“I don’t really want to say it, it wasn’t very nice, but he called him some less-than-complimentary things.” She cleared her throat. “So, there’s probably more to it, but Branson was adamant he’s always been…weird.”
Damien’s eyes shifted across the tavern, his usual, calculating look going sourer. “So, you two are on a first-name basis, eh?”
While he was looking away, Amma grabbed her cup back. “Well, I didn’t give him mine. Anyway, Morel Stormwing is being held under house arrest up at the top of the southwest steps in the Garden District. It’s easier, I guess, to keep him and the estate under watch together while they figure out the inheritance.”
“Straight to the source then.” Damien stood, and Amma did the same, quickly throwing back the rest of her cider. “Ah, no, no, you’re staying here.”
“Don’t you need my help?”
“Your help?” Damien chuckled. “This could be dangerous, and you’re more of a liability than anything.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do here?”
He shrugged. “That’s none of my concern, just don’t leave the premises.”
Amma placed her empty cup down then leaned a hip against the table. “Fine. I guess I can take Branson up on his offer.”
Damien had turned but came to a stop, looking back. “What offer?”
She tapped her lips in thought, eyes wide and blinking and as innocent as she could playact. “Oh, something about showing me how they manage to get all those massive cider barrels crammed into the really tight back room. I bet it’s fascinating.”
Damien groaned, scratching at his smooth chin. “On second thought, your assistance may come in handy.”
“Are you sure?” She bit her lip. “Because Branson seemed really interested in showing me how those barrels get filled.”
He glared across the tavern at the man. “The only thing that barkeep is interested in filling, is you with Branson-son.”
She gasped, too playful now to be convincing. “No! That can’t be what he meant. It’s got nothing to do with chickens.”
“Chickens?”
“He said if I went back there with him, he’d show me his massive co—”
“Sanguinisui, go outside!”
Amma couldn’t even be upset as the magic crawled over her, squealing with delight at convincing him and skipping ahead to the tavern door before he could change his mind. She’d brought the hooded cloak The Brotherhood had given her and covered herself with it when she stepped out into the sun of the day just in case Robert had not taken Damien’s hint to head home.
They gathered the knoggelvi and walked through the market again and then to the merchant and scholar district of the small city. There, the busyness of villagers felt different, but was slightly more familiar to Amma, heads turned down to parchment as studious workers left their shadowy studies to squint into the brightness for a few moments and knock furiously on the door of someone else and complain about this or that. Amma sussed out directions from a nervous young man after Damien demanded them from an older mage and failed miserably. When she took the opportunity to point out how helpful she was—again—Damien and Kaz both growled at her, and she just grinned back.
Upward along the cobblestone ramps built into the stepped landscape brought them to the Garden District of Elderpass. Everything here was lush and green, and a breeze blew over the plateau, the view back down into the city beautiful while the noisiness of it was swept away. The homes were massive, surrounded by sprawling, stone-walled gardens in good order. Even as autumn closed in on Eiren, the roses climbing up trellises were in full bloom, and the maples that hung over gated entries were deep burgundy.
Amma pulled her hood back when they found themselves farther away from the edge of the plateau, the gardens sprawling higher between each house and the villagers few. Beyond the barred gates and hidden at the end of long pathways off the road, only fanciful gables of even bigger estates peeked out over hedges and trees. Eventually, they made it to the quiet road the Stormwing Estate was meant to be located along.
“Keep your sticky fingers to yourself,” Damien warned, bringing them to a stop a few paces before the gate and ordering the knoggelvi, still disguised as horses, to stay put.
Amma looked down at her hand—it wasn’t sticky—then tutted. He expected her to resort to thievery, especially in a place so opulent, but that hadn’t even occurred to her. “I’ll do my best,” she said as she pat her mount before they left, and it, for once, did not pull away.
Damien led them to the Stormwing Estate gates where two guards were stationed just inside. Amma had pulled her hood back up and scooped up Kaz, tucking an arm under him so that his little head stuck out from her cloak, and he was so surprised, he didn’t even growl when she used her other hand to scratch behind his ears.
“Your prisoner, Morel Stormwing, I’ll be seeing him now.” Of course, that was exactly how Damien intended to get inside. Amma sighed quietly.
“You will?” The lankier of the guards asked, looking to his companion on the other side of the gate.
Damien gave them a curt nod, but the larger guard stood abruptly. “The captain didn’t tell us anyone would be coming by.”
“Your captain does not know. Nor does he dictate what I do,” said Damien in a tone Amma was beginning to become familiar with.
“The list of those allowed on the grounds is extremely short, and I’m sure you are not on it, sir.” Thatsirhad not been terribly authentic.
