I step out from Vall’s shadow, frowning menacingly. “I was hoping you might have something forme, sir.”
Vanison’s eyes narrow, dangerous and skittering between me and Vallan like he thinks he’s been betrayed. “What’s the meaning of this, Vallan?”
“She’s persuasive,” Vall quips. “You would do well to listen to her, Vanison. We came all this way to see you.” There’s a low threat in his tone, and I love him for it.
Vanison perks up like nothing is amiss, pulling his shoulders back so we stand at eye level. “I’ve seen crude drawings of you popping up across the city in recent weeks,” he says. “Usually with a nasty title attached to them on the walls of alleyways and abandoned buildings.”
“Crude drawings?”
Vanison shoots me a charming smirk, but I’m not so easily disarmed. “Sometimes you are in a defiant pose, fist raised, a call-to-arms.” He shrugs. “Other times you’re bent over a barrel with a group of men—”
“Enough,” Vallan growls.
“You’ve made quite a name for yourself in Nuhav, Bitch-Queen Sephania. Especially given the eventful deaths spreading across town among the slavetraders, attributed to you.”
“You’ve built quite a name also, albeit more secretively, Vanison Shirin, brother to Indokkus.”
His pretty face crinkles. “Just how is my elder brother these days? Still causing a ruckus at Manor Marquin?”
I croak out a chuckle, realizing his play on words. I’ve seen Indokkus at Skar’s parties. The vampire looks twenty years younger than this man, because I suspect he was turned when they were hardly past their youth. Vanison has aged significantly, as all humans do. His older brother has not. “He remains in good favor with Lord Ashfen,” I answer, unsure if that’s true.
“Praise the True,” Vanison muses in a tone that tells me he doesn’t give a shit. “Why are you here?”
There’s keen intellect in his eyes as they narrow on me. I suspect an outlaw silversmith doesn’t live for long without some expert survival instincts at his disposal. It’s clear he doesn’t trust me but he has no choice but to deal with me because Vallan stands like a gargoyle in my shadow.
It annoys me having to use my men for props. That being said, I’ll do it all day to get the results I desire.
Vanison Shirin is rather lanky, without the well-built arms of a blacksmith. His hands look soft—not like they toil with hammers and forges. He looks more akin to a serpentine politician than a maker of forbidden weapons.
It’s my hope this viper will become a great ally of mine.
I tell the serpent, “I’m in need of a new dagger. I left mine in someone’s spine.”
From the depths of the underground, Vallan and I emerge an hour later and make our way to the rooster-topped brothel. I’m hoping against hope that he will not be there, though I suspect he will.
Vallan stays outside as I enter, keeping eyes off his imposing stature that’s sure to scare everyone.
Sure enough, when I walk in, I spot Rirth hunched over the same spot as last time. Disgusted, I sneak up behind him. He lazily glances over at me, half-lidded eyes widening a fraction when he recognizes me through the bleariness of his mind.
Scowling at him, I reach over and produce the bag at my hip. I set it down gently in front of him, resting my hand on the oddly shaped sack.
“You said you once wanted to make a difference but lost the ability to,” I say, not bothering with a stern rebuke for finding him here again. My hand taps the bag lightly. “Let me give you something to help find your way again, brother.”
A knot forms between his brows. Scratching the dirty beard hanging off his cheeks like an unwelcome hamster, he glances down. “Sephania, what is—”
I rise from my seat, putting a palm on him and moving his hand to hover over the bag. With a quick pat on his knuckles, I say, “Don’t open it here, Rirth.”
I leave before he can respond.
As I make my way out, I hear a breathless gasp flow from his direction, and I know he’s gone against my wishes and opened the bag.
He’s seen the silver dagger inside.
Now I just hope he will use it in the right way—and that it will get Rirth out of his self-pitying rut.
Back at the carriage, Vallan frowns. “It’s done?”
I nod.
