Never before had he met someone whose voice was so perfectly suited to them. The low register and coolness with which she spoke, the neutrality in her tone. None of the bright, upbeat nature he associated with Graelynd speech patterns.
“I—” He hesitated. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard that the Sentinels were looking to charter a ship with clearance to sail Graelynd’s waters. Helm Naval Engineering has some flexibility in its schedule.” Calya spread her hands in front of her as she spoke. “Given what happened the other day, I thought Captain Malek’ko might be interested.”
Nocren’s gaze darted to the longcase clock at the front of the room. Its hands indicated there were still five minutes until the designated hour. “The meeting wasn’t slated until?—”
“In my world, you’re already ten minutes late.” Calya took a sip of her tea. “Is this the sort of professionalism I should expect of the Sentinels?”
Her world. Brash, entitled Graelynders. And she hailed from the capital, Grae Port. The heart of its Central District, a busy hub of politics and government and trade. Crowded, elitist; a place that believed worth and success were best measured in coin. He barely knew the woman and already Nocren could see how she was a product of an environment that grated on him at his very core.
He should have been repelled by her. As it was, he could barely look away.
His traitorous feet carried him into the room. “Says she who put a rock through the window of a storage shed.”
Calya’s smirk widened as he took a seat across from her. “The Coalition’s storage shed, wherein we found evidence of their crimes at Sylveren University. Give me some credit. You can’t make up more deserving parties—for or against.”
If only she’d waited a few minutes before smashing it. Or explained anything with even a modicum of detail. If only she’d given him a godsdamned moment to find another Sentinel to secure the storage shed and let his business relationship with the Coalition remain intact. But no, she’d taken it upon herself to stop the Coalition delegates, and Nocren couldn’t have let Renstown’s constabulary take control if the stolen plants might have pertained to the Sentinels’ case of possibly distressed researchers. Unfortunately, in the end, the plants had had nothing to do with his case, because of course that would be his luck.
Nocren scowled at her across the table. He saw a blend of nationalities in her features: brown eyes that tapered at the outer corner, and softness to her nose that suggested ancestry in the eastern Radiant Isles; a squared jaw framed by medium brown hair, not to mention her frank demeanor, spoke of her Graelynd roots. She looked around a decade his junior, somewhere in her late twenties, with skin still clear and smooth despite a ruddy complexion. That, paired with her hair, styled in a way that curled well clear of her slim shoulders, might’ve painted a picture of youthful sweetness. On a different person.
Not Calya Helm, with her sharp gaze and the imperious lift of her chin—the way she seemed to be assessing whatever she deigned to grant her attention. In her, there was nothing sweet to be found. Only a cold beauty and an air of thinly veiled impatience.
None of it should have appealed, yet Nocren found himself wondering what it would take for her to show patience.
“Excuses, from one making insinuations about professionalism,” he said.
Calya shrugged. “Perhaps, but I instigate on the side of good.”
“Or in the name of your self-interest.”
“Am I so alone in that?” she asked, tone too sweet. “I seem to recall you growling about a year’s worth of work undone.”
Over a hundred active Sentinels of the Valley, probably half a dozen in Renstown at the same time, and he’d been the one caught up in the Debacle. Him, the only Sentinel negotiating a shared waterway deal with the Coalition so the rangers could gain access to the northeastern tip of Graelynd. Access they needed to investigate the odd communications they’d received from a group of Sylveren University researchers stationed out there.
Those negotiations had been dragging on, a year of patience and compromises, getting into the good graces of progressively influential people in the organization. Time he was never getting back.
“Because you wouldn’t wait for— You didn’t even warn me about what you were going to do,” Nocren said, adding, “And I don’t growl.”
Her lips quirked in amusement, but she didn’t correct him, instead saying, “You knew I was interested in the Coalition’s storage shed. Clearly a conflict of interest, no? Need to think quicker on your feet, ranger.” She straightened up, her hands folding primly in front of her. “Really, you should thank me.”
“Whatever for?” Nocren said, regretting the words the moment they left his mouth.
“We basically saved Rhell, if indirectly. The real healing plants are alive and being… distilled or whatever. I’m not a grovetender.”
“I’d never have guessed.”
She ignored him. “The point is, the real plants are effective against the poison in Rhell. We kept the Coalition from going to Song’s aid when she tried to destroy them, and we got the Coalition sanctioned. We’re essentially heroes because of me. You’re welcome.”
Nocren squeezed his eyes shut as his brain shut down trying to follow her logic. It was true that in the seven years since the war with the empire of Eylle had ended, the kingdom of Rhell had still suffered. A cursed poison ravaged the lands and sickened those in proximity to the tainted ground. Losing the healing plants would’ve been devastating. Nocren understood that. And as someone who called the Valley of Sylveren home, he rejoiced whenever Graelynd’s domineering trade organization got slapped with consequences. It happened so rarely.
He should’ve let that be the end of it, yet Nocren heard himself say, “Still, it’s very convenient that your selfless actions had so many benefits, wouldn’t you say?”
Another smile, this time with a wicked edge. “I said I’m on the side of good. Never said I do it for free.”
The door opened again, this time admitting Captain Malek’ko. Nocren and Calya both stood, offering their hands in greeting before the older man took a seat at the head of the table.
“Lowe,” the captain said in his gravelly voice. He nodded to Calya, shaking her hand as well before turning back to Nocren. “Everything handled across the lake?”
