Sworn in Steel (44 page)

“One or two.”

“And they told Silver?”

“Possibly. More likely, he figured it out without them knowing they were telling him. Like I said, he’s not stupid.”

I reached up and rubbed my temples. It didn’t help. “Remind me: Weren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, on the run from them? Something about the Order wanting your
head because you dusted another degan and threw your sword away?”

“It’s complicated,” said Degan.

“I’ll just bet it is.” I folded my arms and leaned back against the bar. “Talk. And don’t even try to tell me it’s some sort of degan-only secret:
You’re out of the Order, and I’m in this up to my neck.”

Degan blew out his cheeks and sat back in his chair. “Let’s just say there’s what the Order is supposed to do, and there’s what some of the members choose to do. I chose
to talk to two of my fellows, and they chose not to kill me. It was just after Iron’s death, and things were still uncertain. Besides, it wasn’t as if I could walk in and check the
records in the Barracks Hall after what had happened.”

“And your two brothers were all right with this?”

“A brother and a sister, actually,” said Degan. “Jade and Brass. They didn’t approve of what I did, but they understood how it happened. More important, they sympathized
with what I want to do.” He took a last gulp from his cup and set it aside. A sad smile spread across his face. “They were weeks sneaking records in and out for me, with Brass and me
going over them for any hint of what might have happened to Ivory Degan after he left Ildrecca.”

“But not Jade?” I said.

“He drew the line at helping me look. He said he could bring the information out and back, but he couldn’t countenance taking a more direct hand in something he felt could just as
easily break the Order as mend it.”

“Was he right?”

“Everyone has to follow where their conscience leads; who am I to say he was right or wrong to stop where he did?”

“But you still found something that pointed you down here.”

“Brass did,” said Degan. “She came across a reference in one of the old journals—the members still kept journals as a rule back then—about Bone Degan saying
she’d thought she caught a glimpse of Ivory in el-Qaddice. This was almost three decades after he’d left the Order, but Bone didn’t go after him to find out for
certain.”

“Why not?” said Fowler.

“Something about her being busy holding off five of the despot’s men while her charge made an escape out a palace window, I suspect.”

“Ah,” said Fowler. She glared at me.

“What?” I said.

“Just noticing the similarities.”

“I haven’t had to jump out of a window since we got here. Not even a palace’s.” I slipped another seed into my mouth, then added, “Yet.”

“Yet?” said Degan and Fowler together.

I shrugged. “There’s a library that’s showing some promise on the Ivory front.”

“‘The Ivory front’?” said Degan. He sat up in his seat. “I thought I told you I didn’t want your help.”

“Tell it to the degan who has my people over a barrel. What you want isn’t necessarily what you’re going to get.”

“I could say the same for you.”

I shifted my weight on the stool, wincing slightly in the process. “Is that a threat?”

“A threat?” Degan rocked his head back in disbelief. “Drothe, you have one
Zakur
crime lord putting a price on your head even as another is trying to blackmail you
into killing the first. Me threatening you at this point would be like kicking a dying horse: It might hasten things along, but it sure as hell wouldn’t make a difference in the
end.”

I got up and walked over to their table. Outside, I could hear Tobin raising his voice, yelling at someone to be careful with a crate. Probably covering for Yekeb and the flour.

“So does that mean you’re here to help?” I asked, stopping before Degan.

He shook his head. “I can’t risk drawing attention to myself.”

“Then why come?”

“Because I wanted to say good-bye.”

“You going someplace?”

Degan glanced past me, toward the door and the yard beyond. “You are.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?” This from Fowler.

“They may be leaving,” I said, jerking a thumb over my shoulder, “but I still have things to do here.” I looked at Degan. “Just like you.”

“No, not like me,” said Degan. “I’m here because of a promise I made long ago—a promise I have to try to keep, even if it means failure. You don’t have that
burden. You can walk away.”

“The hell I can. I came down here to preserve my organization and protect my people. If I try to walk away—”

“If you walk away,” snapped Degan, “you end up back where you started: in Ildrecca, with people at your back and a problem to solve. Do you realize how lucky you are? How
fortunate that is? You can walk out of el-Qaddice and not have to worry about what you’re leaving undone behind you. Silver threatened you? So what? Threaten him back, or better yet, make it
so he can’t hurt you.”

“He’s a degan, dammit. I can’t just tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Why not? You did it to me. You did it to a pair of Gray Princes, and killed one of them when he back came after you. Hell, you even sidestepped the emperor. So don’t tell me you
can’t get a single swordsman off your back if you want to.”

“I came down here because it
was
the best way to get him off my back.”

“Bullshit.” The word was heavy with venom as it left Fowler’s lips.

My eyes snapped over to meet hers. “What?”

“You heard me. The organization was just an excuse, and you know it. You’re not here for your people back in Ildrecca or your position as a Gray Prince. Hell, you’re not even
here for him.” Fowler jerked a thumb at Degan. “You’re here for you.”

“For me?” I said. “In case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly been a string of festival days since we arrived. If I wanted to do something for myself, it sure
as hell wouldn’t involve coming to Djan so I could get pissed on by the Despotate and the
Zakur
.”

“Get pissed on?” Fowler was out of her chair and in my face in an instant. “You’ve been eating this up! You came to Djan so you wouldn’t have to play the Gray
Prince anymore. By chasing after him, you got to leave everything else behind: the planning, juggling the Uprights and Rufflers and Princes, having to weigh politics and build connections. All you
have to do here is be a Nose and run the streets, which is exactly what you want to do.

“Well, let me tell you something: It doesn’t work that way. You can’t leave it behind. You’re not just a Nose anymore—not even down here. I know that. Fat Chair
knows that. Mama Left Hand knows that. Hell, even Tobin and his people know that. The only one who doesn’t seem to understand it is you. And maybe him.” She jerked her chin at Degan,
who lifted an eyebrow in response. “But here’s the thing: I’m done watching you play at being the Nose. Denying it is just going to get you dusted, and I didn’t come back to
watch you talk yourself into a winding sheet. Like it or not, you’re a Gray Prince of the Kin—start fucking acting like one.”

I was still opening my mouth the reply when Fowler pushed past me and stormed up the stairs. I watched her go without moving.

“It’s good to see she hasn’t changed,” said Degan.

“Fuck you.”

“She does have a point, though.”

I looked over at him. “Not you, too?”

Degan regarded me for a long moment. “Let me ask you something: Would Kells have come down here if he’d found himself in your position? Would Solitude? Shadow?”

“It’s not the same. They have, or had, stable organizations.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“If Fowler’s right, then it won’t matter whether I return with you or not, because the problem will still be there.” He pushed himself away from the table and stood.
“You might end up feeling better about yourself, but it won’t solve the dilemma that drove you here in the first place.”

“And if she’s wrong?” I said. “If I really did come down here because of you?”

“Then you’re going to be a very disappointed man, because I’m not going back to Ildrecca.”

“But I think I found a lead. There’s this secretary named—”

“I’ve already said no twice, Drothe. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

He began to turn away. I reached out to stop him.

“Dammit, Degan, I’m trying to tell you that if I can—”

I’m still not sure if my fingers made it to his sleeve or not—all I know is that one moment I was reaching for him, and the next I was bent over the table, its edge forcing the air
from my gut, my face pressed against the stained top. Fowler’s empty mug wobbled inches from my nose.

“Go home, Drothe,” said Degan from the other end of the arm bar. His voice was tight, but also tired. “Walk away from me and the Despotate and the
Zakur
. Go home
before you get hurt.”

He held me like that a moment more, then let go. By the time I was able to suck in enough air to roll over and look for him, the common room was empty.

I collapsed into Degan’s chair and took a deep, shaky breath. My shoulder hurt.

Well, that had gone well.

Was Fowler right? Had I told myself I was trying to save my organization, trying to help Degan, just so I could get back on the street? Had I walked away from Ildrecca not because it was the
best option, but because it was the easiest one? The one I wanted most?

I shook my head. I hadn’t asked for this, that was true enough. Hadn’t asked for Crook Eye or Rambles, for Wolf or Fat Chair. For actors and organizations and Kin to be looking at me
for answers. Hadn’t asked to be made a Gray Prince, let alone sought it out.

And yet here I was: a street-level Kin standing at the top of the criminal heap. King of my own little hill, worried about all the other coves planning to push me off. Afraid the fall might be
harder than the climb, which, when you thought about it, was a given. Fighting to keep something I hadn’t even wanted in the first place.

But that was the nature of being a member of the Kin, wasn’t it? To want what wasn’t yours—to want it so badly that you took it from someone else. Power, money, luxury, smoke,
glimmer, the thing itself didn’t matter so much as the getting of it. And the keeping, of course. There was no worse, more vengeful, more spiteful victim of theft than the professional thief.
Oh, we might happily lose a month’s worth of gains in a single night at bones, but that was on our terms. Woe indeed to the cove who was caught cutting another Cutter’s purse.

And that’s what I was doing now: holding tight to my swag, lest anyone else take it from me. Clutching my princedom as if it were something I’d gotten after months of planning and
slouching and spying, as if I’d cracked a ken and stolen it away by the skin of my teeth. I was acting as if I’d gotten my status on the dark and dirty rather than admitting the truth,
which was that it had all but fallen in my lap. I wasn’t about to let anyone take my bit of glitter, dammit.

Only . . . why the hell not?

I was still turning that question over in my head when a shadow fell across the inn’s door. I looked up, hoping against hope to see Degan; instead, I saw Raaz slipping inside.

“Ah, Master Drothe,” he said, his arms wide as he came across the floor. “I’m pleased to find you still here.”

I grunted and picked up the mug in front of me, not remembering until it was too late that it was empty. I set it back down in disgust.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You heard about the troupe packing up and wanted to make sure you caught me before they—and I—left with your precious package.”

“You’ve found me out,” he said, lowering himself into the chair across from me with enviable ease. He was clean, trimmed, and had probably gotten a full night’s sleep
recently. I hated him. “And while we hate to see you go, we’d hate it even more if you took the other half of Jelem’s pages with you when you left.”

“I’ll just bet you would,” I said. “But there’s no need to worry on either count. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

“Oh?” Raaz glanced back toward the door. “I’d assumed you’d be heading out with your . . . people.” He spared a forlorn look at the empty bar, then turned
back to me. “Would it be forward of me to ask who will be acting as your patron once the padishah rescinds his favor?”

It was a question I’d been kicking around in my own head ever since walking into the courtyard. A question I’d only been able to come up with one answer to so far.

“About that . . . ,” I began.

“Oh no,” said Raaz, quickly reading my intentions. “Absolutely not. We can’t act as your patrons.”

I leaned forward. “Need I remind you that you still owe me?” I said, wiggling the fingers of my left hand meaning-fully. “You and your master both?”

“I haven’t forgotten what you did,” said Raaz. “Nor has he. But neither are we in a position to offer patronage to . . . someone such as yourself.”

“You mean a member of the Kin?”

“I mean an Imperial. My
tal
already stands in disgrace. If we were to openly take responsibility for you and your actions . . . ?” He shook his head. “We mean to honor
our agreement, my friend, but I’m afraid in this matter what you ask is beyond our grasp. We can’t act as your patron.”

It was an answer I’d more than half expected but had been hoping not to hear. Without a token of patronage, I was a marked man on the streets—and that was even before considering the
price Fat Chair was offering for me, let alone the likely consequences of failing to keep my bargain with Mama Left Hand. Between the three, the thought of trying to find Ivory’s papers and
bring Degan around, let alone simply function in el-Qaddice, went from daunting to nearly impossible.

“Then I guess I’ll have to do it the hard way,” I said. “But that isn’t your problem, is it?” I stood up and took off my doublet. “You’re here for
your delivery, and I can’t rightly hold it back any longer, especially considering what the next several days might be like.”

I pulled out my boot knife and began working at the relevant seams.