Royal Airs (7 page)

The father gave him a keen look and heaved himself to his feet. “We were planning to make that our next stop. I just thought the boys would enjoy a chance to see the wilder part of town.” He chuckled. “Things are very dull down where we live.”

“Sometimes dull is preferable to dissolute,” Rafe said. “There isn’t much romance to debauchery.”

“There isn’t much romance to farming, either,” said the youngest son.

“Probably pays better than gambling,” Rafe said.

“On good days,” the father agreed. “Well! Are we done here? Thank you for an instructive afternoon, young man.”

They’d been gone about fifteen minutes when two sweela men and a coru girl came his way. The men appeared to be drunk already, though it wasn’t even dinnertime; the woman was giggling so much that Rafe couldn’t tell if she’d been drinking, too, or if she was just overdoing an assumed personality of foolish irresponsibility. She took the chair directly across from his and whined that she didn’t have any money, so one of the sweela men dribbled a pile of coins in front of her, and she squealed with delight. Rafe kept his usual courteous mask on his face, but he conceived an instant and deep dislike of her. He always played to win, because his livelihood depended on it, but sometimes victory tasted even sweeter than other times. It would be delicious if he bested this woman.

Over the next half hour, the coru woman won three pots and Rafe collected only one, but his was by far the richest. It made her angry, and she flicked him a look of cold malice when she realized how masterfully she’d been outplayed. He pretended that he didn’t notice. He couldn’t afford to get into a private competition with her; he had to play the entire game against all opponents, or he would lose the whole thing.

They were halfway through the fifth hand—small pot, mediocre cards, a round that Rafe was willing to lose—when Samson approached their table. “Someone here who wants to talk to you,” he said to Rafe in a low voice.

Rafe raised his brows, but Samson merely shrugged. Not someone the bar owner recognized, then, and not someone who seemed so dangerous that Rafe should slip quietly out the back door. “Then, friends, let me excuse myself. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

“Hey—what about the game?” one of the men demanded.

Rafe came to his feet and tossed his cards face up on the table. “I concede the hand. You can play it out, or split the pot among you.”

Samson pointed to a booth along the side wall, and Rafe approached slowly, assessing the occupant as well as he could while he narrowed the distance. Male, probably in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and dark clothing. He sat very still, his hands folded before him, as if prepared to wait with unvarying patience until the world itself stuttered to a stop. But he wasn’t torz, Rafe was pretty sure of that. This man looked to be all hunti, all stubborn unyielding determination. Rafe’s least favorite type of gambler, because the hunti rarely gambled at all.

He slipped quietly into the opposite seat and leaned against the back, showing himself to be wholly at ease. In fact, he was tense all over, coiled as if to fight or run. Close up, the hunti man exuded a sort of implacable power, a certainty that whatever he wanted he would, without question, get.

Or maybe that was just the anger that he was clearly trying very hard, and without complete success, to hold in check.

Rafe figured there was only one man this could possibly be. And already Rafe didn’t like him.

“I’m Rafe Adova. You wanted to speak to me?” he said in a neutral voice.

The hunti man stared at him with narrowed gray eyes. “I believe you have something of mine. And I want it back.”

Rafe pretended ignorance. “Something you lost to me in a hand of cards? I normally sell all the jewelry I win, but if it’s only been a day or two—although I can’t say I remember you—”

“Don’t play the fool with me,” the hunti man interrupted. “You have my daughter. She came to this place last night, apparently in dire distress, and I understand
you
are the one who—took charge of her. Where is she?”

“Ah,” Rafe said, resettling himself more comfortably. “She’s safe. She’s sleeping. I imagine it might be a couple of hours before she wakes up, so you could—”

“You will take me to her right now,” the man said sharply.

Now Rafe leaned forward. He felt his own eyes narrow, his own voice roughen. “When she came here last night, she was obviously running from something—from
someone
,” he said. “She didn’t name him, so maybe that someone was
you
. I don’t think I’m going to turn her over unless I’m sure you’re not the one who tried to harm her—and unless I’m sure you can take care of her in the future. Because you’re either one or the other. The man who tried to ravish her, or the man who didn’t keep her safe.”

For an instant, the other man blazed with such rage that he might have been the sweela prime, able to call fire at will. But oh no, he was pure hunti, strong enough to contain any rampaging emotion. His face tightened, smoothed out, gave nothing else away.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I’m guessing you’re Darien Serlast.”

“Then you know I only have to speak a word to have this building torn from its foundations.” Probably right this very moment, too—Rafe guessed there was a contingent of palace guards outside, keeping the place secure while Darien Serlast did his business inside. He figured that Josetta’s personal guard was among the soldiers who waited outside, because he didn’t spot any newcomers inside the bar looking like they were ready to spring into action.

He kept his voice indifferent. “Go ahead. It’s not my building.”

“What do you want, Rafe Adova? Money? Name your price. I just want my daughter returned to me safely.”

“What I want is to be sure
she
wants to be returned to
you
.”

Something rippled across that cool face—surprise, maybe, perhaps even a hint of admiration.
A principled man here in the ghettos.
Darien Serlast seemed to grow even more still, more focused, as he studied Rafe for a long moment, not even pretending to be subtle about it. The gray eyes took in Rafe’s clothing, his well-kept hands, even flicked to the right side of his face where Rafe would have sworn that unconventional ear was covered by a convenient swatch of hair. As a rule, Rafe was an excellent judge of character and mood, but he didn’t have a clue what Darien Serlast was thinking.

Finally, the regent spoke, his voice still soft but utterly unyielding. “I believe if you ask her,” he said, “you will find that she trusts me without reservation.”

“I
would
go ask her,” Rafe said, “but I’m afraid you’d follow me. So we’re still at an impasse.”

“Certainly there must be a way through it.”

“Well—”

Before Rafe could complete his thought, he heard a woman’s voice raised in relief. “Darien! You got here so fast!”

Again, spring swirled through Samson’s tavern as Josetta moved into view. She practically flung herself across the room and into Darien Serlast’s arms as he hastily stood up to embrace her. More slowly, Rafe came to his feet and observed them.

“Is she here? Is she all right?” the hunti man asked urgently.

“Yes, she’s fine, she’s sleeping. She had a scary misadventure. That awful man—”

Serlast released Josetta and sent an appraising look in Rafe’s direction. “Not this one, I presume?”

“No, it was Dominic. They were alone in an elaymotive and he said something to frighten her, so she decided it would be a good idea to jump out at the first chance.” Josetta’s face revealed just how crazy she thought that was. “So she did, but she got lost and ended up southside, which is when she decided it would be a good idea to come find
me
. She was lucky she ended up someplace relatively benign.”

Darien Serlast seemed more preoccupied with the first part of Josetta’s speech than the last. “What did Dominic say to her?”

“She wasn’t specific,” Josetta said, sounding worried. “But I got the impression she’s more afraid of him than she’d like to admit. Darien, you need to get her out of that house.”

“Oh, she’s out of it now,” he said grimly. “I don’t care what her mother says. She’s not going back.”

Josetta gestured at Rafe. “He’s the one who kept her safe until I got here. You need to thank him.”

Now Darien’s gray eyes focused on Rafe again. “Yes, I was just expressing my gratitude for his protection,” he said.

Rafe couldn’t help it, he snorted with amusement. He waved his hands in an expansive, magnanimous fashion. “The princess’s approval is all I needed. I’d be happy to take you up to your daughter.”

Josetta divided a look between them, but didn’t seem surprised to deduce that they hadn’t liked each other much. He imagined there were a lot of people who didn’t like Darien Serlast upon first meeting him. “You should reward him,” she said, in case her meaning hadn’t been clear before. “With money. I don’t think he has very much.”

“Let him name the sum,” Darien replied.

“The princess offered to rent my room for the night,” Rafe answered. He could use a hell of a lot more than that, especially since he’d lost half a night’s earnings taking care of Corene, but he was damned if he was going to make the regent think he was some kind of greedy shyster. Why hadn’t he ended up with the attribute of pride when Josetta manufactured those makeshift blessings? It had tripped him up more than once before this. “That’s all I need.”

“I think we can do better than that,” Josetta said.

“Enough. We can discuss this all later. Where’s Corene?” Darien demanded.

Josetta glanced at Rafe and he nodded. “I’ll take you up to see her,” she said. “We can settle with you when we come back.”

She led the way toward the back stairwell, and Rafe stood there a moment, feeling briefly at a loss. The minute she stepped away, the scents of spring evaporated, and the tavern air seemed heavier than usual with the odors of onions and ale and unwashed men. He stifled a sigh and turned back to his regular table to see if there was any possibility of playing an uninterrupted game of penta tonight.

He was surprised to see his last trio of opponents still in place. The men were arguing while the woman glanced between them in apparent distress, though Rafe was willing to bet she was subtly fanning the flames. He felt a sudden surge of hatred for her, for all of them, for Samson and every patron in the bar, for himself and this stupid, useless life he led.

He found his hands were clenched and his shoulders hunched. Taking a deep breath, he slowly relaxed them, slowly smoothed his face back to its normal bland mask. In moments, he was easing himself back to his place at the table, offering the others his professional smile. “Sorry to step away like that,” he said. “Is anyone still interested in playing?”

They’d gotten through one hand—which Rafe won by a heavy margin—and had just started a second one when the royal family made their way back down the stairs and into the bar. Corene, he was glad to see, looked markedly improved by sleep and a sense of security. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy, and even her tangled red hair seemed happy. Even the fact that she appeared to be arguing briskly with her father didn’t take away from her general air of well-being.

As soon as she spotted Rafe, she broke into a wide smile and came limping over with her hands outstretched. He stood up and moved away from the table to shield her, just a little, from the stares of his fellow gamblers.

“I thought maybe I was so tired I didn’t remember your face right, but you
are
just as cute as I thought you were,” she greeted him. That made him laugh and almost made him blush at the same time. “My father says we have to go right now, but I had to say thank you
so much
. I think I was very lucky to find you last night.”

“Take care of yourself from now on,” he said, though he had to figure she wouldn’t need to. Darien Serlast was poised to watch over her, and that meant she was safer than the gold locked in the palace vaults. “No more roaming around the slums in the middle of the night.”

She stretched up to whisper something, and he bent his head to hear. “We left you a bag of money on the table upstairs,” she said. “Let me know if it’s not enough! I’ll make my father send you more.”

He laughed. “I’m sure it will be more than I deserve for what little I did.”

She was still whispering. “I left you a present, too.” When he lifted his eyebrows in silent inquiry, she leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek.

“Corene!” came Darien Serlast’s impatient voice. Corene giggled and hobbled away. Rafe involuntarily put his hand to his cheek and watched her go—watched all of them. Josetta met his eyes for a long, cool moment, then turned to follow the others out the door. Darien Serlast never bothered to look back.

Rafe figured it wasn’t entirely his fault if he was a little unstable on his feet as he lurched back to his table of squabbling opponents. “Are you
finally
ready to play a few hands without jumping up every five minutes?” one of the sweela men demanded.

“Yes—absolutely—at your service,” Rafe answered, willing his brain to clear and his nerves to steady. “No more distractions, I promise. Whose turn is it to deal?”

They played another two hours, fortunes changing hands a few times before Rafe finally swept up the final pot, glittering with silvers and quint-golds. The coru woman gave him an ugly look from under her heavy eyelashes; she had been so sure she would win the final hand that she had bet every last coin she’d won over the course of the night. That was what he’d been counting on, her confidence and her bravado. He took more satisfaction out of beating her than he did out of scooping up the money.

“Well, that’s it for me,” said one of the men, tossing his cards to the table in a show of bad temper. “Come on! It’s late enough. Let’s get out of here.”

The three of them surged to their feet and instantly started bickering. Rafe paid no attention, simply pocketing the coins to count later. A yawn cracked his face open before he could look around and assess if any other likely opponents had strolled in while he was waiting.