Valir repeated the word, and Kraghtol could, for the life of him, not tell what the noble was thinking.
“Tell me more about this trouble first. Have you been fined? Criminal offenses? Stealing, perhaps? Tell me, Krasen: are you a thief? Or worse?”
Valir was apparently enjoying this more by the minute and didn’t even try to keep his voice down. Other patrons turned their heads.
“I amnothief!”
Kraghtol took a deep breath. He would have to play along if he wanted any chance of getting the money.
“No, I just thought it was a good idea to earn some money by working as a healer. Without involving the guild.”
“That’s surprisingly… boring.”
Valir seemed disappointed, and for a heartbeat, Kraghtol wondered if he should have just lied and said he had stolen.
“But what do you know about healing, anyway?”
“My father is the village healer.”
Kraghtol saw little harm in admitting that much. Everything to help his case.
The noble snorted, and Kraghtol only understood a moment later it was meant to be a laugh.
“Of course, and because your father demands it, you have learned his craft as well.”
Kraghtol didn’t understand the sudden bitterness in the noble’s words but shook his head vigorously.
“No! It’s not like that. I really like helping people. And it didn’t seem to do much harm.”
Valir shook his head.
“And yet, here you are, disturbing me in my bath, begging me to save you. Seems like that idea of yours harmed you, at the very least.”
Before Kraghtol could answer, Valir raised his hand. He wore his signet ring even here.
“Don’t actually beg, please, lest I might get a headache. How much did they fine you?”
“100 gold coins.”
He had briefly considered asking for more, but the mere thought of owing Valir more than what was strictly necessary filled Kraghtol with disgust.
“Really? That seems overly excessive to me. But who am I to criticize the way things are?”
Valir didn’t continue and seemed lost in thought, which suggested to Kraghtol that this was the point where he expected some pleading despite his earlier words.
“Please, Va — Mr. el Greylune. If you don’t help me, if I don’t pay up by noon, I will be forced into labor for years. I’m going to lose everything: my education, my future, … mydreams. You are my only hope.”
Kraghtol hated himself for how pathetic he sounded. And he hated Valir for making him beg like that. He could vividly imagine the schadenfreude with which Valir would savor the moment when he rejected him and —
“Fine.”
Kraghtol looked up, hardly believing his ears.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes, I will lend you the money. It is a lot of gold, but I am feeling particularly soft today. You will have to pay me back of course, with interest. After you graduated.”
Valir waved his hand, and immediately a servant brought a large towel that the noble wrapped himself in as he climbed out of the basin. The servant was skillful enough not to allow Kraghtol a single glance of the noble’s body. With a few words, he sent the servant away again to fetch some writing implements. When they arrived, he wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper before sealing it with his signet ring.
