Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 11: High-Risk Gamble

"It's a mad scheme," Edgar said, shaking his head. "It's ill-advised, and foolhardy, and there's not a chance that it'll work. However..." His mouth quirked. "I like a risky gamble. And I can never resist terrible odds."

Julian laced his hands together. "So you'll join us?"

Again, Edgar and Devan exchanged a look. This time, it was Devan that spoke.

"We have enough money," the youngest brother said. "If we ally with you — if you take the throne — then we want something else instead."

Julian's face was unchanged. "And what's that?"

"Titles," Devan said.

Edgar leaned forward. "And access to the court."

The opera singer hit a high note that sliced through the room like an arrow. Julian turned. His face was shadowed, but the message was clear: it's your call. Isolde stared at the stage. On one hand, Edgar and Devan Lund were notorious gamblers, drug abusers, and liars. On the other hand, they had access to large armies and resources.

She swallowed.

"Deal," she said.

They all shook hands. Julian rose.

He touched Isolde's shoulders, steering her towards the door. "Pleasure doing business with you, gentleman. We'll be in touch." He paused. "Oh, and one more thing. Please see that this reaches your brother."

Julian dug in his pockets, producing a letter sealed with a red wax stamp. Edgar took it, his eyebrows rising.

"Roberge?" Edgar shook his head. "You're wasting your time. He likes the odds to be in his favour."

Julian's smile was the gleam of a knife. "You'll find I can be very convincing."

They turned for the door. Isolde was aware of the guard's heavy gaze as they passed; the opera had reached intermission, and well-dressed guests spilled into the corridor, carrying glasses of champagne and masks mounted on sticks. Someone gave a high-pitched laugh, and the sound felt like fingernails on the nape of her neck. Julian squeezed her hand.

His voice was low. "Just keep your head down."

Isolde nodded.

Julian guided her through the corridors. Isolde looked up as they reached the double doors, closing her eyes as the cold air hit her face. Hundreds of stars glittered overhead, winking like diamond earrings nestled in a black velvet box.

They swung into the carriage. Spiffy cracked the reins, and the vehicle lurched to life, rattling down the snowy track. Julian closed his eyes. He seemed to be regaining his Julian-ness, Isolde observed: the slumped shoulders, the ruffled black hair, the tilt to the head... it was like watching an actor shed a character's skin.

"How did it go?" Spiffy asked.

Julian's face was grim. "We'll see."

Starlight trickled into the carriage. Julian squeezed her hand. And Isolde leaned her head against his shoulder, watching as the darkness took the opera house into its jaws, devouring any remnants of light.

***

Isolde woke to sunshine.

She shifted into a sitting position, squinting against the morning light. She could hear the faint hush-hush of gentle waves, along with the cheerful lilt of birdsong. Julian's cot was empty; he'd folded the blankets and fluffed the pillows before he'd left. And it must have been early, Isolde realized, noting the position of the sun; it was only an hour or two after dawn.

She put on a robe, padding downstairs.

The smell of cooked bacon and toast filled the air, along with something like butter and garlic. Malissa was pouring a cup of tea; a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose, and they slipped down as she leaned forward.

Isolde stepped into the kitchen. The other woman's head snapped up.

"Your Hol—" Malissa caught herself. "Isolde. Would you like some breakfast?"

She held up a frying pan filled with eggs and vegetables. And Isolde — who realized that she hadn't eaten in well over sixteen hours — felt her stomach rumble.

"Yes, please." She took a seat at the table. "Where's Jules?"

Malissa scooped roasted tomatoes onto a plate. "Out in the barn. One of the carriage wheels need replacing, and Spiffy's knees aren't what they used to be."

"We owe him a debt," Isolde said. "He risked everything for us last night."

Malissa shook her head. "Spiffy's family. He'd be glad to do it."

Isolde picked at a hangnail. "His granddaughter... How sick is she?"

Malissa set the plate down. "Very sick, I'm afraid. The local healer can only manage the girl's pain; she'd have to go to Zarob for treatment. The whole thing would cost about five hundred thousand rukka, plus the cost of food and board. We offered to pay for it, but Spiffy's a proud man. The idea of taking charity..." She picked up her tea, settling at the table. "He'd never agree to it."

Isolde chose her next words carefully. "Have you ever thought about taking the girl yourselves?"

Malissa raised an eyebrow. "Without telling him, you mean?"

Isolde nodded. The other woman stirred her tea.

"Spiffy would never forgive us," Malissa said finally. "We've raised his yearly wages to a sum that he found acceptable. But that's all we can do."

Isolde took a bite of toast. She was about to change the subject when the door flew open. Julian stood on the threshold, looking sweaty and dishevelled; his white sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and there was a smudge of grease on his cheek.

"Oh, good," Julian said, striding into the kitchen. "You're awake. This came."

He held out a letter. Isolde wiped her hands on a napkin.

"What is it?"

"Read it," Julian said.

Isolde took the letter. The cardstock felt expensive, and the looping cursive letters suggested an expensive education. She scanned the lines.

To my most unexpected friend—

What an interesting letter to receive. Consider my interest piqued. You and your companion are most welcome to join me for a spot of lunch tomorrow at one o'clock; do bring some raw meat to distract the dogs as you enter.

R.L.

She lowered the letter, her gaze flying up to Julian's face. Malissa lowered her tea.

"What is it?" Malissa asked.

Julian plucked a mushroom from the pan. "Roberge invited us to his manor tomorrow. He wants to negotiate leasing his army to us."

Malissa frowned. "Roberge invited you to his manor? That's... unusual."

"Do you think it's a trap?" Isolde asked.

"I have no idea," Julian said, popping the mushroom into his mouth. "But I do know something."

"And what's that?"

He swallowed. "It's a risk we'll have to take."