeanor before he began to speak. He had no doubt that she knew he was there, for whether Neely the proprietor had informed her that he had preceded them or if she could merely hear him breathing, he was confident she was waiting for him to speak first.

“I know it must be hard for you, speaking of your daughter, but I’m trying to find out anything I can about her, anything that might clue me in as to who would want her dead.”

Nimra nodded and asked, “Can you give me some idea of where to start?”

“Well, how about first telling me if she ever thought of pretending to wield arcane power, ever intended to thrice mark herself in public.”

“Never,” Nimra said. “My daughter was a good, law-abiding girl who wouldn’t dream of such a foolish and dangerous thing.”

“Was she secretly delving into magic somehow? Is it possible she really did know some arcane tricks?”

“Jithelle didn’t even know her runes, sir. She didn’t know how to read or write, much less how to cast a spell. If she was found with marks on her head, as they say, then someone else put them there.”

“I see. Mrs. Skolotti, did you daughter ever mention seeing someone? Perhaps where she was working?”

“She was not having relationships with the stable boy,” Mirolyn said. “No matter what everyone says about finding them together, she wasn’t seeing him.”

“Hush, girl,” Nimra said. “Jithelle’s personal affairs are just that—personal.”

Vambran shook his head, again forgetting that his counterpart couldn’t see him.

“No, Mrs. Skolotti. I need to know these things. It’s very important, if you want me to be able to prove that your daughter didn’t commit those crimes and didn’t deserve to die.”

Tears began to flow down the woman’s cheeks then, and she reached up with a gnarled hand to brush them away.

She sniffed once, softly, and said, “How will such a discovery make anything better? I already know the charges against her are untrue. Letting the rest of the world know will only make it hurt more, for then I will hear an endless string of apologies and sympathies from everyone, none of which will bring her back to me.”

Nimra sobbed quietly then, as did her daughter. Vambran found it difficult to swallow, his throat thick with emotion.

But he forced the sadness down and said, “I understand, Mrs. Skolotti. But if the criminals who wronged your daughter are never caught, they will feel emboldened enough to perhaps do it again. Don’t you want to see them punished for their crimes?”

“Punishment is far too convenient an excuse for the things men do to one another,” Nimra replied, her voice steady again. “But I would see that the people who took my poor Jithelle from me never have the opportunity to make anyone else hurt the way I do right now.”

“Then please,” Vambran pleaded, “you must tell me anything you can think of that might help me. I have already heard that she was sharing a bed with one of the Pharaboldis. I just want you to tell me anything else that might give a hint about whether or not her employers would wish to see her dead.”

Nimra sat very still for a moment, her sightless eyes gazing straight at the wall before her.

Finally, she sighed and said, “So you know about her relationship with her noble lord. Do you also know that she carried his child?”

Vambran’s eyes widened.

“No, I didn’t,” he said. “You know this for certain?”

“That’s what she told me,” Nimra replied. “And she was overjoyed. When she came to visit and revealed it to us, she went on and on about how she and her baby would have a better life, how her nobleman was going to take good care of us all.”

“Of course he was,” Vambran muttered.

“What?” the woman asked, cocking her head to listen more intently.

“I’m sorry,” Vambran replied. “I just don’t believe that Denrick Pharaboldi was ever planning to provide that kind of life for a bastard.”

Nimra sniffed in disdain, obviously nonplussed at Vambran’s reference to her lost grandchild’s birth status, but the woman said nothing. Mirolyn, however, glared openly at the mercenary.

Vambran ignored it.

“Mrs. Skolotti, Miss Skolotti, I think I have a pretty good idea of what happened to your daughter. I think she got in the way of some very powerful people who had big plans for themselves. The fact that she was with child not only makes the crime that much more tragic, but it also may very well be the reason it was committed in the first place.”

“You think they killed her so that she couldn’t have the child?” Nimra asked softly.

“I do.”

“Then that baby made the mistake of having the wrong father. What will you do, now?”

“I will confront the man who sired that child and find out whether he cared so little for his own offspring that he would be a party to such an act. And if he didn’t do it and doesn’t know who did, I will keep searching until I do find the criminals.”

“Why would you do this?” Nimra asked again. “Why does it matter to you whether or not two commoners died in the streets of this city? How does it ruin your life that the men who committed the crimes roam free?”

Vambran thought for a long time before he answered, “I could tell you, Mrs. Skolotti, that it is because I believe in seeing justice done. I could tell you that my piety and my morals dictate it. And that would be true. But it also just happens that I have a sister, a young woman who will turn sixteen tomorrow, in fact. But for the grace of Waukeen, it could have been her in that alley the other night. That, and the man who led your daughter astray with his lies is also courting that sister of mine.”

Nimra sat very still.

“A man of candor. I like that,” she said. “I pray then, sir, that you make sure they never hurt anyone again.”

“It’s time, sir,” Bartimus said, nodding toward Efusio’s in the center of the plaza. “The others are ready and waiting.”

Grozier nodded and said, “Good.”

He stepped down out of the carriage and crossed the cobblestone lane and headed toward the cafe, which faced the plaza and had a large open patio in the front. A series of small tables were arranged on the patio, which butted right up to the street, and people could gather to enjoy a strong cup of Tashalaran coffee—or perhaps a good ale imported from afar, such as Mulhorandi dark—and a smoke, for Efusio offered a wonderful variety of balaumo to be put into a pipe, including numerous fruit-infused blends, such as cherry, apricot, and apple. Grozier felt in his pocket for his long-stemmed pipe and smiled.

The head of House Talricci picked a table to one side of the patio, but he put his back to the street and settled into the chair and relaxed. It wasn’t long before a plump serving girl with olive skin and lustrous black hair approached.

“Sir?” was all she said, and Grozier had to stop for a moment to admire her very black eyes.

The man finally shook himself back to the matter at hand and said, “Just a cup of Tethyrian tea and some balaumo. Uh, peach and grapewood, if you have it.”

“Yes, sir,” the serving girl replied and scurried away.

Grozier stretched his legs out under the table and waited, letting the mid-morning breeze ruffle his hair. The warm dampness of the day before was gone, replaced by a cooler, dryer bit of weather. The last vestiges of spring still clung to the Reach, appearing on occasion.

The girl brought Grozier his tea and a small silver bowl filled with the pipeweed for which he’d asked. He pressed a gold dinar into her hand and waved her away, then he began stuffing his pipe enthusiastically. It had been a couple of days since he’d enjoyed a good smoke.

Are we all linked? came a voice in Grozier’s head. It was Bartimus.

Yes, Grozier responded. Am I the last?

You are, came a second voice, belonging to one of the two Houses in the alliance. We are all linked now. So, why the urgency? Why couldn’t this wait?The voice held a hint of irritation, but Grozier ignored it.

The mercenary won’t go away, he thought, sending his own irritation through the mental connection to the others. He is persistent, and the little trap Bartimus and I laid for him last night didn’t work. I need other ideas.

I think you’re devoting much too much time to him, a third voice chimed in, that of the individual of the

third House. He will go away soon enough, when his company is called to duty again. The Grand Trabbar will see to that.

I don’t think you understand, Grozier insisted. He is getting very close to finding out who was behind the incident in the alley, and I think he means to come after us, regardless of the revelations. He has his uncle involved, now.

There was a lengthy pause then the second voice suggested, We need to threaten him more openly. We need to send him a message he’ll understand once and for all.

I agree, Grozier replied, but what will faze him? What can we hold over his head?

His family, the third voice said firmly. We make it clear that others around him may not survive his meddling.

That kind of tactic never works, Grozier responded, letting disappointment bleed into his thoughts. His kind always take that as a personal challenge to push back harder.

But he doesn’t make the decisions for the family, the third voice said confidently. We know who does. This is simply a perfect excuse to finally rein in him in, forcefully if necessary.

Grozier considered the possibility.

Yes, he conceded after a moment. I think you’re right.

Of course I’m right, the third voice said. You plan the threat, and I’ll make sure we get the proper response from Hetta.

Done, Grozier said. And the uncle? All of Matrell’s friends? What do we do about all of the aid he’s receiving?

Let Lavant take care of that. Get a message to him, today if possible.

All right, Grozier replied. Were close, now. Remain patient.

Who’s not patient? the second voice answered. Just take care of this. Do it tonight. Then everything will be in place.

Agreed. See you tonight, Grozier thought, then he told Bartimus to break the link.

When he was certain the mental connection with his business partners and his wizard had been eliminated, he smiled and lit his pipe.

Tonight, he thought, is going to stun them all.

• • •

Emriana didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, she was incensed that Uncle Dregaul had insisted that she remain in her rooms, with Jaleene to keep a watch on her, so that she wouldn’t spoil any of the surprises for her party later that night. The girl was beside herself, wondering what Vambran had learned from Jithelle’s mother. On the other hand, it was her sixteenth birthday, and the extravaganza being planned was making her almost wriggle in delight. She paced endlessly back and forth in her rooms, going from the patio to the foot of the bed and back again.

“Will you stop that?” Jaleene finally chided Emriana. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Em replied, full of exasperation. “I just can’t stand all this waiting. And I hate being cooped up.”

“It’s no picnic being here with you, that’s for sure,” Jaleene muttered.

Emriana scowled at her maid, then she giggled. “Come on,” she said, “Give me some hints about what’s going to happen tonight.”

Jaleene shook her head vehemently.

“Please,” Emriana begged, moving to sit down on the bed beside her companion. “Pretty please?”

“Mistress Emriana, even if I did know something— which I don’t, so quit asking—I wouldn’t tell you. You get to be sixteen once in your life, and I’m not going

to be the one who spoils anything for you. Trust me, you’ll thank me later on.”

“Highly doubtful,” Emriana said, folding her arms beneath her breasts and pretending to pout.

She looked out of the corner of her eye to see if Jaleene was reacting, but the handmaiden was studiously ignoring her charge’s attempts to guilt her into revealing tidbits.

“All I’m saying is you’re going to be amazed,” Jaleene said. “Don’t you remember the big to-do for your brother when he turned sixteen?”

“Jaleene, I was nine. They made me go to bed halfway through the evening. You were the one who had to drag me back here, remember?”

Jaleene giggled in spite of herself.

“I tried to forget,” she teased. “You were worse when you were that age than Quindy and Obiron are.”