Thakkar narrowed his eyes. “When was that?”
“Before his time on the island,” Lysander said, his long hair swaying like a curtain. “Back when he was chasing Faylyn’s skirts.”
“Your sister chased me,” Kurtz said. “I couldn’t have lost that girl if I tried. She made excellent pies.”
Lysander pinned Kurtz with a sharp gaze. “She’s married now with three boys, so just you keep your distance.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kurtz said with a wink. “Does she still bake?”
“Her pies are even better now.” Thakkar’s fierce gaze smoldered beneath his matted warrior locks. “I should know, since she’s my wife.”
“Blazes, Kurtz,” Cole said. “Is there a woman in Tsaftown you didn’t try to charm?”
“Heh hay!” Kurtz lifted his hands, all innocence. “Can I help it if the Chazir is irresistible?” As they passed through the door, he patted Thakkar’s arm. “But, well done, man. And congratulations on the sons.”
They entered the great hall at the front right corner, just below the dais. The long, narrow room rose to a two-story hammer-beam roof. Rough-hewn log walls bore black-and-gold banners, every other one depicting a leaping dagfish—the sigil of Tsaftown. Opposite the dais, double doors stood atop a narrow platform, with a half flight of stairs leading down to a gold carpet running the length of the center aisle.
Over a hundred, maybe two hundred, guests filled long tables draped in black-and-gold checkered cloths. Servants wove through the aisles, filling goblets.
“They got rid of the trophies,” Kurtz said, looking around at the walls. “Lord Livna used to have as many animal heads as Merrygog. Maybe more.”
“Lady Viola’s doing, or so I heard,” Quimby said. “Don’t know that Eric’s seen it yet.”
“Remind me never to marry,” Kurtz mumbled.
Quimby led them to aisle seats near the stairs. He sat with his back to the dais, across from Kurtz and Cole, who had a clear view of the hall.
Quimby leaned across the table. “See that round fellow three tables behind me?”
Cole marked a bald man with a thin, reddish-brown mustache and no beard. He wore an orange fur cape so thick it made his head look small. “Wearing the fox fur?”
“Relative of yours?” Kurtz asked.
“Ah, no,” Quimby said. “That’s Renshaw Thusk, co-owner of the Thusk Shipping Exchange.”
“Co-owns it with who?” Cole asked.
“His brother Magnus, who lives in Meribah Corner,” Quimby said.
Kurtz frowned at Thusk. “A shipping business offers plenty of opportunities for corruption. Smuggling, overcharging merchants, skimming profits, piracy…”
“Not to mention a conflict of interest in local leadership,” Quimby said. “And he uses it too. Prioritizes his profits, suppresses rivals, chooses all the trade routes himself. The hope is with Eric back, all that will end.”
“Not without a fight,” Kurtz said. “No one with power and wealth likes to give it up.”
“Does the brother have the same influence in Meribah Corner?” Cole asked.
“Probably more,” Quimby said. “Old man Gershom barely knows his own name these days, and I doubt anyone has brought the corruption to Lady Tara’s attention.”
“Perhaps we should,” Cole said.
Kurtz patted Cole’s arm. “Let’s stick with Tsaftown to start, shall we, poet?”
A bang drew every eye to the entrance. The doors swung open, revealing a couple followed by a gray-haired guard with the thickest sideburns Cole had ever seen.
“Lord Eric Livna and Lady Viola!” the guard yelled.
All around them, people stood and applauded. Cole, Kurtz, and Quimby joined in. Roars and hoots pulled Cole’s gaze to many familiar faces of the Fighting Five Hundred.
