“Yes,” said Errollyn, “but they'd usually kill the servant girl, not the heir.” His finger traced a scar on the table's surface, absently. “Wasn't he to be betrothed to one of Halmady's girls? Maybe Halmady took the affair for an insult.”
“More likely it was Family Maerler,” Aiden disagreed. “All kinds of things go on in the trade that even the Nasi-Keth don't know about. Maerler and Steiner are always killing each other over something.”
“My coin's on Steiner,” Kessligh said grimly. “Murder is one thing. This was public, made to look like an accident. When Maerler and Steiner people kill each other, no one bothers to disguise the knife wound. They want each other to know it was payback. Payback is currency in Petrodor, and merchant families understand currency and trade all too well.”
“You think they killed their own ally's heir?” Errollyn asked. He found such things intriguing.
Rhillian's frown was more typical of serrin confronted with such tasteless human cruelties. “Why?”
Kessligh shrugged. “As Aiden says, we only see a fraction of it. It could be anything. Outsiders might not guess it was murder, but I reckon Patachi Ragini will have no doubts. A warning to him, if you like, from Patachi Steiner.”
“The stack rearranges itself,” said Rhillian, her emerald eyes thoughtful. “There is power in the offing. Torovan raises an army, but who will lead? Patachi Steiner no doubt fancies himself the general, but Patachi Maerler will disagree. The dukes are all in town, pledging the support of their men and coffers to one or the other, and each receptive to temptation. Perhaps Ragini flirted with the wrong maiden. Perhaps this was his leader's warning not to stray too far from the flock.”
Sasha snorted. “If straying from the flock was enough for murder, we'd have nothing but corpses all across the upper incline. They're all doing it.”
Aiden shrugged. “Some more than others.”
“They're doing more than just raising an army,” said Kessligh. “The weapons trade now accounts for perhaps one in every ten gold coins the houses make. Almost all of it's going to the Bacosh. And there's talk of larger shipments on the seas even now. We're trying to find the time and place, but no luck so far.”
“All weapons?” Sasha asked. “The Larosan armies have no want of weapons, surely?”
“But Lenayin does,” Kessligh replied. “Lenay warriors have plenty of swords, but not much else. Lowlands fighting is different than highlands. They'll need shields, helms, heavier armour.”
“And the Petrodor families will buy all this for Lenayin?” Sasha asked. Armoury on that scale would be horrendously expensive. That the families were willing to spend lives for the cause of a free, Verenthane Bacosh, there was no doubt. But gold?
It seemed too generous by half.
“There's a lot of trade between Petrodor and Lenayin,” said Errollyn, shaking his head. “Lots of ways for the families to receive return payment. Probably your father will be sending many large wagon trains down to Petrodor to pay for it all.”
“Money that should be spent on feeding the poor and keeping the roads open,” Sasha muttered. “One bad flood can wipe out half a province's harvest, and he's wasting gold on chain mail.”
Footsteps approached, and all about the table looked up. “Now what are you lot muttering about over here in your evil foreign tongues?” said the cheerful barkeeper, dumping a new jug of water on the table. “A recipe for cooking small children, perhaps? So do you fry them? Or boil them in great, steaming pots with lots of onions?”
“Fuck off, Tongren,” Sasha told him in Lenay with a broad smile. Saalsi had its sophistication, and Torovan its clever turns of phrase, but, for swearing, no tongue beat Lenay.
Tongren laughed. “Oh ho! The little princess has a foul tongue. Stop scratching the damn arm or it'll swell up all red and nasty-looking, I'm warning you.”
Sasha looked in surprise at her right hand, which was scratching the tattoo on her left bicep again. She smiled, sheepishly. “It itches.”
“Of course it bloody itches! It's three days old; it's supposed to itch.” His dark, lively gaze fell to Rhillian. “I don't suppose I could interest the lovely lady Rhillian in an ancient marking of the spirit world? Sasha can tell you my prices are quite reasonable, and my quality unmatched.”
“I know,” said Rhillian, “she's shown me. But no, I'm afraid not.”
“Ah, but M'Lady, it's said all across the highlands that the wise folk of Saalshen are as one with the spirits! Have you not felt the tug of the ancient highland ways that have drawn so many of your ancestors into the hills and valleys?”
“I have,” Rhillian admitted, and flashed him a stunning smile. “But even you, Master Tongren, cannot improve on perfection. No tattoos.”
“Modesty, thy name is Rhillian,” Errollyn remarked.
“In the highlands,” said Tongren, with a glinting smile, “we say that perfection is the light, but all light casts a shadow.” He gave a short bow and swaggered back to his rickety bar.
Rhillian gave Errollyn a sideways stare and remarked something to him in dialect that no one else at the table could possibly understand. Errollyn only grinned. Sasha reflected that if any person had the right to be immodest of her appearance, it was Rhillian. Although Errollyn was surely not far behind…
To Sasha's undying embarrassment, the day she'd first met Tongren she'd mistaken him for a fellow Lenay. In fact, he was Cherrovan. It was the first time in her life she'd come face to face with the mortal Cherrovan enemy and not had to kill him. Petrodor had many folk of highland origins, Lenay and Cherrovan. Some had come in search of work, others in search of adventure, but most were outcasts of one sort or the other. Highlanders, Lenays and Cherrovans alike, were fiercely tied to the land of their origins and few left willingly. Tongren had never fully explained why he and his family had made the long trek to Petrodor, nor why he showed little enthusiasm for returning to Cherrovan. He did not, he'd said, find the Cherrovan of today very welcoming. Hearing what she'd heard herself, Sasha had some idea what he might mean.
“You met with Patachi Maerler today?” Kessligh asked Rhillian, returning to Saalsi. Rhillian did not reply immediately. For a brief moment, Sasha thought that she might refuse to answer.
Then she nodded. “We had lunch.” Eyebrows raised at that admission. Lunch implied trust. Trust well placed, it seemed, since Rhillian had evidently not been poisoned.
“Did you have an interesting talk with the Dukes of Songel and Cisseren?”
Rhillian gazed at Kessligh for a long moment. Kessligh, who was far too wise in the ways of serrin to flinch at the piercing gleam of those eyes. Then she smiled, a slow spread across her face. “My dear Kessligh,” she said mildly. “Have you been spying on me?”
“We were agreed, Rhillian,” said Kessligh. “We were agreed that Saalshen and Nasi-Keth would work together. We both seek to prevent a war against the Saalshen Bacosh. We were agreed that neither would take action without consulting the other-”
“I have taken no action,” Rhillian objected. “I seek to talk to all the game's players, that is all.”
“You seek to make common cause with Family Maerler against the Steiner,” Kessligh retorted. “Don't you?”
For a moment, Rhillian's gaze was undaunted. Then she looked at the tabletop with a heave of her shoulders. Finally, she looked up at Sasha. Sasha watched her, cautiously. “I cover all my options,” Rhillian said quietly. “I tell you this, although there are many of the talmaad who would not wish me to, because you are my friends. But Kessligh…the Nasi-Keth cannot even agree on who leads them-”
“Kessligh leads the Nasi-Keth,” Aiden interrupted, with a flash of temper.
“Do you?” Rhillian asked Kessligh, earnestly. “When will you tell Alaine? Or his followers?”