Tales of Fire and Ruin

Guileful

"Anyway, your question. I suppose it's better if you hear it from me than from the people in town." I let out a mirthless chuckle. Already, I felt my throat dry up thinking of uncle Harold. It wasn't easy to talk about this, but Oleander had just saved all of us. He deserved to know.

"The Montbows were originally merchants, as I've already told you before," I said. "We were so good at setting up trading posts that my ancestors were elevated to nobility over a hundred years ago. For being the first merchants successful in setting up a trade route with port Richris on the other side of the sea."

I sighed. "After my grandfather passed away, our uncle Harold took over and ran the Montbow locations overseas in port Richris. He was wildly successful, or so it seemed. We trusted in him since the coin kept flowing. But my uncle was rash in his decision taking, and a swindler and a thief. He had been racking up debt and conning investors, rich and poor. His workers finally revolted on the islands, and it got bloody."

Oleander nodded in understanding. "Your father trusted his brother, who turned out to be a bad person."

"Yes," I said. "And Father's signature is also underneath many contracts uncle Harold made. My father is a warrior, not a bookkeeper. He signed, trusting his older brother blindly. Now, we can't show our faces on the Richris islands because any Montbow will get shot on sight by the sailors. The townsfolk here at the Thundercoast are mad because they suffer under our ruined reputation, too. They can no longer trade, and unsavoury debt collectors travel through town to come to us. When there's trouble or unrest in this region, it's always tied to our family."

"Yes, but that is not your fault," Oleander protested. "You must have been but a child when this happened. You did nothing wrong!"

"Maybe I didn't personally, but try explaining that to the folks in town," I said. "They are right that debt collectors come here because uncle Harold is gone now. Killed in the fray with revolting sailors. That bastard. We are the only ones left now. The only door debt collectors can knock on to demand their money back."

Oleander was silent for a moment. His eyes travelled to our entwined fingers. "Your sister Gisela mentioned selling the Bleeding Ivy antidote in town." 

"Yes, she did," I said. "And I apologise for that, too. Gisela can be rather forward. She thinks five steps ahead, but she doesn't consider what other people think about those steps, nor that what she wants may not be possible. It's not our antidote. It's yours."

Oleander bit his lip. He raised his eyes to meet mine. "If giving it to you means I can stay with you, the recipe to the antidote is yours."

There was that same unyielding determination edged in Oleander's face again. The iridescent green of his irises almost seemed to radiate in the dim light and mesmerised me. "Oleander, you don't have to gift me anything," I breathed. "The Montbows made their own problems, and we should find solutions to them ourselves. You should sell your antidote yourself. It's your knowledge."

"Perhaps, but I can't do that anyway, can I?" Oleander replied. "The moment I leave the Montbow mansion to become a merchant, I will be alone. Ytel's men, or other people who hear that I can make antidotes, will try to capture me and force me to share the recipe before killing me."

I grimaced. "Well, at least you learned fast. I suppose that's true. They know your worth now. I can't say they won't try to take you if they find you on the road."

"And if I travel with Endris, I would put him in danger too," Oleander pointed out with a sad frown.

"Yes, you're right," I had to admit again. "But you don't have to give me the antidote."