The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War) (23 page)

I
t took less than an afternoon. Corin barely had time for lunch and a quick nap before the tavern keeper knocked on his door. As soon as Corin slid the bolt, the tavern keeper darted into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Who are you, really? You must bear the favor of some
powerful
gods.”

Corin spread his hands. “A dead one, actually.” He waved away the confusion in the tavern keeper’s eyes. “I am just the man you think I am.”

“And yet you change the world wherever you go. You saved Marzelle from a tyranny, and now a humble thief can somehow demand an audience with Sera Vestossi.”

Corin cocked his head. “You’ve done it then?”

“Indeed. You have a meeting with the princess, but you must hurry. She expects you in an hour.”

“That’s fast indeed!”

“She grew anxious when she heard the name you gave me. Who is Auric?”

“That is not my secret to share. Not yet. We’ll see how this rendezvous proceeds.”

“Very well. Then you take this.” He produced a delicate handkerchief embroidered with a curling S in gold, of a fabric so fine it felt like water between his fingers.

Corin stared at it a moment. “What’s this?”

“It is at once your map and your passport to see the princess.”

“Do elaborate.”

“Of course. You see
…
I have a cousin who works at the palace.”

“You have a lot of cousins.”

“Cousins are a valuable resource to a tavern keeper.”

“I believe you. Go on.”

“This cousin has a daughter who works directly for the
princess
. She’s a linen maid.”

“And a trusted confidante?”

“Just so. So when you asked to meet the princess, I went to speak with my cousin, and he with his daughter, and his
daughter
with Princess Sera. When she heard I bore a message from this Auric, she sent back the handkerchief.”

“And how am I to use it?”

“Make your way to the palace. There is a servants’ gate off Prince’s Way. Tell the attendant there you mean to speak with Signor della Porta.”

“Signor della Porta. Your cousin?”

“Just so. When he arrives, speak no word to him, but deliver him this handkerchief, and he will escort you to your meeting with the princess.”

“Such measures! Is this truly necessary?”

“The Vestossi princess does not lightly meet with some vagabond off the street. She has more than a lady’s honor to concern herself with.”

“Aye. I know it well.” Corin played the delicate cloth between his fingers, thinking. Then he nodded. “I understand. I’m ready. And have you gathered any news concerning this Giuliano?”

“I have done naught but run from here to the palace and back. You did give me until tomorrow.”

“That I did. Take no offense. I’m most impressed by what you have accomplished.”

“I’d gladly take a secret as reward.”

Corin waved an admonishing finger. “Not yet, I said. Let me meet with this Vestossi girl and see what she can do for me. When I am through with her, I’ll share her indiscretion.”

The tavern keeper turned to go, but Corin caught his arm. “One thing more. Can I count this room secure?”

“If there is any honor in the Nimble Fingers, you may trust this room. I will swear on behalf of this ancient chapter house.”

“Then I will trust you,” Corin said. “See that no one e
nters t
his room unless I accompany them personally, no matter what they tell you. See that no one brings anything in or takes
anything
out unless I am here to supervise.”

“You are a careful man.”

“I am stalking lords. If I were not careful, I would not still be alive.”

“I will do everything you’ve asked.”

Corin dipped his head. “You set my heart at ease. Many thanks.”

“You will tell me how your rendezvous unfolds?”

“I will tell you all I can. It seems only fair.”

“Then I will leave you to it. The palace is some ways from here. You should set out soon.”

“I will. Do not fear on that count. I couldn’t bear to tarry.”

The tavern keeper lingered a moment more, but seeing Corin meant to share no more, he ducked his head and went on his way. Corin waited until the door was closed behind him, secure, and then he went to the tall armoire against the outer wall. He prodded at the inside bottom panel until he found the spot that yielded, then searched with his fingers to find the hidden edge.

Every room in every Nimble Fingers tavern had its secret hiding spot. They didn’t start out that way, but when a tavern’s only patrons are practicing thieves, they tend to follow certain patterns. Someone long before him had picked the armoire as the perfect hiding spot and carved a false bottom into it.

Corin lifted the panel aside and dropped his purse into the cavity. It held perhaps a hundred livres in Ithalian silver. Not a fortune, but enough to catch attention. Enough to satisfy an idle pickpocket.

Then he went to the bed and peeled up its mattress. It lay on a wooden frame—nothing more than a shallow box—and that served Corin’s purpose well. He fished inside his robe and drew out three precious artifacts. The druids’ dartgun went in first, and then the dwarven pistol. Finally, he drew forth the book—the cracked leather tome that the elf Maurelle had spent her final years filling with the memories of a dying god.

It told of Oberon’s demise, and Jezeeli’s with him. It told of Ephitel’s betrayal in plain words. It was the long-forgotten
history
of Hurope’s men and gods. It was a precious thing, beyond any price, but it was more than that. It was a weapon.

Corin stared at it for some time, unmoving, before he shook himself and tore his gaze away. With great regret he unbuckled his glorious sword,
Godslayer
, and placed it in the bed frame too. Then he dropped the mattress back over it all and surveyed his handiwork.

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad at all. He doubted he needed take any such precautions at all. There were few places safer in the Godlands than a Nimble Fingers tavern. But these goods demanded special care. He went back to the wardrobe and cracked the door just enough to catch the eye. If anyone clever enough get past the tavern keeper
did
come in to search the place, they’d surely be clever enough to find the purse. With any luck, they’d overlook the bed.

He took a deep breath and realized his nerves were running high. Too much at stake. He didn’t dare take these treasures to a meeting with a Vestossi—a meeting in their very palace—but he hated leaving them. He paced the room three times, fighting with himself, and at the last he had to tear himself away. He ripped the door open and dashed through it, slamming it shut behind him, and all the way down the stairs he fought an urge to go back and grab the sword. Or just the book.

He didn’t yield. He crossed the busy common room and left by the alley door. The evening met him, sharp and cool, and fresh air cleared his head somewhat. A brisk pace cleared it more. When he’d gone a mile, he no longer felt the urge to rush back to his room. When he’d gone two, he forgot the treasures altogether. His attention turned completely to the task at hand.

The princess. She was the key to his revenge. For she could do what Corin couldn’t hope to: She could cast down a Vestossi lord and keep him down. After all, she was Ipolito’s daughter and third in line to Ithale’s throne. And Ethan Blake—no,
Giuliano
—had made himself her enemy. It was a situation ripe for Corin’s purposes.

She certainly had her own reasons to go after Giuliano. The man had killed her lover. Or
…
tried to. That’s the story he intended to tell. As soon as he caught sight of the palace, he found a quiet side street and slipped into its shadows. Aemilia hadn’t given him much hint how it would seem to people watching while he wove the glamour, but it seemed safest to keep the thing a secret. He made sure no one was looking, then closed his eyes and focused on a memory of the farmboy.

He’d made Corin one request before he died. Warn Sera. That much, at least, he could do. Corin clenched his fists and focused on the face in his imagination. He held it a moment and murmured to himself, “The world’s a dream. It’s all a dream.” Then he blinked, and he was a gold-haired farmboy. He strolled back out onto the broad King’s Way and proceeded to his meeting.

It wasn’t hard to find the servants’ gate, and the name “della Porta” drew a prompt obedience. Someone ran to fetch him, and a white-haired gentleman with a kindly face came in answer to the call. Corin stuck to his instructions. Without a word spoken, he presented the embroidered handkerchief.

The old man looked Corin up and down. Then he beckoned and turned away. Corin followed him through the outer gates and into the palace courtyard, but they did not go far. Ten paces from the gate, a carriage waited. Big and black, without a crest or seal. Corin shook his head.

“This again?”

“Beg pardon?” the old man asked.

“We’re not meeting in the palace?”

Signor della Porta spoke volumes with a turned-down mouth. “You know better. You should not have come at all.”

“I bear important tidings.”

“I’m sure you do.” The old man shook his head, then waved impatiently toward the carriage. “Go. She’s waiting, and if it’s noticed she is missing, we will all regret this visit dearly. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Corin lied. He went ahead, up into the coach, and della Porta himself climbed up to the driver’s perch. He leaned back and slammed the door shut, blocking Corin’s view, then cracked his whip and rumbled off. He crossed the courtyard and exited through the main gate, then went down twisting city streets unfamiliar to Corin.

Ten minutes he drove, long enough that Corin began to worry he was riding to some other careful ambush. But why show such disapproval if this was a trap? Why threaten him in such a way? They’d
all
regret it if Sera were discovered? Was her position not enough to protect her, at least?

There were questions here. And he had barely scratched the surface when the carriage settled to a stop, and the door swung open. Signor della Porta raised a finger to his lips, requesting silence still, then gestured farther down the narrow lane. It was a quiet part of town, where the lords and ladies kept their homes far from the noisy bustle of the markets. Tall trees spread their branches above the road, making a lovely colonnade, and walls lined either side of it, carved stone that pleased the eye and also offered privacy to the privileged homes.

And there, where the old retainer had indicated, Corin saw a swooping archway through the wall, an entrance to some private garden. As he approached, he found an iron gate, its lock open. It struck him, then. She was waiting for him there. The royal princess was waiting for her secret lover in this secluded, lovely garden.

He almost hesitated. But, after all, there was work to do. If some sacrifices were required
…
well, he’d do what he had to do to destroy Ethan Blake. He ran a hand through his hair, and
perhaps
he stood a little taller—though with the glamour it would make no difference. Then he strode ahead and through the gate, with all the swagger of a returning hero.

But then he saw her, and she stopped him in his tracks. She was nothing like the woman he’d expected. At a glance, she looked young and soft and sweet. Seventeen at most, but there was a quiet sadness in her clear blue eyes that spoke of wisdom. Her dress was white and of a simple, modest cut, and the only jewelry she wore was a thin gold chain around her neck and a narrow silver ring on her right hand. Her brown hair hung loose, and two tendrils curled around her soft face, brushing at her slender neck. He’d expected sharp lines and hard edges. He’d expected a viper’s grace, a vixen’s cunning. He had not expected softness, but in the moonlight she looked gentle as a lamb.

And then she noticed he was there. Her eyes grew wide and the most precious smile lit her face. She dashed toward him, arms outstretched, but two paces off she caught herself. Pain tugged at the corners of her eyes, but she forced her arms down to her side and gulped a heavy breath that did nothing for her modesty. She licked her lips and almost met his eyes.

“Good knight, what brings you to Aerome?”

Corin shook his head. “Grim news. Grim news indeed.”

“Oh?” Surprise flashed to disappointment, and she took a step away. “Tell me, then.”

“You have an enemy at court.”

She hung her head. “I have a thousand of them. What’s one more?”

“This one is a cousin,” Corin said. “Giuliano. And he is
acting
against you even now.”

“How? Giuliano? I barely know the name. What could he do to me?”

“He tried to kill me, Sera. He sent three agents to dispatch me while I was in the Wildlands.”

“But you’ve survived.” She flashed a little smile. “You always do survive.”

He shook his head. “Can you believe he’ll stop with one attempt? Would anyone in your family stop now?”

She heaved a sigh. “Of course not. Are you afraid? Do you really think he can hurt you?”

“I am more afraid he will hurt you. If he changes his designs—”