Prodigal - Book III

A Red Queen

And then he paused, a twitch in his brow, the subtle narrowing of his dark eyes.

"You know who I am," he concluded.

"Our library had a hidden room," Fae told him, watching as he twisted a bracelet around his wrist. "You know who I am too."

"Of course I know who you are," he had replied, an edge to his tone then. "Knowing who you are has long been a matter of keeping my skin or not."

And keep your skin you did, Fae thinks, turning to spare a glance at the long-limbed man, all repose now except for the sharp eyes. She figured out rather quickly that was all a façade. Keno watched. Keno listened. Keno did not relax.

"You need to relax," he says, and the suggestion is so close to the trail of her thoughts she almost smiles. He has an eerie knack for that, tracking on the same line as her, even when the conclusions are different.

"I need to read reports," she says instead.

"Reading isn't going to save all of them, but a clear head might."

"It's not going to be clear if I don't know—" she begins, but stops. Worn trails, old arguments.

Thalassa lost to the Jarles; Dangok in ruins, the old anxieties begin again, piling on top of each other like bones. Solveigard falling, falling...

"Sit down," the thief says, his voice cutting through it, his gaze fixed and watchful. "You look like you could faint. Sit down and I'll tell you about my progress."

She does, collapsing in the chair across from him gracelessly, not with the dignity of a ruler. The elegance of a queen. But that is a show she does not need to put on for him.

"Have you found more?" she asks.

The thief pulls the little gray book out, turning to a dog-eared page.

"Acquired by S.J.F. in the southern section of Thalassa City," he reads aloud from this Jarles ledger, this notation of trafficked bodies and bones. His finger taps on the page. "Did you know there's a fine sea captain by the name of Saul Fernuch who often ports at Thalassa? Well, used to, obviously. His middle name is Jris, by the way."

"And where is Saul now?" she demands, leaning forward onto her knees. This, this is where she and the thief first came to terms, where they are always in perfect alignment.

This is what I went to Bear's Spear for, this is what I sailed out to East Watch for, what I starved and bled for, the one thing I wanted—

"Our dear friend has managed to evade the hordes of Jarles," Keno answers, his black eyes glittering. "He has taken refuge across Broken Port Bay in Tazdahur City."

"Can you get to him?"

The thief shrugs.

"I know some people who could do it. For a price. You should know that he has the High King's special favor. He carries special spices and cloths that are difficult to acquire."

"There's more," Fae says after a moment, because she knows him now; she knows when a secret is hiding between the lines of his smile.

He pulls a thin ribbon of parchment out of his coat with two fingers, dangling it out over her outstretched hand.

Fae take it, unravelling it, reading it.

She looks back up at him after a moment.

"Another one? Here?"

The blackness of Keno's eyes seems to glitter as he answers: "An active war zone is a rather good place for an arms dealer."

"Is the Cabal using him?" Fae asks, leaning forward. "Can you get concrete evidence of that?"