FOUR
RATHOK
Icould lie. The truth is dangerous, complicated, wrapped up in things I’ve buried deep.
Instead I say, “Because you smell like your mother.”
She goes still. Utterly, completely still, in a way that tells me I’ve struck something vital.
“My mother died when I was nine.”
“I know.”
“Fever. The neighbors said it was fever.”
“It wasn’t.”
I watch the ripples cross her face—confusion, then suspicion, then something harder. Colder.
“What are you saying?”
I should redirect. Find some way to get her moving without explaining things she’s not ready to hear. But she asked, and I’ve spent too long lying for the Ledger Master. I’m tired of lies.
“Your mother was a truth-speaker.” I watch her face as I say it. Watch for recognition, denial, fear. “She could see the lies woven into contracts—the real terms, the fraud hidden in the fine print. When she spoke truth over them, she could unravel what the Ledger Master built.” I pause. Let the words settle. “He killed her for it.”
Ivalys’s hand goes to her throat. To the ring on its chain—her mother’s ring, I realize now. The one piece of the woman that survived.
“She told fortunes.” Her voice comes out thick. “That’s what she said. Fortune-telling. Reading palms and tea leaves and?—”
“A cover. She used it to hide what she really did.”
She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t scream. Just absorbs it with that same steady gaze, that same iron will. The rage is there—I smell it building, hot and sharp—but she holds it. Controls it.
Strong.
“And me?” She lifts her marked palm. The sigil pulses brighter, responding to her attention. “The contract shifting. The Ledger changing its own terms. That’s because I’m?—”
“Her daughter.” I close the distance between us. Can’t help it. Something pulls me toward her, some gravity I don’t understand and don’t want to examine. “And the Ledger Master has been waiting a long time for you to surface.”
We’re standing near enough now that I note the gold flecks in her eyes—her mother’s eyes, I remember, the same strange light that burned when Maren spoke truth. Near enough to feel warmth radiating off her skin, to smell the complicated mix of fear and anger and something sweeter beneath.
“You knew her.” The way I talk about Maren—she hears it. Hears the specific knowledge, the careful weight. “You knew my mother.”
“I saw her work. Once.” I don’t turn from her gaze. She deserves that much. “And I was there when the order came to kill her. I didn’t stop it.”
The words hang between us. Heavy enough to crush.
“Could you have?”
The question stops me cold. Could I have? Back then, bound by the same contracts that bind me now, loyal to a master I’d served for generations—could I have saved Maren Vane?
“I don’t know.” Truth. The only thing I can offer her. “I didn’t try. I told myself it wasn’t my place, that the Ledger Master’s will was law.” I force myself to hold her gaze. “I was wrong.”
The air between us grows heavy. Voices carry—other residents of the Inkwright’s Rest, drawn by the noise, too afraid to investigate.
“We need to move.” I gesture toward the ruined doorway. “Krev bought us time, but the Ledger Master will send others. More than two. We can’t stay here.”
“Where?”
