Seirod’s mansion loomed like a mountain in the dim light of early morning across the street from where Grevail sat in a narrow crack between two buildings. Luckily, he’d spotted no Thavans from the Refuge, though they must be watching this house too. A shiver ran down his spine. Azouel could even be nearby, ready to grasp hold of his mind before he knew she was there. The scratching of the Emberstone in his head was front and center—harder than ever to ignore. His stomach groaned, twisting in knots at what he was about to do, but also by the mere thought of food.
After escaping the Refuge, he slept in an alley gutter until the owner of a nearby shop shooed him away with a few kicks for the trouble. At least the man hadn’t called for the watch. Joszi might well have Grevail’s name on the tongue of every watchman. With little else for Grevail to do, he wasted no time in making his way to this house. In the absence of food, money, or shelter, he had only the scratching slither in his head and a name, thanks to Lyphon. Still, he hadn’t seen anyone that Seirod might be, nor had he seen the stableman.
Guards patrolled the grounds, a suspicious amount for any ordinary home, even a mansion, but Seirod was obviously not an ordinary man. The front door of the house was visible from where Grevail hid, and the short, brown-haired fellow wearing a red cloak walked past it now, sword wiggling at his hip. Grevail wiped a forearm across his brow. Approaching the front would be impossible. The house was surrounded on three sides by a wall three times as tall as he was, the rear of which faced the ramparts of Tamirra, and Grevail had already seen soldiers atop them who would undoubtedly spot him climbing from that direction. He needed a look at the back if he wanted to steal this relic.
The mansion on the right, a tall and slim structure of white stone drew his eye. The building huddled in the midst of an expansive lawn separating it from the street. Between that house and Seirod’s rose an imposing stone wall. A carpet of thick vines crowded the wall’s top, which might hinder an attempt to climb it or block any view of the area behind Seirod’s house.
On the left, a building of dark gray stone. Beneath a green slate roof, many large windows crowded with white curtains looked over a lawn dotted with manicured bushes. Another stone wall sat between this house and Seirod’s. If he could climb it, he’d at least get an idea of what was back there.
He spent another few moments watching the red cloak guard pace around the front door before the man disappeared from view. Grevail stood and peeked into the street. Thankfully, not many city folk were outside at this time, but the Thava and Azouel could be watching. Taking a deep breath, he walked from his hiding spot toward the house on the left.
Grevail studied the curtain filled windows for any movement while he crossed the road. It seemed empty, but then again, a house that big might seem empty with all of Lowtown inside. A curving gravel path led from the gate to the front of the house, then wrapped around the back where he assumed a stable might be.
He covered the last few paces to the hedge and paused to look up and down the street, then plunged inside. With the sound of breaking branches and rustling leaves he stumbled onto the lawn and ducked low, crunching his way across the gravel path to the wall beside Seirod’s mansion.
He pricked his ears for any sound of alarm at his presence, half-expecting a face to appear in a window or a shout to fill the air, but heard only his heart thumping against his chest. He looked up at the top of the wall, running his eye along its length all the way to the rear of the property where it joined another. He set off in that direction.
When his vision rounded the corner of the house, he found a stable at the end of the gravel path and a wagon sitting outside the open doors. The whinny of a horse stopped him in his tracks. He chewed at his lip with an eye on the stable doors. It’s too late to turn back now, fool! He forced himself forward, relieved to see that no watchmen were atop the city ramparts of Tamirra, towering over Seirod’s house and the wall around it.
Grevail stopped at the wall separating this house from Seirod’s and craned his neck to scout where he would climb. The stone was rough, and chunks were missing in some spots, enough for him to jam a few fingers for a grip. After getting a good toe hold and taking a deep breath, he started up. Periodically, he glanced over his shoulder to be sure he hadn’t been spotted, though there was little he could do in the event he was. He continued on that way for what seemed half the day, but finally, his hand gripped the top.
With a groan, he pulled his torso atop the half-pace wide wall and hung there. Another two-story building lay behind Seirod’s mansion, and a stable beside that. A guard stood at a well between the mansion and the rear structures, the one with a black vest and dagger hanging from his belt. The guard circled the well, whistling a tune, then walked away. A cellar door drew Grevail’s gaze, as well as a few entrances to the building itself. The back looked much like the front, though, three stories with a window every ten paces or so.
He did not see a way inside that would be any easier than if he knocked on the front door. He considered the cellar. From here, he couldn’t see a lock, but it wouldn’t do to sneak his way to it and find it shut tight. If he waited till night, then climbed down this wall to reach that cellar door, he might—
“You are a fool,” a man said.
Grevail’s breath froze. He looked to the top of a nearby tree poking above the wall where the voice had come from.
“Seirod isn’t kind to thieves, especially stupid ones.”
A man in a thick brown coat straddled a branch a few paces above the top of the wall and Grevail, resting with his back against the trunk. He wore a hood, and cloth covered his face so that only amber brown eyes were visible. The man gripped an apple in one hand and pointed at Seirod’s mansion with the other. “I’m telling you, it isn’t worth it.”
“Who are you?” Grevail asked.
The man shrugged. “Who are you?”
“I’m nobody,” Grevail said, preparing himself to scramble down the wall.
The masked man chuckled. “Me too…but from one nobody to another, you should look for an easier mark.”
“I’m not here to steal,” Grevail said. Well, he was, but this was more about revenge.
“I don’t know what else you’d be doing here,” the man said, rubbing the apple on his trousers while watching Seirod’s mansion.
“I have my reasons.”
The man arched a reddish-brown eyebrow as if intrigued. “Is that so? Maybe our reasons are not so different?”
“You’re not here to steal from him either?”
“No…no…I’m here for information.”
Grevail stared at him. “What—“
“Hey!” Far below at the base of the wall, the red cloaked guard’s face looked up at him.
“What are you doing?” Red Cloak demanded. He called over his shoulder at Seirod’s mansion. “Over here! Romine! Argae!” Red Cloak turned and scurried toward the street, no doubt intending to intercept them on the other side.
Grevail flinched in a panic, nearly toppling from his perch and only just regaining his balance. He spared a glance at the tree to find the hooded man gone. With a strangled curse he descended, searching for the holds he used on the way up. His foot found one, and just as he moved to drop down, the stone under his toes crumbled. He plummeted toward the ground, hands scraping along the wall.
Landing hard on his feet, he fell backward onto his rump, emitting a yelp at the crushing pain in his ankle. For a moment he only squirmed on the ground in agony, but then stood and lumbered into a hobbled run toward the street. When he reached the hedge, he launched himself at it head first.
Red Cloak was already making his way down from Seirod’s mansion and at the sight of Grevail tumbling into the street, gave chase. “Stop! Romine! Over here!”
With Red Cloak closing in, Grevail limped toward an adjoining street and turned down it. The few townsfolk nearby stopped to stare, yet none made a move to intervene. If it were Merchant Row, he could lose a dozen watchmen with a broken leg, but this wasn’t Merchant Row. He stumbled onward, gritting his teeth at the pain and pushing for more speed.
Red Cloak appeared in his wake with a cry. “Stop him!”
Grevail spotted an alley just ahead and raced into it, searching for a quick place to hide, but instead found tall wood fences on either side hemming him in. With a curse he limped forward, but the sound of something approaching turned his head. A low growl sounded just before a dog slammed into the other side of the fence with a thunk that sent Grevail reeling. His foot caught on something sticking out of the dirt and he careened forward, landing hard on his chest.
He rolled over just as Red Cloak slowed to a stop at his feet. Gray-blue eyes looked down at him triumphantly and thin lips curved in a confident smile, like a hungry wolf who had caught its prey. “Don’t move!” the man said over the barking of the dog, exposing the sword hilt at his waist. “Don’t do anything stupid. We don’t tolerate thieves.”
“I’m no thief,” Grevail said.
The man’s grin widened. “Are you a Delphine? You fools don’t know when to give up, do you?”
“No, I’m…“ Behind Red Cloak, the masked man from the tree entered the alley, cloth still covering his face. “No,” Grevail hurried to say, hoping the guard did not turn around or draw his sword. “I…I only wanted to ask you a question.”
Red Cloak snorted. “Of course, but let’s get comfortable first? I know just the place for us to relax and chat. Get up.”
The hooded man broke into a run at them. Red Cloak’s brow furrowed at the sound of footsteps and he began to turn, but did not make it all the way around before the hooded man’s fist thudded into his temple. Red Cloak collapsed with a groan against the fence, incensing the dog on the other side even more.
The hooded man stood over Red Cloak for a moment with his fist raised, but when it became obvious the man was incapacitated, lowered it and turned to Grevail. “Follow me if you’d rather not wait for his friends,” he said, then wasted no time trotting toward the opposite end of the alley. After a glance at Red Cloak who struggled to right himself, Grevail scrambled to his feet, limping after the hooded man.
“Ashen coward!” Red Cloak shouted after them, falling against the fence after another attempt to stand. “You’ll pay for that!”
The hooded man outpaced Grevail, cloak fluttering behind him, and left the alleyway when it came to the street. Grevail lumbered after, groaning in pain with each step. Again in the street, Grevail spotted the stranger weaving through the crowd ahead. The man stopped at the head of another alley, waiting to be sure Grevail had seen him, then disappeared into it.
When Grevail reached the alley mouth, he found the man leaning against a building, mask and hood removed. Grevail was surprised to see he couldn’t be more than a few years older than himself. He was handsome, with pouting lips and reddish-brown hair.
Keen amber eyes regarded Grevail in return. “Auphen.” He extended a hand.
Grevail took it. “I’m Grevail…thank you.”
Auphen shrugged, as if it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “I saw you across the street all morning. Figured you were a thief, but I also thought you’d see sense and get bored. Only a fool would try to sneak into that place with all those guards walking around. Still surprised to see you top the wall next to me.”
“I’m no thief.” Not anymore, anyway. Stealing the relic was about revenge.
“So you say,” Auphen said, though he sounded unconvinced. An awkward silence stretched as Auphen studied him, but then a bright smile arced across the young man’s face. “We could use someone like you. We need people who can keep their eyes open and their mouths shut.”
“Who is we?”
“We call ourselves Delphine’s Companions.” When Grevail offered a blank stare in response, Auphen went on. “You’re not from around here?”
“No…I’m from the capital.”
Auphen grunted in surprise, glancing at the merit in Grevail’s ear. “Lowtown? I’ve heard so much. Interesting.” He stepped toward the mouth of the alley and peeked into the street, then waved Grevail after him. “We should get going before that fellow has his legs under him. Come, I’ll take you to someone I know.”
Grevail went to follow, but a voice in his head gave him pause. What am I getting involved in? “Who?”
The brown-haired young man scoffed and turned, a boyish grin on his face. “You’re not afraid are you? Do you think I’d punch that emberbelly just so I could rob you? I could have let them catch you, you know. Come, I’ll take you to a friend of mine. A hot meal is in it, if nothing else.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Grevail contemplated the offer with a long sigh, wondering if he was about to make a mistake. I’ve already lost my friends. What else do I have to lose? His stomach groaned, as if cajoling him.
“Well?”
“I’ll meet with your friend, but I won’t promise anything.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Auphen said with a shrug and left the alley. The young man kept a quick pace, leading Grevail in an easterly direction toward the Urucan gate. “What were you doing at Seirod’s?”
“He knows things I want to know. Why were you there?” Grevail still limped along, but the pain was easing. Luckily, it didn’t seem he broke anything. If he had, he didn’t know what he’d do.
Auphen chuckled at the suspicion in Grevail’s voice. “The same reason, although I think the information we seek might be different.”
Suddenly, Grevail realized that Auphen may have seen the stableman. “Have you seen anybody go into Seirod’s house? An older fellow with long brown hair, blue eyes, stocky…has an accent.”
After a moment of thought, Auphen nodded. “Yes, sounds like the Pictay man. He comes and goes, but what he does there I’d love to know.”
Grevail felt as if his blood were boiling. “Me too.”
“Why?”
“He killed my friends.”
A sympathetic cast entered Auphen’s eyes and he placed a hand on Grevail’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. I knew there was something off about that Pictay man. Things are dire here in Tamirra, not that you would have heard in the capital. If you’re an enemy of Seirod, you’re an ally of mine. We’ve been watching him and a few others as well. If you want to know the secrets of those in the gated houses, nobody knows more than we do. We can talk about that later, come.”
Auphen headed back to the highway, and as they walked down it, a large complex of several buildings rose on the horizon. It was surrounded by a high wall, and the central structure was topped by a large, white dome. It struck Grevail as an odd building, though beautiful. He couldn’t think of any other like it that he’d ever seen. Two guards standing at the entrance in watch tunics seemed to have more interest in the clouds than anyone passing in the street. Still, he reminded himself that Joszi might have given the watch his name and ducked his head as they passed.
“What’s that?” Grevail asked, stealing looks at the building from the corner of his eye.
“That’s the Council House. It’s where the council of nobles convenes and where, Daryn, the Khos of Tamirra resides. It’s also home to the Pillar of Justice,” Auphen scoffed, “as it is so called anyway.”
“Beware the lies!” shouted a man in the shadow of the domed building. He offered a flier to a passerby from a stack he held. “I can tell you are good Eudan! Daryn is the rightful Khos! Do not listen to the lies of Carbathe!” He shoved another flier under the nose of a woman. “May the ash bury you if you do!” He wore a blue and white cloth around his neck, the colors of Eudan.
“Who is Carbathe? Is he on the council?”
Auphen responded with a grim nod. “Yes, but he isn’t satisfied with only that. He claims Daryn is unfit for the role.”
“Why?”
“Well, when the Khos passes or retires, they select someone to succeed them, usually from among the other nobles. Carbathe thought it should have been him instead of Daryn, and he wants Daryn to step down. But that isn’t all Carbathe wants. We think he is working with the Urucan.”
“Urucan?” Grevail snorted, though Auphen’s serious gaze silenced him. Before the young man could respond, a pair of wide doors burst open in the Council House wall and a row of soldiers in glittering mail over white and blue tunics marched out. First, a block of men with sword and shield, then another of spears, and finally men carrying bows. They marched toward Auphen and Grevail, feet thumping the ground. A mounted man at their head wore a shining breastplate and sported a large red plume in his helmet.
Grevail motioned at them. “What is this?”
“The Fyrd.”
Grevail mouthed the word. “Where are they going?”
“I’m not sure,” Auphen said, watching the men march past. “I’m surprised to see them leaving,” he went on, as if it made him uneasy. “You don’t have a Fyrd in the capital?”
Grevail shook his head. “We do have the Khossoroi, though. I suppose they are kind of like that,” he said with a glance toward the soldiers.
When the Fyrd had filed out of view toward the north gate, Auphen continued leading him south. Grevail tried to ignore the cramping in his stomach that grew worse for every tavern or inn they passed and the wonderful smells spilling from them into the street. A woman working a stand with meat pastries smiled at him, and before he could stop himself, thought of using his old tricks to swipe one from under her nose. He sighed. When they left the capital what felt like years ago, he thought he’d never have to steal again when they sold the stone. A pang of regret struck him as he recalled Gaston’s body laying face down on the bridge. He cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes, pushing his friends’ faces from his mind.
After walking quite some distance down the highway, the south gate soon towered above them. On the other side of it would be Uruca. At any other time, Grevail would have been excited by the idea of being so close to the border with the reviled and fabled Urucan every Eudan had heard about since they were sprouts. Several watchmen streamed in and out of a gatehouse beside the gate, but none of the…Fyrd. Grevail supposed they didn’t stand watch at the gates like the Khossoroi did.
Following behind Auphen toward the gate, Grevail glimpsed a speck of pearly-white bobbing through the crowd ahead. Thyma stopped to admire the clothing on a mannequin outside a shop. “Let’s go this way,” Grevail said, spinning on his heel and darting toward an adjoining street.
“Where are you going?” Auphen asked, dancing through the crowd in pursuit. “We’re almost there!”
“Let’s take a different way,” Grevail said over his shoulder.
Thyma left the store window and continued on in his direction. She wouldn’t tell Joszi, would she? He didn’t want to find out. Pushing through the throng and receiving a few disgruntled words in return, he ducked off the highway.
Auphen caught up and arched a questioning eyebrow at him. “What is it?”
“Just someone I don’t want to talk to.”
A frown bent Auphen’s lips, but he only shrugged and took the lead again. “Alright, well…we’re not far.”
A short while later, Auphen angled toward a tavern with a painted sign hanging from the eave of a farmer hauling a golden bushel of wheat on his shoulder. ‘The Lucky Harvest’ it read. Auphen strode up to the door, flinging it open, and a gale of noise washed over them. The place was busy with full tables and a bar lined with turned backs, all saturated in the overpowering drone of conversation. It reminded Grevail of Maedra’s, though it didn’t appear as rowdy. Auphen wound through the packed tables toward a far corner where a space had been left clear for a small dias, atop which a man spoke before a number of seated listeners.
“…I don’t believe it!” exclaimed a seated man.
“Nobody does,” said the speaker in a clear, strong voice. He sported short, dark hair, and matching black eyes scanned the audience in front of him. “Carbathe and his cronies can say what they like, but we know the truth!”
“Aritane,” said a fat man in a wrinkled coat, “we’ve been saying this since winter. Every day more people are drawn in by Carbathe and his nonsense.”
Auphen stopped behind those seated. Grevail waited at his shoulder, searching the crowd for anyone who might know him. He didn’t think this was the kind of place Joszi or Lyphon would visit, but it would be just his luck.
A woman raised a mug to the fat man’s words. “If we don’t do something soon it will be the whole town!”
Another woman spoke up. “Stephos said he agreed with Carbathe.”
The fat man gasped and nearly spilled his mug, juggling it in his hands. He directed an incredulous stare at the woman. “Not Stephos!”
“That’s Aritane,” Auphen said with a nod to the man on the dias. “He is one of the best Delphines we have.” Grevail asked if that’s who he was here to see, but Auphen shook his head.
Aritane waved his listeners to silence. “Stephos is but one man.”
“But even him?” said the fat man. “He used to be one of us!”
“It doesn’t matter!” Aritane growled. “If Stephos can be swayed so easily, he was of no use to us anyway. We must continue our work! We cannot give up. We will continue to recruit and inform. We must remain vigilant for when the time comes.” Aritane turned toward a young woman with shining black hair and deep blue eyes sitting near the dias at the front of the audience. “Alisia has plans for all of you until we meet next week. Once again, any contributions you can make to the coffers will help our cause. Even more important than that, however, tell your friends, neighbors and loved ones that the time has come to defend our city against Carbathe’s—”
“Hey you!” The slurred shout broke over the cacophony of the tavern, plunging it into silence and drawing every eye. A man stumbled from the bar and pointed at Aritane with a drunken grin. “Would you shut up with that crazy talk! We’re here to drink!”
The final word had yet to leave the drunkards lips before a man with arms as big as tree trunks pushed through the crowd and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him off his feet. The heckler protested and struggled, feet thumping the hardwood floor, but to little avail as he was dragged across it. Cheers and shouting erupted, egging the bouncer on as he hauled the troublemaker to the door and ejected him through it with a kick to the rump for good measure. The big man then turned to Aritane and inclined his head.
“Thank you, Bipho!” Aritane said. “Remember, Parxo’s tavern is our second home! He believes in our cause. We have a list of shop owners who are known Carbathe supporters and we do not give them our coin! If they sport a purple rose, your purse stays closed! Come to me if you have any questions. That will be all for tonight! Speak to Alisia about your tasks and we’ll see you next time!”
The seated people rose and began to talk amongst themselves. Many moved toward the young woman, Alisia, and spoke to her too.
Aritane stepped off the dias and wove through the audience to stand at Auphen’s shoulder. “Any good news?”
“Some, but not worth an acre of swamp,” Auphen grunted.
Aritane grimaced, then nodded at Grevail. “Who is this?”
“I’ve brought him to see Alisia.”
Aritane raised an eyebrow and gave Grevail another look. “Well, we can always use the help if you think he’s right for it.”
Auphen issued a confident nod. “I think we can help each other.”
Aritane motioned at Grevail’s soiled clothes. “Interesting garb you are wearing.”
Grevail’s face reddened. “I’ve…been…down on my luck.”
Aritane smiled. “No shame in that, young man. We are all on hard times with Carbathe around. Part of what we do here is take care of each other, like family. Where are you from?”
“The capital,” Grevail said.
“Oh…a northerner?” Aritane’s lips pursed at the merit in Grevail’s ear. “What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for someone.” If this isn’t who I’m supposed to meet, who is? Grevail turned a questioning gaze on Auphen only to realize he had disappeared.
“If Auphen brought you, he must have reason,” Aritane said and cast an uneasy eye over the crowd. “We have to be on the lookout for Carbathe’s followers.” He stepped close and dropped his voice to a whisper. “We know who they are.”
Grevail shifted his feet but Aritane was quick to offer another smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not accusing you.”
Alisia materialized from the crowd at Aritane’s shoulder. She greeted Grevail with cool blue eyes in a pretty face framed by lustrous black hair. The unadorned green coat and trousers she wore looked too big on her diminutive frame. “Grevail?” He nodded and she wasted no time. “Come, we can talk over here. Care to join us, Aritane?”
Aritane shook his head. “I have some things I should see to.” He extended his hand and Grevail took it. “It was nice to meet you, Grevail. I hope to see you again. You are in good hands,” he said with a smile for Alisia.
After Aritane departed, Alisia led him to a secluded table in the corner. “So,” she began when they were seated, “Auphen told me how you two met and why you were at Seirod’s.”
“He said we could help each other,” Grevail said.
Alisia nodded. “We can, I think. First, I’d like to know a little more about you.”
Grevail shifted in his chair, remembering Joszi’s threat to offer a thousand ess for his capture. While surely exaggeration, it still could be there was ess on his head. Would these Delphines turn him in for an easy profit? On the other hand, he stood little chance of gaining access to the relic on his own with Seirod’s house guarded the way it was. “What do you want to know?”
“I need to know why the Pictay man killed your friends,” she said, eyes narrowing, “…and what you want to do about it.” She pulled a few shining black strands of hair behind her ears with a finger and waited for his answer.
Grevail searched for the right words before speaking. “We…came into possession of something that Seirod wanted. He sent a man after us. Auphen said he is a Pictay man.”
“Arxaro is his name.”
“The Pictay man is named Arxaro?”
“Yes. So what was this thing?”
Grevail hesitated. He did not want to tell her about the relic. They might drag him out of the tavern like that drunk. There was no telling if Alisia was Sacar---she didn’t have any manifests about her, but even if she didn’t, the relic might be enough for her to turn him in. Although, if these Delphines had been spying on Seirod, they might already know about the relic or at least that he has interest in such things. He took a deep breath. “It was…an Emberfolk relic.”
“Emberfolk?” Alisia’s eyes went wide.
Grevail raised a hand to stop her short, then leaned close to whisper, casting a quick glance around the tavern. “I’m no Breaker. We just wanted to sell it. We didn’t know what it was when we found it,” he lied, then went on. “Arxaro took it and killed my friends.”
“Interesting,” Alisia said, “is Seirod a Breaker? Perhaps we should just make a trip to the Refuge and tell them about it…might take care of that problem at least…but it could complicate matters as well.” She became lost in thought for a moment before noticing the look on his face. “I’m no Breaker either, or Sacar, but the Thava is the last thing we need to deal with.”
Grevail heaved a relieved breath. “I don’t want it. I just want to find out how my friends died.”
Her deep blue eyes, like polished stones, studied him for a long time. Her features softened. “You told Auphen you were after information, but I think you are after revenge.”
“I am,” Grevail admitted. “I just want to…I want to avenge my friends.” He wanted to kill Seirod and the Stableman for what they did, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He didn’t even know if he could do it. He’d never killed anyone, even after a life in Lowtown, but one thing he could do was steal that relic. Alisia wouldn’t have to know about that. The only reason he wanted to steal it was so Seirod would not have it.
She seemed to sense what was on his mind. “Sometimes…death is not the best punishment.”
Grevail raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
She sighed and leaned across the table, tuning her voice low. “We think that Seirod is scheming with Carbathe to overthrow Daryn, but that isn’t all. We suspect Carbathe has been meeting with the Urucan in secret too. We can’t prove anything yet, but that man’s ambitions go beyond merely becoming Khos of Tamirra.”
A disbelieving scoff escaped Grevail’s lips before he could stop it. Everything he’d heard about Tamirrans seemed to be true. They were so suspicious of the Urucan, he was surprised they didn’t think he was one. “The Urucan? How is Carbathe going to do that? Won’t the Khos and the Epikhos stop him?”
The young woman’s hand thumped the table. “I’m serious.” Her eyes bored into Grevail as if they could burn him to ash, but after a moment, she waggled her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that…we have no shortage of naysayers, even after everything we’ve found.”
It was Grevail’s turn to apologize. “I didn’t mean to offend…”
She waved a hand. “You don’t have to believe it now…but I know you will in time, just as we all have. We can both get what we want in the meantime…revenge on Seirod. You for your friends, and me for what he plans to do with my city.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“We’ve been watching Carbathe and his ring of conspirators for some time, but they’ve caught on to us. They’ve hired guards to chase us down on sight. More of our faces are known to them than I’d like and it is getting harder to watch their movements. We need people who are not afraid of the nobles, and you showed that at Seirod’s, even if you and Auphen were nearly caught.”
“So…you want me to watch them?” He couldn’t help but feel he was miring himself in swamp mud up to his neck.
“We will have many things for you to do. You want to get back at Seirod and so do I…but…I can’t have you watch Seirod when his guards are sure to know your face.” She thrummed her fingers on the table, uttering a curse.
Grevail tongued his cheek and studied his hands. He hadn’t considered that, though it seemed obvious now.
A young man appeared at the table with a mug in one hand and a plate of sliced roast beef in the other. He shoved them both in front of Grevail with a wink at Alisia.
Alisia nodded at the food. “Consider this on us.” She rose from her chair and looked down at him. Oddly, he found that her serene gaze put him at ease, even with the tumult of thoughts spinning through his head. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “After you’ve eaten, you can find me over there. If you want to join us, we’ll give you somewhere to sleep. Help us, and we will help you.” She looked into his eyes a moment longer, then departed.