Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(71)

One of the men guffawed. “I still can’t believe you needed help.”

“I wouldn’t have needed any help if someone had told me Abernathy was still angry about that incident last week.” Tom looked pointedly at another of the men, a gaunt one in a striped shirt who seemed very young.

“I hadn’t heard anything, boss! Honest,” cried the man. “And you know me. I’ve always got an ear to the ground.”

Tom smiled, but there was a tightness in his voice. “Well, use both ears from now on.”

One of the men, his head shaved and a silver hoop in his ear, stood and shook my hand. “I’m Elijah. That was my wife and boy you helped. You need anything, you ask.”

Despite his tough appearance, I heard true emotion in his voice. “I’m glad to have helped,” I said.

“Are you from the continent, Miss?” The question came from the man in the striped shirt. “Skarsia?”

“Lady,” corrected Tom. “One must always address an angel as ‘lady.’ And anyone who knows anything knows she’s from Belsia, not Skarsia. Anders is from Skarsia. Does she sound like him?” Tom’s gaze swiveled to me. “But we really must decide on a name for you at some point.”

“You can call me whatever you want,” I said, “as long as we can help those people.”

“She’s all business, our angel.” Tom nodded at Elijah and the young man. “You two are visiting the jail with us. Peterson, go find Anders and make sure that shipment goes as planned.” To me, Tom said, “This isn’t really the kind of thing that requires a mastermind to pull off. You don’t even have to come along, if you don’t want to.”

The old thrill of helping Lonzo and my father coursed through me, but I didn’t know exactly what Tom was asking. “What would you have me do?”

“Knock a few heads together. Swing a sword.” He scrutinized my waist. “Do you even have one? Or just that sad excuse for a knife?”

I pushed back my cloak and remembered I needed to play bold, no matter how embarrassed the blade made me. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Debatable. Peterson, please assist the lady.”

Peterson removed a leather sheath from his belt and handed it over without question. I ran my fingers over the wooden hilt, embellished with bronze and bone, and pulled out a dirk. Its straight steel blade was about seven inches long and had a point so sharp, it probably could have cut my old knife in half. More than a dagger, less than a sword. I hadn’t practiced with a weapon like this in years and never with anything so fine. It took my breath away, and I admired it for several more moments before sliding it back into its holder.

“I can’t—”

“Hush,” interrupted Tom. “And tell me if you’re coming with us or not.”

I bit my lip and felt like I was standing on the edge of this blade, teetering between two drastic decisions. I’d come to Cape Triumph with simple plans. Settle into comfortable married life, pay off Lonzo’s bond. And then I’d become entangled in espionage. I’d sneaked out of Wisteria Hollow’s protective circle. I’d robbed a home. I’d interacted with pirates . . . and now I was going to fight alongside them.

“I’ll go,” I said, fastening on the dirk.

Tom beamed. “You’re certain?”

“Positive. I need this.”

I needed to remember the principles I’d always held so dear. I needed to remember what it was like to fight for the innocent. And—at least for a night—I needed to forget about Grant Elliott.





CHAPTER 19


CAPE TRIUMPH’S MAIN JAIL WAS OUTSIDE THE ACTIVE city center but close enough to simplify prisoner transfers to the courthouse. “There are smaller holding areas,” Tom told me as we traveled in the darkness. “The soldiers have one at the fort. And the militia has a watch of sorts that also maintain a couple. But mostly those places are just to hold petty criminals. Keep drunks confined overnight. The bigger prizes are kept here.”

“It all sounds very . . . sloppy,” I said. “The city watch in Osfro wasn’t always effective, but at least they had a system. Here, there’s no real central law enforcement.”

“Then they’re lucky we’re around,” Tom said cheerfully. “The burden of justice falls on us.”

“Something tells me your justice is selective. And profitable.”

“A city watch would get paid. Why not us?”

We stopped about a quarter mile from the jail while Lesser Tom—the young, skinny man—scouted ahead. Since his name was Tom too, the “lesser” designation differentiated them. It wasn’t clear to me if Tom or the other men had come up with the addition.

“Jenks was right,” Lesser Tom said, trotting back to us. “More than usual. Six.”

“Six?” said Tom irritably. “You promised me four, Jenks.”

“I didn’t promise you nothing. I just said probably it’d be double.”

Lesser Tom added, “They’re militia. Not soldiers.”

“Well, that’s something,” said Tom. “Now. Tell us everything else you saw.”

Five minutes later, we had a plan and were all moving toward the jail, keeping off the main road. A lamp near the front door showed us what we needed. The rectangular building was barren and rough, with no windows. Two men stood sentry at the front, and each corner was guarded by one man.