Timely Impropriety
Chapter 133
It took three days for Elim to sort out things at his family’s old estate. Those servants and serfs who wanted to were given a bit of money, supplies, and directions on how to get to 42’s valley. Elim pretended to scare up an extra cart and a couple of mules. Tiller knew he got them out of his mysterious “inventory” though and envied it. Possibly to the point of making a questionable statement about her sense of self-preservation.
As much as Tiller hated her own family, she’d been raised by merchants. She couldn’t not do the math when she noticed a source of profits. Just being able to transport things like that had enormous potential. Not that it mattered much when 42 could, and apparently would with little to no provocation, make things of the finest quality and hand them out for free.
“You alright?” Elim asked. They were on the road to the town, riding side by side.
“Dandy,” Tiller replied. Her mood wasn’t foul, which was a bit unfortunate because she would have known what to do about that.
“If you're having second thoughts-” Elim swallowed the rest of his words when she glared at him.
“Fairly certain I’m not the one who changed their mind all of a sudden,” Tiller said. She was properly annoyed now which hopefully would last a while. Her other more complicated feelings weren’t something she was particularly interested in dealing with for the moment.
“I ain't exactly changed it so much as never could settle on what to do in the first place,” Elim said looking sheepish.
“Then instead of agonizing over it, let me do as I like and see how it goes,” Tiller offered. Elim looked at her then away and nodded.
“Does that include a deal with 42?” Elim asked after a stretch of silence.
“Is it a problem if it does?” Tiller asked. They were halfway to the town when Elim brought his horse to a stop. Not expecting it after such a long time Tiller was slow to follow suit and had to circle around to come back to his side.
“What?” Tiller asked. Elim had told her she’d have to go once, then not enforced it. A mind that changed once could again. Or perhaps as he’d said he was simply swaying in the opposite direction again, still unable to make up his mind.
“I don’t like it, but you can if you want and I won’t hold it against you,” Elim said finally. “Wasn’t my place to tell you not to anyway… I just don’t want you in harm's way.”
“Says the man who’s having me help him sweet talk a viscount into putting his own neck in a noose,” Tiller countered.
“I am not a perfect man,” Elim replied, looking deeply sad. It lasted all of two seconds before he started laughing and Tiller lost her own battle against mirth.
Dreadmar had its faults, but the royal family had eschewed claims of divinity a long time before. Royals and nobles alike were just people, ones who got riches and had privileges others didn’t because they agreed to serve as protectors and administrators to their territories.
If they did their job, good. If they didn’t, then it was proper they face the law. A fact which Earl Savex was particularly keen to drive into the hearts and minds of everyone in his territory. He wasn’t a man you served if you were uncomfortable with seeing blood, noble and common, spilt.
“I’m still surprised you're sending that Oisen fella’s family to the valley. Figured you’d released the serf claim and give’em some coin,” Tiller ventured. She didn’t suspect Elim harbored ill intent toward the family but she found it odd. Getting someone's husband hanged was plenty of reason for a grudge, no matter how much they might deserve it.
“Only thing I could really do since I can't guarantee I’ll be able to discharge the claim before things get messy. 42 promised to settle them properly and I’ll sort the rest when the time comes,” Elim said with a shrug.
“Fair,” Tiller acknowledged. Slavery was technically illegal in Dreadmar, but some forms of it persisted in debt bondage and serfdom. Both had been in the process of being phased out, but the efforts hadn’t been as effective in the hinterlands like the viscounty they were currently in. Unlike in a lot of places, it was expunged from a family's records once they were freed to dull the stigma more quickly.
“So how’s this even going to work?” Tiller asked. She’d been a bit busy running errands to ask exactly what the plan was before.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“I’m gonna cause some trouble in town and see who shows up to dance,” Elim offered with a grin.
“Ugh, don’t call it that. I hate dancing,” Tiller grumbled in reply. She’d had to have lessons at one point and seriously considered breaking her leg to get out of it. Thankfully, nearly breaking her dancing teacher's toes had done the job first.
“You didn’t mind it at the fête,” Elim said, a huff of laughter escaping him.
“Because it was with you, eejit,” Tiller muttered.
“What?” Elim asked.
“Nothin’,” Tiller grumbled and gave her horse a little nudge to get going. They arrived in town not long after, Tiller managing to keep ahead of Elim for the rest of the ride.
“Tiller, earlier-” Elim cut off, eyes darting to catch Tiller’s. She picked up the seriousness of his expression but didn’t let herself tense visibly. Her senses weren’t anything special when she wasn’t linked with Storm, but she trusted Elim and he was easing a hand onto his sword hilt.
Tiller’s preferred weapon was a spear, but she’d only worn daggers since they were easy to hide. She regretted it a little. Clearly the baronet or viscount had more eyes and ears around than the one turncoat Silvertree servant. That or some very murderous standing orders.
Under slightly different circumstances, Tiller would have been annoyed not to have Storm at her disposal. As it was, she was glad he was looking after Erica and Bess. As much of a useless asshole as he could be at times, he wouldn’t go back on an agreement and he’d promised to guard the pair. If he noticed anything he’d give a warning cry or let Marlow know.
Tiller felt an odd little jolt as she realized that Elim having a talking earth hound was one of the less weird things in her life of late.
Hurrying, they both did what little they could to look casual despite knowing they were pursued as they headed for the county office. When they entered, the sitting room was almost empty aside from one attendant at the desk behind the counter.
“Afternoon, I don’t have an appointment, but I’ve got some personal business to discuss regarding property,” Elim said, immediately approaching the desk. The man behind it flinched a little. He was dressed nicely, probably from money, if not lesser nobility, but weak looking. By contrast, Elim was built like a brick wall, tall and wide. The thin man wouldn’t have lasted a minute if things actually got physical, even without Elim’s combat training.
“No one is available to help you at the moment, but I’d be happy to take a message for you,” the man offered. Given the complete lack of other people waiting to be served Tiller highly doubted that was true. It hardly mattered though. She had no idea why Elim had wanted to come here and her mind was on their pursuers.
Elim looked between the pen the man was holding and his face. He held out his own hand for a moment but only got a blank look in reply.
“Mister, I’m literate enough to write my own message,” Elim informed him flatly. With an almost dainty motion, he reached forward to take the pen, careful not to break it, and pulled the piece of paper to himself. He wrote his message, dried it with a bit of sand, then handed it back.
“I’ll see that it’s given to the appropriate people,” the man said with a fawning smile laced with fear.
“You dress nice enough, but your manners are… something else,” Elim said, sizing the other man up and the contempt in his expression showing how wanting the measure was.
“I’m Elim Grey and I’m looking to check into the status of the inheritance of the Silvertree title and sell the estate. So do inform the correct people,” he finished bluntly. With that he turned and started to stride out, slowing enough for Tiller to meet him at the door. He politely offered her his elbow.
They exited as they’d entered, which was onto a main thoroughfare. Witnesses were better than a back exit that was probably being watched.
“Think you can get to the roof? I’d rather not end up caught unaware,” Elim asked softly. Tiller nodded after looking at the buildings around them. They were only two stories at the tallest and the exposed beams and first story eaves would make it easy enough.
“You sure you want me up there? I can't do much,” Tiller questioned.
“You know how to use a bow?” Elim asked. He was holding one in his free hand that hadn’t been there a moment before. Tiller opened her mouth to reply then just closed it and nodded. It really was hard to get used to him pulling shit out of thin air, not that she minded it.
They ducked into an alleyway and followed it until they found a hiding spot. The buildings weren’t all uniform so it wasn’t hard to find one set back further from the others. If their pursuers were wise, they’d keep walking past rather than follow them in. Tiller wouldn’t bet a copper on that, however.
“I’ll give you a boost,” Elim offered. Tiller nodded, the climb wouldn’t be hard, but there was no point in not making it as easy as possible.
“Careful though, yeah?” Elim asked. Tiller rolled her eyes and he let out a soft huff of laughter, but stopped when they heard annoyed shouting from the end of the alley way. He leaned in, giving her a soft peck on the cheek before making a cradle with his hands for her to step on so he could lift her.
Tiller glared but stepped on his hands anyway as she grabbed his ear to keep him from lifting her just yet.
“Elim Grey, I’ll have your guts for garters if you get hurt,” Tiller hissed at Elim as softly as she could and still be heard. The sound of footsteps belonging to incredibly unwise men made everything they were doing a terrible idea but the moment passed and he boosted her up to catch a hold on the roof. Elim tossed the bow and two quivers of arrows up after her.
Tiller promised herself that she’d give Elim hell when it was over. If he was going to kiss her at the worst possible moment he could have at least done it properly.