“For the record,” he said, his voice quiet, almost intimate, “I also think you’re amazing.”
The world stopped.Say something, don’t just stare at him . . .“Thank you, Sir Reynald.”
He gave me a scorching smile and left the room.
All of the air went out of me, and I slumped into my chair. That was too much.
Entirely too much.
CHAPTER16
Writing with a reed pen wasn’t my favorite.
I had found all sorts of paper in my office: the rougher sheets; the smoother ones; thin, brownish everyday paper; the pale formal paper; even the thick fancy paper, embossed with an ornate border and accented by a thin magenta thread. I probably would’ve found a bullet journal if I looked long enough. All of that was great. The reed pens were something else entirely.
Rellasian reed pens were carved out of hollow reeds, which were then tipped with a metal nib and filled with ink. Lasa, the horrible shit smear that he was, had used them to produce a feathery, beautiful script. How he’d managed that escaped me. I kept scratching the paper and leaving holes everywhere.
Outside the last of the sunset had burned down to twilight, the sky like purple velvet. Fortunately, I had two oil lanterns—the larger floor lamp and the smaller one for my desk. They weren’t as good as electric lamps, but they weren’t bad either, and their soft yellow glow turned my study into a cozy den.
My handwriting was never great and had gotten worse. I typed at the speed of light and texted like a pro, but neither of those options were available here. Besides, I was taught to write fast and clearly. No frills, just legible letters. Writing in Rellasian was an exercise in pretty whorls. I still couldn’t get over the fact that I knew how to do it. I set the pen to paper, and Rellasian script came out. I’d tried the Shears cypher for laughs and that worked, too. If I ever got into the Shears’ HQ, all their secrets would be mine.
I had been at this for the better part of two hours. Now that we’d found the contraband iron, we had to decide what to do about it. I had a lot of things to write down.
A knock made me raise my head. Reynald stood in the doorway.
During the day, when he was doing things around the house, you forgot who he was and what he was capable of. But right now, half wrapped in the gloom, he looked frightening. His broad shoulders stretched his charcoal shirt. He seemed to have congealed from twilight, complete with an impassive expression on his face. Deadly swordsmen in my fantasy books loomed a lot, but I’d never seen anyone “loom” in real life. Reynald could give a master class in looming. If he wasn’t on our side, I’d be climbing out the window to get away.
“Come in,” I invited.
He stalked into the room and sat in the chair across the desk. The golden glow of the lanterns played over the hard jaw and the defined contours of his cheekbones. His gray-green eyes were cold and thoughtful, communicating just enough danger to catch your attention and hold it right there, on him. You could put him on a cover just like that, with a sword by his chair, and I would buy it so fast, my phone would catch fire.
I also think you’re amazing . . .
Perspective. He wasn’t trying to impress me. He was just sitting in a chair.
“What are we going to do about the iron?” he asked.
Right. Back to business.
“It’s a valuable secret. We could sell it to the Shears,” I told him. “The rebellion in the highlands is just south of Selva’s border. If it flares up, Sauven will demand that Everard put it down and then find some fault with how he does. The Sleepless Duke will lose soldiers, time, and money, and in the end, he’ll be accused of slaughtering helpless peasants or some other nonsense Sauven’s pack of counselors cooks up. Don’t get me wrong, Everard is ruthless, but he doesn’t go out of his way to be cruel unless he is trying to make a point. There is no point to be made in the hinterlands.”
“We are ornery people,” Reynald said. “If we don’t rebel every decade or so, we get bored.”
Spoken like a highland man. Long ago that area was settled by geriben, who raided Rellas in their blade boats. They were an independent and proud people, who kept the memories of their raiding glory alive, and they had no love for Rellasian bureaucracy. It didn’t take much to set them off. If they weren’t rebelling, they were communicating their intention to rebel.
“Everard needs this rebellion like a hole in his head. Since the Shears are allied with him, they’ve been turning the kingdom inside out trying to figure out the iron supplier. They will pay top rate.”
He thought about it, his fingers tapping the right armrest. “What’s binding the Shears to Everard?”
“The Shears are led by Solentine Dagarra.”
“Ah.”
Nothing more needed to be said.
This portion of the continent was split between Rellas in the West and the Crimson Empire in the East. The two countries shared a long border, interrupted by the Corios Sea. When they warred, their invasions happened either in the south, across a vast plain, or in the north, where three mountain ranges formed the Trihorn.
Solentine’s father, Margrave Izarn Demarr, held the southern edge of the Trihorn, while the Sleepless Duke shielded the northern side. The Demarrs and the Everards had to cooperate. They were both vassals of Rellas, but Izarn was much more vulnerable to Sauven’s whims and paranoia. More, he had to maintain a large standing army that was beyond his means. The Throne sent him an annual grant, and without that money the defense of the border would collapse. Izarn couldn’t afford to piss Sauven off.
