Sesto stepped forward. “Elloven said the false claim was made by Taven Considine, the stable hand.”
Jesstin loved him for the insult and wished Taven had been there to hear it said so casually. That was all Considine had been—and more than he’d ever amount to, no matter how deep he’d weaseled himself into the Hawthornes’ world.
“Well, go get him then!” Rhiain cried, a slow, devastating smile of relief forming. “We’ll get him to retract this lie. Is it money he wants? Access to Mathias?”
Rhiain invoking Mathias was a dire indication of how deep her fear ran. “He wants something you can’t give him, and neither can I,” Jesstin said. “Nor would I. He’s a waste of flesh.”
“Lady Elloven,” Asterin guessed aloud. “He was angry because she came to see you in Mythgarde?”
Jesstin nodded, sighing. “I invited her.”
“Out of kindness for someone who had endured a nightmare,” Sesto said with a scoff and a flip of his hand. “He was trying to be helpful, not seduce the woman. Heavens.”
Rhiain craned her head back. “Which makes this Considine no better than Castien or the monster poor Elloven married. But there is something. There’s always something with men like them. It’s not really Elloven he wants. It never is. It’s power over her.”
“It’s Ellie he wants, and he’ll settle for nothing less,” Gennady said from the corner. He had his knees drawn up and was gazing thoughtfully at the bars, as though mulling what he might eat for breakfast if he weren’t dead.
“Rhiain, you don’t understand how the laws of this place work,” Jesstin stated.
“Nor do I care, Jesstin! You are a citizen of the Easterlands, and you have rights that supersede whatever immoral code they’ve built to uphold their reprehensible way of life. No matter how strained our relations with the Quinlandens are, they will not allow this to stand.”
Jesstin shook his head to clear everyone’s words. None of it was helping. He’d gone rounds with himself about whether to make his full confession to Rhiain or let her grieve the fantasy of who she wished he could be, but after all they’d been through together, he couldn’t stomach another lie. “The Quinlandens allow Mythgarde to operate under its own rules because it benefits them,” he said. A slow drip from a leak in the walls pushed through the anticipatory silence of those listening. “They receive twenty percent of all profits, on top of the taxes they pay, and this town is a lucrative venture. They make money from doing nothing. They won’t intercede.”
“You cannot know that,” Rhiain retorted. “Not until we’ve tried.”
“I do know...” He continued slowly. “Because I’m a proprietor of one of these establishments and have myself packed the coffers that get sent to Whitechurch by a long litter of wagons every quarter.”
Rhiain’s face twisted in confusion. She looked up at Asterin, then back at Sesto, waiting for their reactions to match hers. “A proprietor? Of what?”
“Of the Azure Haunt. I bought it with Mathias’s blood money.”
“No you didn’t.” She scoffed. “Why would you say such a thing?”
Jesstin locked eyes with Sesto, who nodded. He trusted Sesto’s counsel, and the man wouldn’t encourage him if it wasn’t the right thing to do. “I needed something that was mine, something no one could take from me. And...” The devastation in her eyes kept him from finishing. There wasn’t anything more to be said anyway.
“I...” Rhiain’s breath hastened, growing louder, her eyes darting around in frantic deliberation. The silence thickened until it was louder than her emotion. “Is that what you’ve been doing all these nights, Jesstin? Running a... a house of ill repute?”
He sank back on the bench with a faint sigh, relieved to finally be unburdened of his lie.
Rhiain shrugged it off like a tall tale from childhood. “Doesn’t matter if it’s true. Doesn’t matter. None of it does, because we’ll raise an army, like Asterin did before, and it will be over before they can call a woodsmith.”
Jesstin tensed again. She wasn’t hearing him, and she probably never would. “The scaffold doesn’t need to be built. It was never taken down from the last time.”
“The last time? Who allows their loved ones to be murdered by such archaic laws?” Her mouth wrinkled. “Those who don’t love them is who. But you are loved. You’re adored. And we’ll get that upstart to recant his claims, and you’ll be home before noontide, you hear me?”
“He won’t recant,” Sesto said. “And it’s nearly dawn. Should I send for Steward Edevane or Skylark? Both?”
“I already did,” Asterin said. “My brother is still many miles away in the Northerlands, so it will take time to get a response. Mathias has... has not responded to our plea.”
“Fucking monster,” Rhiain hissed. “As, send for the men who stood for us before. They’ll come.”
“I’ve sent ravens, but the men won’t be able to assemble fast enough, Rhiain,” he said quietly. “There may be only one way out of this.”
She lifted a hand. “Say it then.”
“Every other witness present has abstained from testimony, all except Elloven Hawthorne.”
“She’s here?” Jesstin pitched forward. “Send her home. I don’t want her to see this. She’ll blame herself.”
