tug at the shoulder of a page’s tunic.
“I’m going to need a courier,” he told the boy, “and quickly. Someone who knows the road to Mirenze.”
His office was more of a cell, cold and musty behind a heavy oak door banded in iron. Zellweger lit a slender white candle, cursing as he singed his fingertips, and sat down at his cramped writing desk to draft a letter.
“Lodovico,”
he wrote, “
I have done as you asked. You will be approached by an emissary of the treasury, seeking credit from the Banco Marchetti for the war effort.”
A tiny bead of black ink clung to the tip of Zellweger’s quill, hovering above the parchment as he considered his words.
“I do not know what schemes you have made me a party to, but let this be the end of it. I know the folly of begging a blackmailer for mercy, but I beg it nonetheless: no more. This has the stink of treason. I cannot bear it.”
He left the letter unsigned.
Folding the parchment, he took a stick of red beeswax from his desk and held its tip over the candle’s flame until it dripped down like bloody tears to spatter the letter’s flap. Instead of his formal seal, he pressed the wax firmly into place with the flat bottom of the candlestick.
The courier was waiting. Zellweger took a deep breath as he shoved himself to his feet and trudged out of his office with the letter in hand.
May the Gardener have mercy on my soul
, he thought.
Chapter Nine
“Do some magic,” the giant said.
Renata and Hedy knelt on a finely woven rug, staring up at the mountain of a bandit. His tent was the biggest in the camp and crammed full of stolen finery, from a handcrafted riverwood desk to a gilded parakeet cage. The bandit, the one who had led the attack on their wagon, squatted on a finely carved bench inlaid with mother-of-pearl scallops.
“It’s…it’s not that easy,” Renata said.
“Fine,” the giant said, waving at the one-eyed man behind them. “They’re useless. Get rid of them.”
Renata shook her head wildly. “Wait! I mean, I just…I’m a witch. I need…things, like…”
“Herbs,” Hedy offered.
“Herbs. From the forest.”
The giant curled his lips in a cruel smile. “I should let you go and trust you’ll come right back, is that it?”
Renata gritted her teeth. Hedy trembled beside her, pale.
“No,” Renata said, “just her. I’ll stay here while she fetches the things I need.”
The giant shrugged. He nodded to the one-eyed bandit, and Renata’s shoulders tensed as she heard the slither of a knife whipping from a belt sheath. Without a word, he sliced through the ropes binding Hedy’s wrists.
Two hourglasses sat on the giant’s desk, exquisite showpieces with brass rods caging elaborate twists of glass and two fistfuls of purple-black sand. He flipped them both over and pressed one into Hedy’s hands.
“You know what was gonna happen to you if your mistress here didn’t speak up for you, right?” he grunted.
She gave a meek nod.
“You got until the sand runs out. If you’re not back by then, I toss
her
to the boys, and she gets it twice as bad as you would’ve. Understand?”
She nodded again.
“Get gone, then.”
Hedy half ran out of the tent, clutching her hourglass to her chest. The giant dropped back down on his bench and rested his elbows on his knees. He leaned toward Renata, looming over her as he looked her up and down.
“You know who we are?”
“Bandits who murder and kidnap innocent travelers.”
He snorted. “No such thing as innocent. And we ain’t thieves, least not by nature. We’re the Seven-Fingered Men, a company of hired steel. Times’ve been rough since the Empire got done whipping the Terrai. Contracts drying up. Gotta do what you can to make ends meet.”
“My mistake. You’re sell-swords
playing
at banditry, then.” Her gaze flicked to his hands. “You have all ten fingers.”
“I wasn’t the original captain. Name’s Marco. What’s yours?”
“Renata.” She didn’t
“I’m going to need a courier,” he told the boy, “and quickly. Someone who knows the road to Mirenze.”
His office was more of a cell, cold and musty behind a heavy oak door banded in iron. Zellweger lit a slender white candle, cursing as he singed his fingertips, and sat down at his cramped writing desk to draft a letter.
“Lodovico,”
he wrote, “
I have done as you asked. You will be approached by an emissary of the treasury, seeking credit from the Banco Marchetti for the war effort.”
A tiny bead of black ink clung to the tip of Zellweger’s quill, hovering above the parchment as he considered his words.
“I do not know what schemes you have made me a party to, but let this be the end of it. I know the folly of begging a blackmailer for mercy, but I beg it nonetheless: no more. This has the stink of treason. I cannot bear it.”
He left the letter unsigned.
Folding the parchment, he took a stick of red beeswax from his desk and held its tip over the candle’s flame until it dripped down like bloody tears to spatter the letter’s flap. Instead of his formal seal, he pressed the wax firmly into place with the flat bottom of the candlestick.
The courier was waiting. Zellweger took a deep breath as he shoved himself to his feet and trudged out of his office with the letter in hand.
May the Gardener have mercy on my soul
, he thought.
Chapter Nine
“Do some magic,” the giant said.
Renata and Hedy knelt on a finely woven rug, staring up at the mountain of a bandit. His tent was the biggest in the camp and crammed full of stolen finery, from a handcrafted riverwood desk to a gilded parakeet cage. The bandit, the one who had led the attack on their wagon, squatted on a finely carved bench inlaid with mother-of-pearl scallops.
“It’s…it’s not that easy,” Renata said.
“Fine,” the giant said, waving at the one-eyed man behind them. “They’re useless. Get rid of them.”
Renata shook her head wildly. “Wait! I mean, I just…I’m a witch. I need…things, like…”
“Herbs,” Hedy offered.
“Herbs. From the forest.”
The giant curled his lips in a cruel smile. “I should let you go and trust you’ll come right back, is that it?”
Renata gritted her teeth. Hedy trembled beside her, pale.
“No,” Renata said, “just her. I’ll stay here while she fetches the things I need.”
The giant shrugged. He nodded to the one-eyed bandit, and Renata’s shoulders tensed as she heard the slither of a knife whipping from a belt sheath. Without a word, he sliced through the ropes binding Hedy’s wrists.
Two hourglasses sat on the giant’s desk, exquisite showpieces with brass rods caging elaborate twists of glass and two fistfuls of purple-black sand. He flipped them both over and pressed one into Hedy’s hands.
“You know what was gonna happen to you if your mistress here didn’t speak up for you, right?” he grunted.
She gave a meek nod.
“You got until the sand runs out. If you’re not back by then, I toss
her
to the boys, and she gets it twice as bad as you would’ve. Understand?”
She nodded again.
“Get gone, then.”
Hedy half ran out of the tent, clutching her hourglass to her chest. The giant dropped back down on his bench and rested his elbows on his knees. He leaned toward Renata, looming over her as he looked her up and down.
“You know who we are?”
“Bandits who murder and kidnap innocent travelers.”
He snorted. “No such thing as innocent. And we ain’t thieves, least not by nature. We’re the Seven-Fingered Men, a company of hired steel. Times’ve been rough since the Empire got done whipping the Terrai. Contracts drying up. Gotta do what you can to make ends meet.”
“My mistake. You’re sell-swords
playing
at banditry, then.” Her gaze flicked to his hands. “You have all ten fingers.”
“I wasn’t the original captain. Name’s Marco. What’s yours?”
“Renata.” She didn’t
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