Page 8 of A Trade of Blood

“None at all, madam.”

“Nor that they were gentry children of the two dominant landowning families of this canton? You didnotrealize this, you say?”

A bead of sweat trickled down her brow. The aroma of cabbages intensified. “Well. No, madam.”

Ana turned away. “I shall sit while you deal with her.” Then she tottered blindly over to a chair.

Ithia watched Ana go, puzzled. I fixed the innkeeper with a smile that was polite but cold. “We have not viewed the room yet,” I said gently. “You are aware of this, yes?”

“Well. Yes? I saw you just come in.”

“Correct. But—once we are in that room, we are going to see many things. The girl was the prime daughter of a gentryclan. Such folk are often augmented in many ways. Do you comprehend this?”

“I…yes?”

“Veryvisibleways,” I said. “Ways that would likely mark them as gentry to anyone with a pair of working eyes. More, it is possible we may find signs of afamiliaritybetween the boy and the girl. A familiarity that is very common to a boy and girl who stay in a room for five hours together. One that might indicate that this was, in fact,notthe first time they stayed here.”

Ithia was now staring at me with very wide eyes.

“If this is discovered, Miss Ithia,” I said, “then it would indicate that you have lied to us. Lying to the Iudex is no small thing. So. I would suggest you reconsider some of your answers to these questions.”

“I…” she began.

She fell silent, thinking. I waited, watching the sweat wander down her brow.

“I wish to be protected,” she said softly.

“From?”

“The families, sir.”

“Why?”

“Well—the girl and boy, they paid me for my silence!” she whined.

She expected me to be shocked, but I gestured impatiently for her to goon.

“I was to say nothing of their meeting! They warned me if word got out I’d assisted them, their parents would bring hell down upon me!”

“How often were the two young people meeting here?”

“Once a month!” she said, now on the verge of tears. “Sometimes more! Always the same room, always the same false names!”

“For how long?”

“A year,” she moaned. “More or less.”

“Be specific,” I said sharply. “Look at your book, if you need.”

She did so, pawing through the pages. “Th-thirteen months. The first day was the…the eighth of Tavlesi.”

At that, I opened my engraver’s satchel, produced a small glass vial, uncorked it, and sniffed. The aroma of lilacs suffused my nose. With this scent, I could better anchor all my memories of the investigation, from dates to names to distances and times, and summon them to repeat later when Ana demanded.

“Was the relationship consensual?” I asked.

“I know nothing of the relationship at all! I wished to keep everything a transaction. Anexchange.Business!”

“You’re sure you heard nothing else?” I asked. “You didn’t hear Zansay Burav scream, for example?”