I sat at the table. The evening sky glowed a beautiful lavender washed with gold. Beyond the wall, the Virka flowed, its waters olive-green from the silt. The dying sunlight reflected from the calm surface, and in places the river shone like a jewel.
Across the water, an attendant lit colorful glass lanterns on the roof terrace of the Taryz Teahouse. The evening breeze stirred the bright green triangles of canvas that shielded the patrons from the sun and rain.
A flock of small draga birds flew above the river. Bright white, they looked like a cross between a heron and a hawk that somehow had stolen a white pheasant’s tail and dip-dyed it in sunset clouds. Beneath the birds, a boat loaded with barrels floated by, guided by a single helmsman with a large oar at the rear of it.
The world looked like a magical painting.
“Enjoying the scenery?” Reynald said.
I almost jumped. Damn it.
He smiled at me and set a platter with a teapot, two cups, and a dish of triangular pastries on the table.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you.” He sat in the other chair and nudged the platter toward me. “And I brought Shana’s sambocades.”
The sambocade was a medieval elderflower cheesecake. I’d never tasted one, but a dedicated group of fans had once made all the recipes from the books, and I remembered the pictures. Sambocade looked kind of like a pumpkin pie with some berries on top. This looked more like a pocket of dough.
I took one of the triangles and bit into it.
Oh. Oh wow.
The pastry was buttery and flaky, and the filling was light and creamy, with a subtle berry taste that reminded me of a ripe, sweet blackberry without any seeds. It was light, fluffy, sweet, and it melted on my tongue. I should have never tried one of these because now I was ruined for life.
Reynald poured the tea. I drank from my cup. It was a different flavor this time, a light aromatic brew that tasted faintly of honey, jasmine, and something fruity with a hint of whipped cream.
“What is this?”
“Night blossom. It’s a tea rich people drink before bed.”
“Did this come out of Clover’s ‘for the guests’ stash?”
The need for a superior tea option to be served to future clients had been explained to me a couple of days ago at great length.
“Possibly. Better drink it before she catches us. I tried to find wine, but we have none. I would’ve thought we had inherited some from Derog.”
“He was adamantly against spirits or wine of any sort. If one of his employees showed up smelling of ale, he would kick them out.”
“Ah,” Reynald said. “Explains things.”
I sipped from my cup. The tea was delicious.
He watched me. “It will be fine, Maggie.”
“Filderon is a shrewd, suspicious bastard,” I said. “He will be protected.”
“The Magnars knew that going in.”
I looked at my tea. There was a tiny white flower floating in it.
“You’re a worrier,” Reynald said. It didn’t sound like criticism, just a statement of fact, but I felt the need to defend myself anyway.
“If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t be doing what they’re doing right now.”
“If it wasn’t for you, Gort would be marching to his death in a few days.”
I ran my finger along the rim of my teacup. “He wouldn’t. You convinced him to abandon Filderon and come work for us.”
