Chapter Thirteen

 

 

I AWAKENED hungry, dirty, and somewhat disoriented, but with Jory plastered cozily against me.

“Are we late?” I asked groggily.

He yawned. “No. Sun just rose. It’ll be hours before Uren goes to the Finch.” He wiggled against me. “We have time to finish what the wraiths interrupted.”

Tempting, yes, but I was sore from sleeping on the hard floor and could still detect a chill inside me from last night’s adventure. I disentangled from him and sat up.

“It’s going to be a challenge getting to the Finch without being caught by the guard.”

He looked disappointed but shrugged, stood, and gave me a hand up, leering as I replaced my clothing. He’d never fully undressed, so it took him only a moment to get ready. We shook the dust off our cloaks before putting them on, and he attempted to tame his curls with his fingers. There was nothing I could do about my growing beard.

Jory seemed strangely cheerful. He hummed quietly as he laced up his boots. “Can we stop for something to eat?” he asked. “I’m ravenous.”

“Really?”

“I’m not used to adventures.”

“This isn’t playacting or a game. We’re going to—”

“Be killed. I know. But I don’t see any point in dying on an empty stomach.” He flashed me a boyish grin.

“What in all hells are you so happy about?”

His sigh was overly dramatic. “Well, for one thing, we made it through the night. Between Uren, the guards, and the wraiths, I didn’t expect that. And I got to sleep with you again, which was really quite pleasant even if the wraiths spoiled some of our fun.” His expression grew serious. “And last night you put yourself between me and life-threatening danger. Again.”

“It’s—” I stopped myself. I’d been ready to claim that protecting him was my job, but that wasn’t remotely true. The only thing I’d been paid to do was drag him to Uren, most likely to be executed.

Jory briefly stroked my cheek. “I’m not sure whether you did that because you’re a hero or because you specifically care about me. Either way, it’s wonderful. I’ve never met a hero before and nobody has— Well.” He cleared his throat and looked down.

Blessed Bolitho, why had I done it? Both times had been instinctive, with no time for conscious decisions. Perhaps my life held so little value to me that I’d throw myself in front of any oncoming danger. Perhaps that would make it attempted suicide rather than heroism. But no, I was glad to have survived, even if only for a few more hours.

I couldn’t solve every mystery. My own behavior would remain a puzzle. “I guess we can grab some food as we go.”

We each pulled up the hood of our cape as we left the warehouse, obscuring our faces slightly and Jory’s distinctive hair completely. But there was nothing I could do to disguise my height, and surely the guards were on the lookout for a tall thin man. The best practice would be to get to the Finch and off the streets as quickly as possible—and hope she was in a cooperative frame of mind.

We crossed Basilisk Bridge quickly, weaving through the early-morning throngs. On the opposite side of the river, we bought tea, dried fish, and greenfruit from a street vendor and consumed them while we walked.

We twice encountered guards, but I saw them before they spied us, and I hastily yanked Jory into a shadowed alley until they passed. The second time, he stole a quick kiss before I let him go. I couldn’t understand the perverse enjoyment he was getting out of our situation, but now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

The hour was still early when we reached the Finch. This one had her shop on a busy street in the upper reaches of the Silver, between stores selling clothing, jewelry, and linens. I’d never visited this particular Finch, but she looked exactly like her sisters, and the interior of her shop was identical to the others. She recognized me at once.

“Daveth Blyd!” she exclaimed when we entered. “And Jory Pearce. So they haven’t caught you yet.”

“Not yet.” I looked nervously at her shop’s front windows.

She puffed on her calmstick. “Why aren’t you hiding? Or fleeing?”

“Unfinished business.”

She clucked her tongue. I was going to explain our plan to her, but before I could speak, Jory gave her his most winning smile and held her free hand in both of his. “We need your help, darling,” he said.

Although his attempt at ingratiation was as transparent as glass, it was hard to resist Jory when he turned on his full charm. As I well knew. She looked at him fondly. “What can I do?”

“Uren’s due here this morning?”

“In about an hour.”

“He’s unjustly accused me of theft. And worse—he’s set Daveth up for murdering Arthyen. Daveth wouldn’t murder anyone.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Your man there has killed plenty of people. You know that, right?”

I stood impassively, silently, because she was right. But Jory lifted his chin. “Killing isn’t always murder.”

“And people can always find a way to justify their violence.”

Jory glanced my way as if he expected me to defend myself, but I simply shrugged. “It’s true. I’ve never yet met a killer who didn’t think he had a good excuse for it.”

The Finch looked at me. “And you? Did you have a good reason to kill Arthyen?”

“No reason at all. And I’m not the one who did it. Not this time.”

“His secretary said it was you. He was quite sure of it.” She clucked and shook her head. “Poor lad. He’s falling apart over this. Arthyen was a good employer and a good man.”

“I never met him. He was dead when I found him. Someone with a mimic spell got him.”

“A mimic spell! Those are expensive. And why would anyone go to such trouble?”

“Why would Daveth kill him?” Jory demanded.

She waved the calmstick vaguely. “Maybe you put him up to it for some reason.”

“Arthyen was my friend!”

“Then maybe Daveth stole something from him. I’m sure a wizard keeps many valuables in his home, and that secretary would be too distraught to notice the loss.”

Jory opened his mouth, likely to defend me again, but I stopped him with a raised hand. “I know my reputation is spotty, Finch, but am I known for being that stupid?”

She puffed on her calmstick thoughtfully. “No. You’ve certainly done some foolish things, but not often. Still, you’re asking me to accept an unlikely scenario.”

“You don’t have to accept anything. Help us out and we hope you’ll hear the truth straight from Lord Uren’s mouth.”

“Interesting. All right, I’ll give it a try.”

We explained what we wanted her to do, and she listened closely. Though she was obviously skeptical about the entire affair, I thought she looked a bit excited as well. Finches may know all the news, but they’re rarely a part of it.

She took us to the room upstairs where she’d tend to Lord Uren. It was a small, warm space with whitewashed walls and a pleasant scent of fruit and spices. It had no windows, but a spiritlight hung in each corner and two large lanterns flickered on shelves. I’m sure customers found the location pleasant, but it poorly served our purposes, in part due to the lack of hiding spaces. The only furniture was an odd bed—a narrow padded platform perched waist-high on four sturdy legs—plus a tiny table and, in the corner, an altar to Leucost, the patron god of the Finches.

“I think he’s going to notice me if I stand against the wall,” I said drily.

“Notice us,” Jory said, glaring briefly at me.

“I know,” said the Finch. “Come with me.”

The much larger room next door was her bedroom. Under other circumstances, I would have dearly loved to look around the wonderfully chaotic space, packed with furniture, clothing, books, shelves of gewgaws, and a wide variety of items I couldn’t identify at first glance. A big ornate cage contained five or six jewelsprites, all of them flickering bright colors and chattering loudly.

Our objective, however, turned out to be two wooden trunks carved and painted with scenes from Tangye’s history. As we watched, the Finch unloaded blankets and towels from one of them and assorted musical instruments from the other, dumping the contents onto the floor. Jory gazed longingly at a lute.

Under the Finch’s direction, Jory and I carried the trunks into the other room and set them against the wall. I lifted one of the lids and looked doubtfully inside. “I don’t know if I’m going to fit.”

“Of course you will,” she said. “A skinny thing like you can fold himself in half. And I understand Jory’s quite flexible.”

He shrugged, apparently unbothered by the allusion to his sexual past.

“And Lord Uren’s not going to be suspicious that the room now contains trunks?” I asked her.

“I’ll spread blankets over the top. I doubt he’ll notice.”

I didn’t think Lord Uren was an idiot, but I had learned long ago that people can be remarkably unobservant. I hoped he didn’t ask the Finch about the trunks, because she wouldn’t lie. Whether she could creatively present the truth, I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t eager to risk my life and Jory’s to find out.

“He’ll be here soon,” she said.

Jory gave me a hard kiss before lifting the lid of one of the trunks and cramming himself inside. It was a tight fit, but he grinned at me as I closed him in. The Finch put a pretty red blanket on top.

Then it was my turn. I’m not overly fond of small, enclosed spaces; I like to feel as if I have an easy escape route. I would have preferred to face the wraiths in the dark warehouse again. But I muttered under my breath, calling myself a variety of names, and packed myself in. With the top shut and a blanket over the whole thing, no light made its way in. The wood smelled of mothbane and lavender, and little splinters pricked the skin on the backs of my hands. I regretted the tea I’d drunk that morning—or wished I’d at least thought to take a piss before getting myself into this position.

The Finch’s footsteps receded, the floorboards creaking softly under her tread.

I waited.

My muscles had begun to cramp by the time I heard voices. I recognized Lord Uren at once; he was complaining about what a difficult week he’d had. “I might have to see you again on Flowerday or Fruitday if things don’t improve.”

“I’m happy I can help you relax,” said the Finch. “Now, go ahead and undress. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather have your guards wait downstairs?”

Guards? Fuck. Neither Jory nor the Finch had mentioned that Lord Uren brought his private guards on these visits. Either my allies had been remiss or Lord Uren was feeling especially on edge of late. Either way, my task had just become more difficult.

“They’ll stay,” Lord Uren said firmly.

“Very well. I’ll go fetch some wine while you get ready.”

More footsteps, probably while Lord Uren removed his clothes. I guessed that a small thunk over me was him throwing his belongings onto my trunk. Although I strained my ears, I couldn’t get a sense of how many guards he’d brought or where they stood. He didn’t talk to them and they didn’t say anything either.

I wondered what they thought of their job, standing there while their employer received services that were at least marginally sexual in nature. Did they watch when he visited whores as well? Had they been in the room when he fucked Jory? I pushed away that thought.

The Finch returned and spent several minutes fussing over Lord Uren—giving him wine and getting him situated on the table, making sure he was comfortable, asking whether he wanted the door open or closed. His answers were clipped and impatient.

Finally she got to business. Judging by her occasional comments and his moans, she was massaging his muscles. Then she began to chant. First a blessing to Leucost, then something in a language I didn’t understand. A spell, I assumed. I’d rarely been present for the casting of magic, but most of the spells I’d heard had been in other tongues. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just a good way to make sure any old guy from the street doesn’t dabble in enchantments.

The Finch didn’t sing as well as Jory. But as she continued, growing louder as she went, a sense of power filled the room, making the hair on my arms and nape stand on end. My muscles contracted. And dammit, my dick twitched as if it were interested in the goings-on. I clutched one of my knives hard.

Lord Uren’s groans became louder and more frequent, and I couldn’t tell whether they were from pain or pleasure. Then he shouted hoarsely. I’d been under the impression that the Finches’ customers didn’t actually climax, but perhaps I’d been wrong. Or perhaps he merely found the magic ecstatic.

In any case, she continued to chant, but more quietly. Almost a lullaby. Then she spoke instead. “Tell me why your week has been so terrible.”

“The Undercouncil has been in session. A bunch of old men and women droning on about the same nothings they’ve been complaining about since the city was built.”

“Tedious I’m sure. But it’s more than that. You’re very tense.”

“I— Give me some more wine first.”

If she was offended by his abrupt manner, she didn’t say so. A brief pause ensued, during which I assumed she poured and he drank.

“I was supposed to have some work begun on my palace this week. I want a new pavilion in the gardens. A quiet place to take breakfast, you know, or reflect on my day in the evening. But the woman I hired showed up late on Rootday, and she brought entirely the wrong materials. I wanted charwood, not golden fir! She said she’ll have to find a charwood supplier from outside the city and that will take another week or two.” He sighed theatrically.

I’d spent a bit of time among noblemen while I was a guard, and I’d never understood the depth of their petty complaints. So his pavilion was delayed. What a tragedy. I’d spent part of my life without a roof to sleep under, as had many Lowlers. Even when I’d had a home, I’d certainly never had a garden, or even access to one. There were none in the Low. The Royal Quarter, though, had pretty little parks, tranquil spaces that smelled of flowers and clean earth, where fairies and birds flitted among the trees and marble fountains tinkled merrily. But residents of the Royal rarely used the parks since most had private gardens.

Lord Uren continued to grumble about his pavilion, as if he hadn’t been responsible for killing people this week. As if he wouldn’t happily see me and Jory dead.

The Finch murmured something that sounded sympathetic. I couldn’t catch the words. But I heard Lord Uren when he yelped.

“Sorry,” she said. “Very tight muscles. Turn over.”

He must have obeyed, because a moment later she resumed her chanting. All hells—was I going to have to wait through this again? Apparently so. His moans were more subdued this time. I couldn’t tell whether that was because he was depleted or because his position on the bed muffled him somewhat.

“I assume it’s not your pavilion problems that have brought guards with you today,” said the Finch.

“No, although I’m half tempted to send them after the woman I hired. I— Yes, right there.” He gasped and mewled, and I gave up hope of the conversation proceeding favorably.

But I’d underestimated the Finch. She resumed her chanting, louder and faster than before, and had him howling within two minutes. He sounded out of breath when he spoke next. “Gods, you’re good.”

“I do my best. Even when I’m being stared down by guards.”

“Ugh. I’d prefer them out of my hair too. But needs must, and I’ve been thrown into some nasty business of late.”

“Oh?”

“I tried to do a favor for a distant relative. He didn’t deserve it—disgraced the entire family with his filthy habits. And even being disowned didn’t teach him anything. He made himself into nothing but a filthy whore, letting the lowest scum in the Low fuck him for a few briquets.”

I’m usually slow to anger. There are far too many things in this world to enrage a person, and fury generally robs a man of reason and caution. But Lord Uren’s contemptuous words made me seethe. He was insulting almost everything that had ever mattered to me. My mother. The Low. And Jory, who had somehow come to matter to me as well.

I tried to slow my racing heart even as my grip on the knife tightened. I needed to wait. Needed to hope that Lord Uren would tell a little more on his own. But when I wiggled my free hand underneath me to check on the other knife—an old, wise habit: always test your weapons before battle—I couldn’t find the hilt. The sheath was empty.

Biting my lip to hold back blasphemies, I nearly missed what Lord Uren said next. Which would have been a shame since it was about me. “Do you know what else that little piece of shit did to me? He attached himself to something even cruder than he is—a thieving, murderous Lowler who was once given a chance to redeem himself and responded like the shameful filth he is.” He sniffed. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’ll have them both castrated and quartered before the new week begins.”

Something roared and thumped. Even before the shouts erupted, I knew what was happening and burst out of the trunk, knife in hand.

I tried quickly to make sense of the chaos. Jory was fighting with a man in a corner of the room, while Lord Uren stood naked near the table, shouting unintelligible commands, a woman with a short blade beside him. The Finch, looking horrified, had pressed herself up against the wall.

The female guard rushed toward me, and I took advantage of my greater height and good boots and kicked her hard, driving her back against the table. Not pausing to see whether she’d come after me, I responded to Jory’s sudden scream and threw myself at his assailant, who was trying to wrench his knife free from Jory’s body. The sight of it sickened me. Worse was when he shoved Jory, who hit his head against the corner of the trunk as he fell. He didn’t move after that. I wanted to see if he still lived but couldn’t spare the time. Instead I pressed my advantage by stabbing the guard hard, right at the base of his neck. He fell without a sound.

“Stay down!” I yelled at Jory, in case he could hear. The female guard came at me again, and I turned as she slashed at my belly. The tip of her blade skimmed my tunic but didn’t break the skin. I countered with an immediate lunge, but she quickly danced out of range. She hadn’t spent the past hour or so cramped in a box.

We faced each other grimly. It’s an odd thing to look into someone’s eyes, both of you knowing only one of you will survive. It can create an odd kinship even as you continue the fight. Her eyes were a muddy green like the river Tangye and held as little sympathy as those cold waters. She was younger than me, not past her midtwenties, but weathered and hardened. A Lowler by birth, I guessed.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said to her in as reasonable a tone as I could manage. I didn’t know if Jory was dying behind me, but I couldn’t dwell on that now. “Listen first to the real tale.”

Instead of answering, she struck at me quick as a fire serpent. She was a smart fighter and aimed for the hand that held my knife. Her blade scored the back of my wrist, numbing my fingers at once, but I grasped the knife with my other hand.

I countered with a blow of my own and stabbed her shoulder before she hopped back. If I’d had both of my knives, I would have thrown one of them. But she bobbed and weaved, and I didn’t want to risk wasting my only weapon with a bad throw.

She was good. I was much taller and had greater reach, but she moved almost too fast for my eyes to follow. I was fortunate she didn’t have a sword, but her knife was much like mine, medium-sized and narrowly pointed. An all-purpose weapon suited for slashing, stabbing, or throwing and light enough to wield for a long time.

“Tell her!” I yelled at Lord Uren, who was now crouching protectively by the table. “Tell her who killed Arthyen!”

Lord Uren squawked, but I couldn’t understand what he said.

“Tell her, you miserable worm!” I shouted, adding a fast kick to his side for emphasis.

He scuttled away from me like a crab and headed toward the protection of his remaining guard.

She reached down, yanked back his head by the hair, and ripped his throat open with her knife. Then she threw him at me.

I gasped and jerked out of the way.

The guard dashed toward the door but slipped in Lord Uren’s blood, and my longer legs carried me to the threshold first. I stood there panting, blocking her only exit and trying to get my overtaxed brain to work.

“Why did you kill him?” I demanded.

Instead of answering, she darted over to the Finch and dragged her close, holding the tip of her blade to the Finch’s chest.

“Leave,” growled the guard. “Leave or I kill her.”

“She’s a Finch! She’s harmed nobody. Your fight is with me.”

The first true emotion settled on her face, and it was hatred. “My fight is because of you. You’re nothing but fucking river slime.”

Why in all hells did this woman despise me? I’d never met her. Yes, I’d just murdered her partner, but I was only defending Jory. And she’d barely given the dead guard a glance, so I didn’t think she particularly cared about his fate.

“Fine. I’m river slime. I never claimed to be anything lofty. But I’d like to get out of this alive—wouldn’t you? And I need the truth to come out.” Although with Lord Uren now a twitching corpse, things looked pretty bleak. “Tell me why you killed him.”

“Human garbage,” she spat. I wasn’t sure whether she meant me or Lord Uren. She dug the point of her blade slightly into the Finch’s chest.

It was a desperate situation. If I left, my last hopes of solving the puzzle would be as dead as Lord Uren and his guard. If I didn’t leave, if I pressed her to explain her actions, she’d kill the Finch. And this entire time, Jory was slumped motionless. Perhaps he was dead as well.

Gods and goddesses, why was Lady Death so fond of everyone who came near me?

I dropped my left hand to my waist and started to step away from the door.

But the Finch locked eyes with me and shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “Not yet.” And then she wrapped her hand around the guard’s and plunged the knife into her own heart.

While I stood stunned for the second time in minutes, the guard growled, wrenched her knife free, and attacked.

I ducked around her blade, aiming mine toward her neck. I only nicked her, and she struck again, cutting a shallow slice into my belly. It stung. When I made my next attempt to slash at her, she easily darted out of range. We could have parried like this for a long time, but I didn’t have a long time. Jory lay in the corner, and eventually someone else was going to show up. The Finch’s next customer, perhaps, or city guards, or Lord Uren’s people arriving to search for him.

I let her take another swipe at me, and as she moved forward, I fell to my knees. Her blade scraped my wounded shoulder—cutting through my cloak again—but that didn’t matter. I grabbed her shins, brought her down to the floor, and immediately scrambled on top of her. She bucked and snarled and waved her knife, but I kept her down using my considerable weight. I hacked at her right hand, nearly severing it, and as soon as her weapon clattered to the floor, I struck again, this time into her heart.

She gasped and went still, staring at me as she died, hating me.

I raced over to Jory, kicking the other dead guard out of the way. When I finally knelt before Jory, relief flooded me—he was unconscious but breathing. He wasn’t bleeding heavily, and as best as I could tell, his worst injury was the knock on his head.

He’d stolen my knife, dammit, and his rash actions had doomed our sliver of hope. In my place, some would have finished him off, or at least left him there to face the consequences.

Instead I gave him a gentle shake. “Jory? Wake up, Jory. I’m not carrying you around the damn city.”

His eyes fluttered open. At first his gaze was unfocused, but it sharpened quickly and he tried to stand. “What’s—”

I held him in place. “How badly hurt are you?”

“I’m…. Head hurts.” He glanced at his leg. “And my thigh. But gods, Daveth, you’re a mess! Let me see.”

He reached for me as if he intended to check one of my wounds, but I pushed his hand away. “I’ll live. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” With my help, he rose and looked around at the small room, a gory sight with four corpses strewn about. “The Finch!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah.”

“And— Why did you kill Uren?”

“I didn’t. She did.” I pointed at the female guard.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. And we don’t have time for that new puzzle now.” I shook my head to clear it. “Let’s see if we can find some clothing that’s not ruined.”

Among the Finch’s cupboards, we found expensive tunics and chausses to fit us both, although we had to cinch the waist laces tightly. We washed up a bit before we put them on, and Jory insisted on wrapping cloth around my wounds to prevent me from bleeding through the new outfit. I wondered why the Finch possessed these clothes. I’d seen the sisters wear only identical long tunics, royal blue with white embroidery. Maybe they wore other things during their private times.

“We’re stealing,” I said unhappily after I dressed.

“She doesn’t need these things anymore. You didn’t kill her, did you?” He frowned at me.

“No. She did that to herself.”

“Why?”

I grunted impatiently. “I don’t know. I don’t have any idea what the fuck is going on. I came here for answers and now all I have is more questions. And four more deaths. And with Lord Uren gone, I’ll never solve the riddle.”

Lord Uren was a pathetic sight, naked, bloody, and hunched belly-down on a sticky floor. I didn’t feel sorry for the bastard, though. He’d brought this on himself.

Jory squinted and rubbed his head gingerly. “Where will we go now?”

I paused as I carefully wiped my knives clean, then glared at him. “I have no idea. This was my only plan, and now it’s gone to shit. Why in all hells didn’t you stay in that trunk?”

For a moment Jory stared silently at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “There were two guards. I knew it was at least two because the Finch used the plural.”

“So?”

“So I wasn’t sure you’d be able to take them on after you emerged from your box. And Uren was saying those things about you….”

“A thousand people have said worse than that about me. I don’t care.”

“You should. It’s not right.”

I snorted. “Not right? Hardly anything’s right about this world, sweetheart. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”

Jory shrugged slightly. “Anyway, I didn’t want you to face all the guards single-handed. I wanted to distract them.”

“You distracted them all right—by getting yourself stabbed.”

“I’m not hurt very—”

“And maybe I could have talked our way through this. Maybe between us we could have persuaded Lord Uren to tell the truth, even with his thugs here.”

“I didn’t expect him to be murdered by his own guard,” he said with a pout. “How could I have expected that?”

“Because you’re with me, and when I’m around, things go to shit.” I checked my knives to make sure they were clean before slipping them into the sheaths. They’d seen considerable use over the past two days, and I wished I was able to sharpen them….

Maybe it would be wise to arm Jory so he wouldn’t be tempted to steal my knife again. I didn’t know if he still carried the stiletto, but it wasn’t as useful as a larger blade. Avoiding the puddled blood, I stepped over to the second guard I’d killed and unbuckled her knife-belt. This was a theft that didn’t bother my conscience in the least.

I handed the belt to Jory. “Wear this.” While he obeyed, I fished her knife out of the gore and carried it to the bed, where I began to wipe it clean.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed. Seeing the letters inscribed in the steel, I wished I knew how to read.

In case I had misrecognized the pattern of marks, I turned to Jory. “What does this say?”

He stepped around two of the bodies to get to me, picked up the knife, and peered closely at the blade. “Uh, it’s the Old Tongue. Akoni ti farame. That means, um—”

“Valor and fidelity.” When he looked at me in surprise, I rolled my eyes. “It’s the motto of the city guards.”

“Oh,” he said, eyes wide.

Yeah. Oh. I tried to wrap my head around what this meant. One of Lord Uren’s private guards had most likely worked for the city guard. But had she left the city guard at some time in the past and then took up employment with him, or had she been working for both at the same time? Either way, her connection to the city guard opened up a whole new line of possibilities as to why she murdered Lord Uren. I had the feeling that none of those possibilities meant anything good.

Growling with frustration, I nearly attacked Lord Uren’s corpse. I kicked the bed instead. “What in all hells is going on?”

While I had my small tantrum, Jory walked over to the first dead guard and retrieved his knife. He wiped away the blood with a cloth and then shook his head. “No inscription.”

I took the weapon from him, gave it a quick inspection, and tossed it aside. “Take this one,” I said, handing him the one with the motto. “It’s better quality. And it fits the sheath.”

He looked thoughtful as he put the knife away.

I rubbed my head hard, as if that would produce a solution to our dilemma. When that didn’t work, I banged my skull with my palm instead. I’ve never claimed to be clever, and the gods know I’m uneducated. I have two things going for me: I can fight, and I’m damned stubborn. What if that wasn’t enough to get us out of this mess?

Jory surprised me by crouching over the Finch and rearranging her into a more comfortable-looking position. Not that she was feeling any discomfort now. Then he began to sing, which I thought was odd until I realized it was a prayer, an old one that invoked several deities, begging them to safely transport the deceased to the afterlife.

“That was nice,” I said when he finished. “The gods might listen to your voice. Hmm. I don’t suppose you know how to gain the favor of Bolitho.”

“You think we’re a lost cause?”

I raised my eyebrows and jerked my chin in Lord Uren’s direction.

“The other Finches could tell people what happened here today, couldn’t they?” He looked doubtful over his own suggestion, however.

“They might blame us for her death. Or we might put more of them in danger. And even if they stayed safe and cooperative, I’m not sure whether the others are aware yet of today’s events. Have you ever heard of case where they’ve given evidence of the death of one of their sisters?”

Jory shook his head slowly and chewed his lip. “We might have one option. But I can guarantee you won’t like it.”