Read Online Among Thieves by Douglas Hulick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Douglas Hulick
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former courtesan and the widow of a baron means nothing in that world—or rather, if anything, they help her. Status and political influence are measured differently in the Imperial Court, and I don’t pretend to understand the games involved in determining that pecking order. But I do know that, of the many things that can ruin you, bringing in outside influences, especially criminal ones, is tantamount to cutting your political throat. Assuming you get caught at it, of course. But if you do , and your brother is a member of the Kin as well?
Well. . .
The thing is, despite all our differences and history, I wouldn’t undercut her like that. Family is family. But Christiana can’t understand that, and so we’ve had our differences in the past, the worst being punctuated by my killing someone and delivering the weapons to her chambers.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be so vindictive. After all, my first display only made her hire a better assassin the next time around. If I keep this up, she may finally find one good enough to finish the job.
But I do so enjoy teasing my little sister.
I sat on the stoop beside the entrance to the apothecary’s shop and sipped my tea. It was my third cup, and by then the brew had become lukewarm, dark, and bitter despite the honey I had added. It fit my mood.
I set the tea down and took out the message Tamas had brought me.
The paper of Christiana’s letter was of good quality—dry and heavy to the touch. I knew I could sell it to Baldezar, who would happily scrape it down and reuse the sheet—could, but would not. This letter would be put away with all her others, both the pleasant and the vicious, in the hidden compartment at the bottom of my clothes chest.
I read its contents again, then watched the paper as it shivered in the breeze.
A meeting. This evening. She needed to talk to me. Important matters. Her safety at stake.
The usual.
In other words, she needed a favor from her brother, the former burglar. Either that, or she was getting impatient for the forgery I was having done for her.
I ran my finger over the hard wax of the seal on the back of the letter and felt the raised image of her widow’s chop. Audacity there, to display her mark so openly, so proudly, after what she had done to get it. She called me dark, but at least I only killed when it was business. I had liked her husband, Nestor, too.
A body shifted in the doorway behind me. I turned around, found Cosima looking down at me.
“Bad news?” she asked. Then, more mischievously, “Lose your sweetheart?”
I smiled up at the small woman even as I folded Christiana’s letter and slipped it up an unlaced sleeve.
“Left me for a baron. What could he offer her that I can’t?”
“Peace and quiet?” said the apothecary’s wife as she sat down beside me. “Emperor forgive me, I sometimes wish Eppyris would drug those two girls so I could have half a day to myself.”
“I hardly notice them,” I said, just as Renna and Sophia came rushing around the corner and bolted into the house. Renna, the six-year-old, was laughing, but eight-year-old Sophia looked far less amused. The door slammed, followed by shrieks and the sound of feet thumping on wooden floors.
“Liar,” said Cosima. She watched the door until the noises quieted; then she relaxed.
Cosima, with her raven hair, her deep brown eyes, and a face that was a near-perfect mixture of clean planes and sculpted curves, must have been stunning when Eppyris had first married her. Even after two children and years of caring for them and her husband, she still drew looks from men on the street, me included. How Eppyris won her, I have no idea, but her presence in their home has earned the apothecary a fair measure of respect in my eyes. My respect for Cosima herself is without measure.
Today, her hair was tied back, her face flushed, and the front of her apron damp—wash day, then.
“So, was it bad news?” she asked, pointing at the sleeve where
Well. . .
The thing is, despite all our differences and history, I wouldn’t undercut her like that. Family is family. But Christiana can’t understand that, and so we’ve had our differences in the past, the worst being punctuated by my killing someone and delivering the weapons to her chambers.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be so vindictive. After all, my first display only made her hire a better assassin the next time around. If I keep this up, she may finally find one good enough to finish the job.
But I do so enjoy teasing my little sister.
I sat on the stoop beside the entrance to the apothecary’s shop and sipped my tea. It was my third cup, and by then the brew had become lukewarm, dark, and bitter despite the honey I had added. It fit my mood.
I set the tea down and took out the message Tamas had brought me.
The paper of Christiana’s letter was of good quality—dry and heavy to the touch. I knew I could sell it to Baldezar, who would happily scrape it down and reuse the sheet—could, but would not. This letter would be put away with all her others, both the pleasant and the vicious, in the hidden compartment at the bottom of my clothes chest.
I read its contents again, then watched the paper as it shivered in the breeze.
A meeting. This evening. She needed to talk to me. Important matters. Her safety at stake.
The usual.
In other words, she needed a favor from her brother, the former burglar. Either that, or she was getting impatient for the forgery I was having done for her.
I ran my finger over the hard wax of the seal on the back of the letter and felt the raised image of her widow’s chop. Audacity there, to display her mark so openly, so proudly, after what she had done to get it. She called me dark, but at least I only killed when it was business. I had liked her husband, Nestor, too.
A body shifted in the doorway behind me. I turned around, found Cosima looking down at me.
“Bad news?” she asked. Then, more mischievously, “Lose your sweetheart?”
I smiled up at the small woman even as I folded Christiana’s letter and slipped it up an unlaced sleeve.
“Left me for a baron. What could he offer her that I can’t?”
“Peace and quiet?” said the apothecary’s wife as she sat down beside me. “Emperor forgive me, I sometimes wish Eppyris would drug those two girls so I could have half a day to myself.”
“I hardly notice them,” I said, just as Renna and Sophia came rushing around the corner and bolted into the house. Renna, the six-year-old, was laughing, but eight-year-old Sophia looked far less amused. The door slammed, followed by shrieks and the sound of feet thumping on wooden floors.
“Liar,” said Cosima. She watched the door until the noises quieted; then she relaxed.
Cosima, with her raven hair, her deep brown eyes, and a face that was a near-perfect mixture of clean planes and sculpted curves, must have been stunning when Eppyris had first married her. Even after two children and years of caring for them and her husband, she still drew looks from men on the street, me included. How Eppyris won her, I have no idea, but her presence in their home has earned the apothecary a fair measure of respect in my eyes. My respect for Cosima herself is without measure.
Today, her hair was tied back, her face flushed, and the front of her apron damp—wash day, then.
“So, was it bad news?” she asked, pointing at the sleeve where
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