Ruisenor hissed again in reply, warmth and affection pulsing in Culebra's mind. She slithered away in a soft hush across the floor, and Culebra followed, silently hoping that the days until Midori arrived passed quickly.
Cortez took a deep swallow of raw red wine, eyeing the men approaching her with trepidation. Old senses, instincts she preferred to leave sleeping, stirred and slowly woke. Her myriad scars tingled with awareness even as she acknowledged that the sensation of her scars feeling anything was all in her head.
The scar from a knife that had nearly cost her an eye and the nastier gash across her throat that left her voice rough and husky throbbed the most. They were marks of betrayal, and they always throbbed when trouble was brewing.
She said nothing as the men sat down across from her at the table she'd taken in the middle of the room where she was mostly lost and ignored in the bustle of the tavern. She was still not certain she wanted to be back in Piedre, but Verde had ceased to be comfortably distracting. Unfortunately, it already looked as though she should have stayed there. Better to be bored than dragged right back into the life she had been trying to leave behind.
"You're Cortez," one of the men said. He had a posh, city look about him: tailored clothes of good quality trying hard to be average but failing miserably. He smelled like good soap, which was dumber than the good clothes. The second man was no better and actually wore some citrus-smelling cologne. A certain type of criminal might have worn posh threads, but he wouldn't likely buy something as frivolous as fancy soap. A criminal who could afford to waste money on fancy soap was more dangerous than the nobles these men were pretending not to be.
"You're irritating," Cortez replied and took another swallow of wine, idly debating the merits of just getting up and leaving versus picking a fight. The barkeep would have her back, and no one else in the bar was stupid enough to go against her.
"We have a job for you," the first man, smiling in a way that some probably mistook for pleasant. Cortez knew a spider when she saw one, and while killing them did not feel right, she would gladly make them wish they were dead.
She took another swallow from the bottle of wine, and then set it down with a dull thud on the scuffed table. "I retired months ago, everyone knows that. And if you don't know it, you're too stupid to bother with anyway. Take your job offer elsewhere and leave me in peace."
"I believe we have sufficient means with which to change your mind," the first man said, spider smile turning distinctly oily. He slipped one leather-gloved hand inside his jacket and pulled something out, setting it on the table and slowly withdrawing his hand.
Cortez started to say something scathing about the melodrama of it all when the object registered. It was a cheap copper ring engraved with words from a prayer all around it:
always meet friendly gazes
.
She picked the ring up and held it up to the light, and a rock finally dropped into her stomach when she saw the inscription inside, and swore inwardly. They were right, as much as she hated to admit it. The ring was sufficient to change her mind. She slipped the ring onto her finger and said simply, "What is the job?"
"Kidnap Prince Culebra and deliver him to a particular location."
"You're out of your mind," Cortez said. "Only those who desperately seek the Basilisk's embrace go after Prince Culebra. If his guards don't stop intruders, that big snake of his does. Everyone knows that. I know I look like I pine for death, but I promise you that I very much enjoy living. I have no interest in such a suicidal mission."
The oily spider smirked. "If you want the owner of that ring returned to you in one piece rather than several you will find a way to accomplish the impossible. The sooner you do it, the better. When you give us his highness, Fidel will be returned to you."
Cortez wondered what they had done to get the drop on Fidel—and if Fidel had slipped free of them yet. If they thought taking away his knives made him less dangerous, they were fools. "I'm not doing a job like this for free, and 'return Fidel' isn't good enough. If you were stupid enough to come here without coin, you can leave again."
The quieter man finally shifted, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. "Money is a trifling thing. Name your figure and it's yours. Fidel will be returned to you, we'll take his highness, and we can all go our separate ways." His smile was smoother, the warm, reassuring smile of a priest. It actually seemed sincere, it was so well done.
So he was definitely the more dangerous of the two. Hmm. Both men were clearly trouble, but she still sensed they were not the true threat. Sniveling nobles sent to do the hiring never were. If a noble was her problem, she would not be speaking with one. Such men sent others to do their work while they stayed out of range of the blood spatter.
Cortez pondered the situation and reluctantly concluded that cooperation was the best path for the time being. "Fine. I want five times my usual rate. Give me three weeks, because there is a great deal of prep work to be done for a job like that. It's non-negotiable. If you want me to do this job then you let me do it my way."
"You may have six weeks to deliver him," the quiet man said, and he tossed a bag of coins on the table. "One tenth of your asking price, to get you started. Bring him to the Red Oak when you have him. Do you know it?"
Cortez gave that question the sneer it deserved, then lifted her bottle and took another long draught of the rough wine. "Enjoy the rest of your night, gentlemen." They rose and left as quietly as they had arrived, leaving Cortez with an almost empty bottle of wine and a foul mood. And a bag of coins that was far more money than she had bothered to earn in the past year.
Six weeks. That nagged at her, but she did not know why. She really needed to figure out what day it was and perhaps then she could figure out why six weeks hence bothered her.
Sighing, she left money on the table for the wine, stowed the purse of coins into her jacket, and downed the last of her wine in two quick gulps. She was not nearly as drunk as she had hoped to be.
Outside, she turned up the collar of her wool jacket and pulled on a worn cap. To all appearances, she was a young man walking home after a night at the tavern. Between her manner of dress, her sword, and her ruined voice, people seldom realized she was a woman. It had always worked for her that people made that assumption.
Mist swirled through the late night, clouds obscuring the stars and half-moon. She walked the dark streets with ease, arms loose at her side, ready to draw her sword or throw a punch in a moment. But no one bothered her as she walked, the figures in the shadows staying put, others keeping close to the little fires they'd built at the edge of alleyways.
She kept walking past the traveler's inn where she was renting a room, heading all the way to the end of the street where a temple of black stone stood nearly invisible in the dark of night. Torches flickered on either side of the entryway, making the black stone glisten.
Cortez walked up the incline that led into the temple, pausing in the entryway to clasp her hands and recite the appropriate prayer. When she finished, she continued on into the actual sanctuary. It smelled of smoke and pungent incense—and sex. Somebody had definitely been having a very private word with a priest after services.
Picking up the small bell set on the railing that separated the altar from the rest of the sanctuary, Cortez rang it three times and then set it back down. She did not have to wait long before the priest appeared, slipping through the door at the back of the altar space.
The man froze when he saw her and then pushed back his hood to reveal a sharp, ragged face. He was just as scarred as Cortez, battered from a life that gave no quarter. As ever, looking at him caused mixed emotions. She did not know if it was love or hate she felt—or both. She only knew he made her tired, but she could not entirely forget him either. Whatever his ills, he'd helped her far more than obligation dictated, more than anyone else.
"Well, here is a face I did not expect to see again, not in this place," the man said, not quite smiling, though his dark eyes eased. "What brings you here, Corazon?"
"Father Yago," Cortez greeted, kissing his cheek as he kissed hers. He smelled of tobacco smoke and sangria and the same incense that still filled the temple. "I know it's late, I'm sorry. I was hired by two men tonight, just minutes ago, to do a very tricksome job. I wanted to know if the Brotherhood had anything to do with it or knew anything about it. The entire matter has a ... well, it feels like you or the Order, or something like that."
"Not the Brotherhood," Yago said, looking surprised and then annoyed, his dark eyes taking on a sharpness that smart men learned quickly to fear. "Not sanctioned, anyway. Of course, we always have certain jobs floating about, waiting for someone who is up to the challenge." Cortez barely kept back a snort at that; it was certainly one way to delicately say 'we always have a bounty on Prince Culebra's head'. "You left and I issued orders you were to be left alone. I made it very clear I would not tolerate defiance on that point. You know that."
Cortez nodded. "I know. But I wanted to be sure."
"If I wanted you for a job, Corazon, I would see you about it myself. Describe the men to me," Yago said. "Can you tell me the job?"
"Best if I don't," Cortez said, truly beginning to worry for the first time. She had hoped it was the Brotherhood of the Black Rose trying to force her to return despite Yago's promise. If Yago was not behind it, and she could not see why he would lie, then that left very few options, and they were much worse than the Brotherhood. "They were nobles, or near enough. Not very good at pretending to be otherwise." She described the men in detail, concluding with, "I do not know why they came to me. I have not been involved in such things for a year and a half now. There are better people. Do you think it is the Order then?"
That made more sense, for the Order never wanted to kill the Basilisk's incarnations. They usually did anyway, but it was never their intent.
Yago pulled out a small case and extracted a cigarette, offering the case to Cortez. She took one, and he lit them both with a nearby candle. He took a long drag of his, blew the smoke out slowly, and then said, "There have been rumors. I do not know if you have heard them … "
Cortez shook her head. "I have not been back in Piedre long. I went north to Verde for a time and only returned two weeks ago. That is the other thing that troubled me. These men, I think they have been waiting for me to reemerge."
"That is troubling," Yago agreed.
"What are these rumors?"
Yago took another pull of his cigarette. "A new group. Not Black, not White. If they have a name, no one is whispering it yet. Their leader is a shadow, though I have heard the name Jorge a couple of times. Not enough to trust that name is correct, but dying men seldom lie. Tell Fidel to put extra effort into watching your back."
Cortez's anger sparked. "You know Fidel has nothing to do with me, anymore. I left the Brotherhood. He still follows you."
"What? Cortez … he left just three months after you because he could not bear to be without you. I thought he would have gone straight to you."
"What are you talking about?" Cortez demanded, heart giving a hard lurch. "Fidel and I agreed our differences could not be reconciled. He was very much a Brother."
Yago shook his head. "He was always far more yours than mine, Corazon. He left. He is not with you?"
"They have him," Cortez admitted reluctantly. "The nobles, I mean. I would not have taken the job otherwise." She displayed the copper ring they had given her, which she had long ago given to Fidel as a gift. Though Fidel was six years younger, they had always been close—as friends, and they would have been lovers if life had not gone so awry. "What can you tell me about this group?"
Yago finished his cigarette, stamping out the remains on the temple floor. He scratched at his goatee then said, "Not much, which troubles me the most. They are neither black nor white nor gray. No one knows what they are. I have met with the Order enough to know that too many deaths are occurring and not at one another's hands. I hate to give you bad news, Corazon, but I fear your boy is dead."
Cortez said nothing, merely pressed her lips together into a flat line and gave a short nod. "If you come upon any information you can give me, Father, I would be grateful and make it worth your while. She pulled out the bag of coins the men had given her and set it on the railing.
"That is a lot of money to hand over."
"Then I expect a lot of information," Cortez replied and finished her own cigarette, dropping the end to join Yago's on the floor. "Thank you for your help."
Yago sighed softly and drew her forward to kiss her cheek softly again. "I am a hard man, but I have always had a soft spot for you, Corazon."
Cortez stepped back, the kiss feeling cold. "Of course you did, Father. I am your Black Princesa, after all."
"That is not why."
"It certainly never hurt," Cortez replied. "Good night, Father. May you always meet friendly gazes."
"Be careful, Cortez."
Cortez started to walk away, but stopped. "Father, one more thing."
"Hmm?" he asked, looking briefly hopeful.
"What happens in six weeks?"
Yago's brows shot up. "Corazon, you must have lost complete track of the days. In six weeks we celebrate the Days of Sorrow."
"I see," Cortez said. "You're right, I have lost track of the days. Apologies. Thank you. Good night, Father."
Yago only frowned at her. "Be careful, Cortez. I mean it."
She flipped one hand in a dismissive gesture as she walked away, leaving the dark temple for the much more soothing dark of the night. The streets were completely empty as she walked back across the city to the inn where she was staying.
Going upstairs to her room, she gathered up her few belongings and packed them. Leaving coins on the bed to pay for the room, she left and went outside, walking around to the back where the stables were located. Not bothering to wake the stable boy, she got her own horse saddled and led it out to the yard.