Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(45)

Karn rolled his eyes, as if he found that hard to believe. “We would rather work directly with your contact,” he said.

“First of all, this person doesn’t want to meet either of you,” Lila said, feeling sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades. “Second of all, if he traveled south, people would wonder why. As a student and a soldier, I have an excuse.”

“He’s a swiving copperhead,” Karn said, like a trout striking a fly. “Isn’t he? That’s why he can’t come to us.”

Lila hesitated just long enough to confirm it. “Understand his position. He’s taking a huge risk as it is.”

Montaigne splashed more whiskey into his glass. “Well, Karn? What do you think?”

The general fixed Lila with his muddy eyes. “I think a trickle of flashcraft doesn’t do us any good. We need a source who can supply a large number of collars right now. If you’re as good as you think you are, you will find a way to make that happen. Otherwise, we’re not interested.”

“How many collars were you thinking of?”

“Five hundred to start.”

“Five hundred!” Lila stared at him. “It’s not like we’re running a factory. And if we divert that number of collars, people will notice.”

“Let them notice,” Karn said, “as long as we get the collars first. If you come through on this, it won’t matter. If you don’t—” He bared his teeth in a feral smile that was scarier than any scowl Lila had ever seen. “Consider this a test, girl. A demonstration of your abilities.”

Lila took a breath, then let it out slowly before answering. “It’ll be pricey. I’ll need to be compensated for the loss of future business from this source.”

“I have no doubt we can meet your price,” Montaigne said.

That’s odd, Lila thought, given that I’ve heard your coffers are empty.

Of course, there’s no need to pay a dead person.

“It will take me a while to make arrangements,” Lila said, her mind racing. She needed to reach Shadow Dancer, and she needed to do it without risking being traced or followed.

“Just don’t take too long,” Karn said. “Or we’ll find somebody else.”

“No worries, General,” Lila said, reaching for the collar he was still toying with.

Karn yanked it back. “I’ll keep this,” he said. “I want to study it more carefully.”

You’ll have it wrapped around some poor wizard’s neck before the day is out, Lila thought.

“As you wish,” Lila said. “I will keep you up to date on my progress.”

As she took her leave, the king and his general already had their heads together, talking. This meeting had spawned more questions than answers. What could they possibly want with five hundred collars? Where did they expect to find that many wizards to enslave? Was this a piece of a plan to invade the Fells? She had no idea.

There was one thing she did know: she’d made a deal with the devil—something she might regret.





16


OFFICER OF THE CROWN


When Jenna shouldered her way into Fletcher’s Tack and Harness, Fletcher was at his workbench, buffing a pair of boots. Three old men clustered around the coal stove, clawlike hands extended, staying warm. A young man leaned against the counter, waiting for a pickup. She stole a second look. Yes. He was a mage, which meant he must be in the army or the Guard.

The harness shop was one of the few businesses in Delphi that catered to everybody—citizens, miners, travelers, blackbirds, and dirtbacks. Anybody who needed any kind of leather goods—shoes, scabbards, gloves, and harness passed through there. It was usually repair, because most people couldn’t afford to buy new. Aside from the inns and taverns, it was one of the best places to get the news. Since Brit Fletcher took it over three years ago, it had also become headquarters for the Patriots.

“Riley!” Fletcher said, looking up and smiling. “I never see enough of you these days.”

“’Cause every time I come in here, it costs me money,” Jenna said in her gruff boy voice. She held up a leather pouch, the kind she used to carry blasting powder. “Can you fix this? I burned two holes in it on accident.”

“Sure thing,” Fletcher said. “I’ll write it up soon as I finish up with the lieutenant here.”

Lieutenant! Jenna slid another look at the young man at the counter. He was young for a lieutenant, if that’s what he was—not much older than she was. He was dressed for the weather, but his heavy coat had no insignia on it that she could see. It looked new, and finely made. The bit of fur around the hood said it cost real money.

“Take your time,” Jenna said, turning away from the lieutenant and toward the stove, where the three idlers sat stiffly, pretending not to pay attention to the officer but all of them stealing looks when they could.

Fletcher clunked the boots on the counter. “Here you go, Lieutenant. I think you’ll find these is warmer than the ones you had. And the soles’ll be better on the snow.”

“I hope so,” the lieutenant said, pulling out his purse. “What do I owe you?”

Jenna couldn’t help herself. She turned to gape.

Fletcher snorted. “Clermont didn’t tell you? The King’s Guard don’t pay for nothing here in town.”