Page 102 of A Trade of Blood

He nodded, his eyes filled with sorrow. Then he turned to the window and murmured, “What cure is there, I wonder?”

I studied his veil of blond hair. The way he leaned his head against the carriage door, his sad eyes fixed on the misty lanes. The smell of apricots, and spice, and rich earth that always clung so close to him.

Why now? Why have this now?

“I suppose,” I said slowly, “the only cure to such weariness is to keep your own space within the Empire. A place where something decent can grow.”

“A little courtyard garden, perhaps,” he mused. “Wise words! But I confess, it’s been a rather long while since I’ve seen anything flower in my garden, Kol. This place is barren. You have seen what’s out there.”

“Perhaps you should look harder, then, sir.”

He met my eye. “Really? Perhaps I shall.”

The carriage came to a stop, and we climbed out. The night air was close and thick, heavy with mist and the scent of churned mud. Somewhere in Lacanthim I could hear drovers singing; it had a merry step toit.

“Strange to hear such merriment,” I said softly, “and knowing what is out there.”

“It’s my business to know many awful things that eat away at this earth of ours,” said Tauri, “so that is a familiar feeling. Easier to wish for ignorance than to burden yourself with the rot in all our hearts.” He gave me a sad smile. “I shall return to the Orbiis offices and rest there, and find you in the morning, Signum Kol. Good evening.”

I watched him go, his gait dreamy and sad, his hair a bright, shimmering veil in the night. I caught a whiff of his scent, apricots and spice, and felt my pulse hot in my ears.

Then a voice from across the street: “Din!Din!”

I turned, flustered, and saw Fotia waving to me. She crossed the lane, her face pinkened and breathing hard. “By hell, I’ve looked all over for you! Where have youbeen? The proprietor at the Green Drover said he wasn’t even sure you stayed there anymore, you kept such odd hours!”

“Oh, that I feel,” I said, yawning tremendously. “What are you doing in town, Fo? I thought you’d be staying at Aimafall.”

“There? Absolutely not. Not after all the talk of murder and conspiracy and spirits! And worse, Madam Velona is in a…anawfulmood. She’s taken to her quarters and refuses to even come out.”

“Castus?”

She nodded grimly. “I can’t imagine her grief. It must be crushing. I’ve talked to the custodi, and they say they’ll let me stay in the cells, with Ip. Keep him company. I’m there half the time anyway. But I did wish to update you—your advice to ask about the rope was a clever thing!”

“Was it?” I asked quickly. “Why?”

“Well, all the servants knew nothing, as they’ve changed over so much in the years since. But thedrovers…they knew much. And they chatter. Especially to me.”

Despite everything, I scowled at that. My sister was a terribly beautiful girl by any measure, and I did not love hearing of any flirtatious favors from the cowhands.

“You won’t resent it when I tell you what they said!” Fotia said. “They told me that the rope that hanged Sagma was lost. Apparently it was ripped down immediately and disposed of—perhaps by the one who found her.”

“Really? Who was it?”

“Another drover, a young man named Arthinio. He was a stableboy back then but quit after finding Sagma’s body. He went to work for the Buravs, I’m told. They said he feared for his life—but they didn’t know why.”

“You think he found something. Saw something, when he came across Sagma hanging.”

“And what he saw terrified him. I’m looking for him now in the city. I’m sure I’ll find him—Ijust hope he’s willing to speak to someone so close to the Armentas.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” I said. “Maybe wait and take the custodi with you.”

She stuck her nose up at that. “I can handle a few mutinouscowhands! I’ve done it since the day I first came here. Besides, I noteyoudidn’t offer to come instead.”

“I didn’t,” I said slowly, “because I have a…task tomorrow.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Let’s walk a moment. I’ve much to tell you.”

—

The muddy lanesof Lacanthim turned to shimmering rivers as the mai-lamps began to glow. Cowhands and drovers and servants tottered back and forth over the plank walkways but more often than not simply strode through the mire, indifferent to the puddles. Each new tread re-formed the pattern of lights about us, until all the streets were like the gleaming, pockmarked face of the full moon.