“Good afternoon,” Cole said. “We’re looking for Tom Raven.”
“Certainly.” She opened the door wide. “I’m his wife. Do come in.”
They stepped through a low doorway, and Mistel wrinkled her nose at the way the briny smell of the Fisherman’s Quarter clung to the place.
The house was little more than one open room, divided into living spaces by the careful placement of furniture. A scarred wooden table stood at the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs—one missing a leg and propped up with a brick. Against the far wall sat a narrow bed with a lumpy straw mattress, its threadbare quilt tucked neat and tight.
In a narrow hearth, a low fire struggled against the draft creeping through the shuttered windows. What must be Tom Raven’s three daughters sat on the floor, darning socks, while their younger brother carved driftwood with a dull knife. Four children in all, the youngest Mistel guessed to be four years old. At their entrance, the eldest—a girl of maybe thirteen?—straightened and smoothed her faded skirts, while the boy popped to his feet and gawked.
Tom Raven stood from the head of the table and clasped his hands in front of his round belly. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Travelers on a cold day,” Madam Raven said, already moving to ladle liquid from the pot over the fire. “You must be chilled through. Please, have something warm to eat.”
Mistel opened her mouth to refuse, but Cole shook his head at her. So Mistel bit her tongue and watched as bowls of thin fish stew were placed before them at the table. It smelled strong. Too strong to be edible.
“We appreciate your kindness,” Cole said to Tom. “I’m Cole Tanniyn, and this is Mistel Wepp. We came to ask about your relationship with Verdot Amal. How long have you known him?”
Raven’s brow barely flickered. “Oh, many years,” he said.
“I suppose that’s why he speaks so freely around you,” Cole said. “I couldn’t help overhearing your disagreement the other day.”
The children stilled. Mrs. Raven dropped the ladle, and it glubbed beneath the liquid in the pot. She turned suddenly and crossed the room to a shelf in the corner.
“I think he’s hiding something at the prison,” Cole added.
Mistel kept her head down. Cole certainly could be blunt when he had something to investigate.
Tom Raven shook his head. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Cole took a bite of fishy soup, hummed, and nodded to Madam Raven, who seemed to be writing something on a table beside the bed. “Delicious.” He glanced back at Tom. “My father is a prisoner there, but I believe he’s innocent. Have you ever known an innocent man on Ice Island?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
Cole tilted his head. “Not even Kurtz Chazir or Sir Eagan Elk?”
Raven opened his mouth, and his fingers curled into the neckline of his tunic. “They were exceptions.”
Mistel fought the urge to roll her eyes. What a strange thing to lie about.
“The other day in Verdot’s office, you suggested that Verdot fix something, but he said to leave it alone.” Cole leaned forward. “What needs fixing?”
The eldest Raven girl sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at her father.
“The roof leaks,” Raven said.
Cole rubbed his jaw. “And who’s above Verdot? Isn’t he the warden?”
“The Tsaftown Ruling Council oversees the prison,” Tom said stiffly. “And Lord Livna, of course.”
“Of course,” Cole said.
Mercy. Tom Raven wasn’t giving away anything.
Cole rose from the table and bowed. “You’ve been very helpful, sir. I thank you.”
Tom stood as well. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead.
Madam Raven scurried toward them and gestured to the door. “Thank you for stopping by.”
