Enough was enough!
The urchin he’d paid last night had brought him word that Batay, the Sorrelian merchant ship captain, had returned to the Inn of the Blue Pony, and now it was time Den and the good captain had a little heart-to-heart talk. The bare-fisted kind of talk, if necessary. Den’s knuckles popped with a series of satisfying cracks as his thick fingers curled tight.
Almost a week had passed since the Sorrelian captain had approached Den, promising to help him take back his bride. Thus far, however, the Sorrelian’s promises had amounted to nothing but hot air. Though Den had spent most of last week gamely playing errand boy on behalf of Batay and his mysterious master, he was no closer to reclaiming Ellie Baristani than he had been the day King Dorian had declared Den’s betrothal null and void.
“Light save you,” Den’s friend Garlie Tavitts had exclaimed last night over a pint of ale, “your pa’s rich as a king now. Go find another girl. Why’d you need to tangle with the Fey?”
Garlie didn’t understand. No one did. The Fey gold paid to break the betrothal belonged to Den’s pa, not to him. And Den was tired of being his father’s lackey. Ellie and the money he planned to earn with her magic were Den’s chance for a personal fortune all his own.
But this wasn’t even about the money anymore. Now it was about pride and respect and victory. Rainier vel’En Daris had stolen something that belonged to Den. Every sewer rat in the West End knew if he dared steal so much as a crust of bread from Den Brodson, Den would chase the thief down and stomp his jaffing liver out. And that went for honey-tongued Sorrelian sea captains, too. Den Brodson was no pinchpocket’s mark.
It was time for some action.
Den shoved open the doors of the Inn of the Blue Pony and stalked inside. After a curt consultation with the innkeeper, he made his way to one of the private dining rooms down the back hallway and rapped twice on the door before opening it. The now-familiar face of Captain Batay smiled from across a scarredwooden table. A partially eaten meal sat before him. He was drinking from a glass filled with bloodred wine.
“Ah, Goodman Brodson, please come in.” Captain Batay set his wineglass on the table and waved Den in.
Den hesitated. One look from the Sorrelian captain, and every ounce of Den’s righteous fury evaporated as ice ran down his spine. He stood there, shocked and confused, trying to banish the fear that suddenly clung to the back of his neck.
What the flaming Hells was wrong with him? Batay’s smile held nothing but welcome. His vivid blue-green eyes contained craftiness, to be sure, but if the captain were not a crafty man, he would be little help to Den in his efforts to reclaim his wayward bride. Still, Den couldn’t quite stop himself from glancing over his shoulder as he stepped into the inn’s private dining room and closed the door.
“The innkeeper said you’d come by last night looking for me and that you’d received the note I left for you,” Batay said as Den drew near. “Did you bring what I asked for?”
Despite every one of his earlier intentions to set the tone of this meeting and claim a position of power, Den found himself approaching the dining table like a supplicant and meekly pulling the small wooden music box from his pocket. The box had two paste jewels embedded in its carved top and played a tinny rendition of the overture from the symphonyRainier’s Song. Den had thought the tune ironically appropriate.
“Excellent,” the captain said. “That will do nicely.” He held out a hand, and Den gave him the music box.
“What makes you think she’s even going to open the gift?” Den asked.
“She will, I assure you. She will feel compelled to open it.” The Sorrelian reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an empty glass vial.
“If it even reaches her to begin with,” Den said. “It’s not like those Fey are going to let me give her anything.”
Captain Batay placed the vial on the table and reached underneath his coat. “When the gift is ready, I will make arrangements for it to be delivered.”
Den shrank back as the Sorrelian drew a long, wicked-looking black dagger from the sheath at his side. The double-edged blade was narrow and wavy, the long hilt tightly wrapped with black and red silk cords. A large black jewel clutched in golden prongs glittered in the pommel.
“What’s that for?” Den asked in a voice that cracked.
“Relax, Goodman Brodson. I just need a little of your blood.”
“Why?”
“So many questions. You weren’t so curious when I first offered my help.”
“You weren’t asking for my blood then.”
“But now I am.” Captain Batay smiled. “Just a drop or two.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’m afraid our association is at an end. The door is there.” He pointed. “Close it behind you on your way out.” He set the knife down on the table and returned the empty vial to his pocket. The captain raised his glass, drank deep of the ruby wine, and raised his brows when Den remained where he was. “If you want to free your bride from the Tairen Soul, Goodman, you may stay. But the price for staying is your blood.”
Den thought of Ellysetta’s abilities, of the riches that would be his. Of the wealth, the power. Of the satisfaction that would come from beating the arrogant Tairen Soul at his own game. The demon-souled Fey sorcerer had stolen Den’s prize. Den was going to steal her back.
“Just a drop or two?”
“That’s all I require.”
