The Scout and the Scoundrel, page 3
Keelin gave her a dubious look. Zara kept down a wave of frustration, telling herself to be a little compassionate. A talking metal bird had been hard to believe in before she’d experienced them for herself.
“I suppose I must take your word for it,” Keelin said. “It’s not like you can prove it by asking a question only a bird would know the answer to. Even if I could think of one, I wouldn’t know the right answer, either.”
As she began to chatter about what birds might know, the Vox continued to groan, and Zara wished she could join in. She halted on the edge of the practice field, just down from the obstacle course. Other falconers were training a short distance away. Zara threw her gloved arm up to give the Vox some lift, and they leaped into the air, wings outstretched, then flapping rapidly to propel them into the bright blue sky.
Zara wanted to close her eyes and fly with them in her mind, but Keelin said, “You will be careful, won’t you?”
Zara blinked out of the Vox’s senses and scanned the field for possible danger before staring at her.
“When you leave for your next mission,” Keelin said, smiling.
Zara frowned. “Of course. What a silly question.”
“It’s not silly for someone to worry about you,” Keelin said with a frown.
After thinking for a few moments, Zara decided it was. “I’m very good at my job.” She thought of what Adella might say about trying to see things from another’s perspective and hit upon the answer. “Ah, but we’ve never been on a mission together, so I must forgive you for not knowing how skilled I am.” She tried to look understanding and hoped it worked. “But my rank and the fact that the Vox chose me should tell you something.”
Now Keelin stared as if Zara had lapsed into another language.
“She doesn’t understand,” the Vox said, their voice fainter with distance.
“Right,” Zara said, thinking fast until she uncovered the obvious reason again. “I see why you’re confused. I earned my rank through skill, you see, which is how many people earn it. But you have yours because of who your father is.”
Keelin stepped back, her mouth open, and her cheeks darkening as if Zara had struck her. “You…how dare you?”
Oh hell. Something had gone wrong. Zara replayed the conversation, looking for an error, but it was all true.
“It was the part about her only having her rank because of her father,” the Vox said, sounding amused.
“I didn’t mean that as a joke,” Zara said. “Perhaps it’s supposed to be a secret?” She looked around to see if anyone could have overheard. “I’ve heard it mentioned many times, so I assumed it must be common knowledge.”
Keelin darkened further, and tears glittered in her eyes. “How could you say that to my face?”
Now that was just absurd. “Which part of you should I have said it to?”
Keelin barked a humorless laugh. “You won’t be seeing any of my parts anytime soon.”
That couldn’t be literal. Was she rescinding her earlier offer of lunch or lovemaking?
The Vox laughed. “The latter one. Or probably both.”
“Oh,” Zara said, relieved. “Good. That’s okay. I’m not attracted to you, so you don’t have to worry.”
By the way Keelin’s face shifted from red to purple, that had made things worse.
“I’m sure someone else will find you attractive,” Zara tried, hoping her smile conveyed positivity. “Perhaps…” She looked around for someone to ask.
“Don’t do me any favors,” Keelin said. “I may only be as attractive as the ugliest of cows, but I can find my own lovers, thanks.” She stalked away before Zara could wonder aloud how one judged the attractiveness of cows.
The Vox was still sniggering when they returned to her and explained why Keelin had been offended, though Zara still couldn’t see the sense in any of it.
“Why does she care what I think? And why can you understand her better than me?”
“Experience,” the Vox said. “Maybe if you had more than one lifetime behind you, you’d get it.”
She doubted it, but one good thing had come out of the afternoon. Keelin was gone, and Zara had a few minutes left to fly in peace, far above the petty concerns of those below.
Chapter Three
Roni expected to stay in the company of the constabulary for one more night, given how slow the wheels of law usually turned. She was fine with delaying her trip to prison. It gave her more chances to dream of escape. She had just had her gruel and moldy bread breakfast and was about to engage in some serious planning when her door flew open.
She scrambled to her feet in confusion when a shadowy figure beckoned from the doorway. “But I thought—”
The shadow grabbed her by her shirt front with one beefy arm and dragged her into the dimness of the hall.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Roni mumbled as she got her feet and breath back.
Out of the shadows, the guard’s body proved as meaty as that one arm. Her expression was so stony, her face seemed made of crags, and her pale hair wasn’t even an inch long, perfect for showing off what little remained of her left ear and the wealth of studs adorning her right.
Roni glanced toward where another guard was fitting leg irons on the first in a line of four other prisoners. Unlike the city jailers in their uniforms of gray wool and bad attitude, these guards wore leather armor. Roni swallowed as her hideous breakfast threatened to reappear. What the hell kind of place was prison if the guards needed armor?
Gods, she was going to need all the help she could get.
She tried a cheeky grin with the beefy guard. “You don’t have to bother with the irons for me, serrah. I don’t steal lives, only valuables.” She winked. “And hearts.”
The guard’s expression matched the wall so exactly, Roni bit back a joke about not being able to tell them apart.
The second guard was finished with the first prisoner and moved to the second. Roni’s heart picked up speed. She could bolt, hoping she found the way out before anyone caught her and try for freedom.
But the way that arm had shot out just now…Beefy was large, but she wasn’t slow.
Roni’s emotions bubbled like a pot of stew. She licked her lips and wanted to stay quiet, but she had to do something. “Who cuts your hair?” she blurted, knowing the question made no sense, but she didn’t care. She ran a hand through her own shoulder-length locks. It still had a few pins keeping it out of her face. “I like to keep mine short, too. Well, not as short as yours, as you can see.”
The manacles made a loud click-clack as they went around the third prisoner’s ankles, and the sound echoed inside her. Why had they let her keep the hair pins? Because they couldn’t do a damn thing to armored guards? Maybe they wanted to give her a small chance against the vicious killers in prison or the option to do everyone a favor and kill herself.
And why the hell wouldn’t this woman speak?
“Um.” The leg irons rattled as the guard lifted them. He stepped closer. Roni told herself not to weep like someone ahead was doing. She couldn’t be weak. “There’s been a mistake,” she whispered, unable to just shut the fuck up. She shifted as the guard kneeled at her feet, and Beefy put a hand on her shoulder. Roni clamped her teeth on a scream as that horrible clicking sound echoed around her. She could feel the cold iron through her trousers, and the weight was as heavy as her despair.
As the second guard began to lead them out, Roni turned to Beefy again, desperation screaming inside her. “Please help me.”
The very worst thing to say where she was going, but there it was.
Beefy tilted her head and frowned. “Just keep your strides short.”
Her voice was beauty incarnate, and when she turned Roni to face the backs of the others and gave her a gentle prod, Roni obeyed, letting those words flutter in her mind. They weren’t just instructions on how to walk in leg irons. They were a mantra for her life right now. Little steps through life, taking each situation as she found it. She didn’t have years in prison ahead of her. She had months, weeks, days, a series of mornings, noons, and nights. She held on to that through the jail and into the light and onto a wagon where another chain connected her to her fellow inmates.
Roni breathed deeply of the fresh air, feeling giddy, still nauseated, detached from herself, but drawn to Beefy, who drove the cart with her fellow guard. Perhaps her cart-mates might all feel such connectivity, forming a bubble of safety before they even reached the prison walls.
She looked at the man next to her and smiled.
He leaned back, frowning. “Keep your eyeballs and your teeth to yourself, or I’ll rip ’em out of yer head.”
Well, there went that bubble.
Roni lowered her chin to her chest and let despair settle over her like a cloak, tempted to end her life before any parts of her were ripped from any others.
And she hadn’t even gotten to prison yet.
The admission process at the prison felt like a nightmare. She didn’t dare look up as they searched her for weapons, covered her and her clothing in stinging delousing powder, and shepherded her through hallways filled with crying, muttering, and swearing. She was just getting used to moving through life like a downtrodden sheep when the pushing stopped at last.
Now what?
She could see her breath, so it was cold, but warm light hit the top of her head. She dared to look and found herself outside again, though stone walls encased this small yard made of dirt and rocks, and other prisoners wandered around, some eyeing her curiously but most seeming to focus on their companions.
Roni was frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do, where to go. Uncertainty got a person caught or killed. When in doubt, blend in. It was one of the first lessons she’d learned. A quick glance around revealed several loners leaning against the walls near the guarded doorway she’d just come through. Fantastic. She copied their stance and tried to project their aura of anonymity, too, finding comfort in the chameleon-like powers she’d always possessed.
Ignore me. I’m one of you.
Her ability to act however someone wanted her to would no doubt come in handy later.
Or sooner, judging by the way several people were now staring at her boots. They were secondhand and were almost worn through near the toes, but they seemed better than most of the footwear she could see. Roni tried to summon Beefy’s stoic, no-shit-taking attitude and had to hope no one could hear her pounding heart. One person she could get away from, but an entire gang? And there wasn’t anywhere to hide. She was probably safe near the guards, but they wouldn’t be around all the time. She needed more of a plan. Damn, why hadn’t she been paying attention when they’d marched her out here?
She kept her head low and scanned the people watching her from under her lashes. When everyone finally left off coveting her boots and went about their business, she thought maybe her badass bluff had worked.
Until she felt the heat of someone beside her.
She told herself not to look, but when the someone said, “It’s Veronique, isn’t it?” Roni started so hard, she squeaked.
This woman gave her a kind smile. She wore a dalmatica like a nobleman. It draped from throat to ankle and looked warm and snuggly…and was as pristine as her face, where everyone else bore a hint of dirt. Her salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back and cascaded over her shoulders like a shimmery waterfall. Her pale face brightened further as Roni stared, her smile highlighting laugh lines and making her dark eyes twinkle.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She glanced around. “This can be a fearsome place.”
Roni was so happy to hear a friendly voice, she almost whooped or wept and everything in between. “It is.” She bowed. “My friends call me Roni, Serrah…” As the woman nodded regally, Roni tried to place her and failed, though the face and bearing were nagging at her mind.
The woman cocked her head. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were barely more than a child when we met. I imagine you’ve dealt mainly with my sister’s subordinates. Or my brother’s, perhaps.”
Pieces fell into place with those words. She’d only dealt with one family who could claim subordinates. “You’re Julia Esposito.” The eldest member of the Newgate Syndicate, the criminal overlords in charge of Roni’s thieving ground.
“You do remember.” Julia’s smile was warm, matronly. Roni wanted to believe it, but there were too many stories about how Julia Esposito ruled her family even from prison. They said she could even leave these walls whenever she liked, but it was safer for her here, surrounded by allies, and with the head untouchable, the Newgate Syndicate would never fall.
Not even to her siblings.
If Roni stayed close to her…
She put on her best fawning smile. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Serrah Esposito. I feared for my safety on my first day.” Well, feared for her boots, but she needed all the sympathy she could get. “You must let me repay you.” Surely, Julia would have some use for her. She could do laundry for three years or cook or clean, whatever got her out alive.
“How kind. And you don’t have to worry. No one will harm you now.”
Birdsong and choirs of angels sang in Roni’s mind, exulting so loudly, she almost missed Julia’s next words:
“Not after I’ve made it clear I want to kill you myself.”
The birds and angels died, and Julia’s smile never slipped.
“P…pardon?” Roni had to have misheard, could barely hear now through the rushing in her ears.
“My contacts tell me you weren’t arrested with any money, and you are very late with your tithes, yet you continued to work our patch.”
“I have the jewels.”
Julia tsked. “On the outside. I’m afraid it’s now or never.”
Roni swallowed hard, her throat like sand. “I hid them. Someone could get them. I’ll tell you where.”
“Oh, Roni.” Her sympathetic look seemed to steal all the air. “Now, how would it look if I let you keep breathing after you’ve broken our trust? I’ll tell you what.” She rested an elegant hand on Roni’s shoulder. “Tell me where the jewels are, and you’ll die peacefully in your sleep.” Her grip tightened. “Instead of any less pleasant options. And,” she added like a street merchant offering a bonus, “I’ll give a few coins to your next of kin to make up for taking one of their breadwinners.”
Nope, that still sounded awful, even with no kin to worry about. Through the panic jangling in her head, Roni saw the night magistrate’s face and wondered if she’d been set up, how long the syndicate had been looking for her.
And like the night before in jail, she wanted to keep her mouth shut, but it took off without her, and she said, “Where did I stash the jewels? Hmm. Did you try looking up your ass?”
Gods and devils, that smile slipped now.
Ah well, if she was going to die, best to piss off as many people as possible.
Chapter Four
The rest of Zara’s day went as planned, starting with sadly putting the Vox Feram back in the armory, then meeting with Colonel Lopez, her commanding officer, to get her next scouting location. She’d been to the Firellian border once already, visiting the first in a series of watchtowers that lined the Sarrasian side of the Kingfish River. They’d reported seeing nothing suspicious on the river below, but the rest of the border had to be checked, even though a tall cliff ran along the Sarrasian side of the river, protecting it until the mountains and their unpassable heights rose on one end and the other sloped gradually down until it met a well-defended plain and forest.
As part of the force protecting all of it, Zara felt a jolt of pride. She was happy to have a destination, a duty. She didn’t even need to be told about anything specific to look for. Everything out of the ordinary would be noted in her report. Colonel Lopez had once told her that her reports were legendary. Gisele had said that was sarcasm, but she didn’t know what she was talking about. Anyone who chose the constant pain of the mages’ guild over the army wasn’t using all the brain power she should be.
After she’d gotten the location, Zara was dismissed, her duties at the base done for that day as her sergeants were off-duty and resting, and the rest of her squad was taking their time off among the group of waystations on the way to the border, closer to their families.
Adella had said it was very generous of the army to have scouts patrol close to their homes. Zara didn’t see the generosity angle. Rather, she suspected scouts were posted near their homes so they had all the more reason to do their job properly.
Not her squad. They felt the same duty as her. But other, more undisciplined squads might need an incentive.
If Keelin ever got a squad of her own, it would no doubt need even more inducement than that.
Zara paused along the sidewalk and took a deep breath. She didn’t need to think of people and why they did what they did. She was on her way home, would hopefully be the only one there, and let her internal map loose in her mind, thinking through the various routes. She knew most of them by heart anyway, but there was nothing better than examining each and weighing the options.
Smiling, she strode homeward again, staying to one side of the snow-encrusted streets, the one that had spent the most time in the sun. The wide avenues of the Oligarch’s Ward always caught more daylight than most other streets. As she watched several people go skidding or sliding on the other side, she bit her tongue. She’d learned early on that pointing out illogic in most people’s actions rarely earned her a thank you.
If only she could take the Vox home. Then someone could at least listen to and agree with her imaginary scolding. But even knowledge of it was forbidden outside the army. Probably for the best. If she took them home, no doubt Gisele would try to dismantle them to determine how they worked. The Vox would wound her, and that wouldn’t make anyone happy, especially Adella, who would then want to take revenge on the Vox. She’d convince her lover, Bridget, to help her, and…oh, it would be a giant mess. Emotions would be flying about all over the place, and people would be shouting, and Zara wouldn’t know which way to turn, and she didn’t want her sisters maimed or upset.
