sailor agreed.
“Why?”
“Because if what I think happened tonight is true,” the old man replied, “you may need to get out of Fardohnya.”
That night, several weeks ago, still burned in Rory’s brain as if it had happened yesterday. Patria had come home a few hours later with tales of the unexplained death of a sailor in an alley off Victory Parade as if she was just repeating gossip and not intimately involved in the incident. The manner of his death had everyone talking, too. He’d been hit with an anvil, they claimed, and it had taken three men to lift it back into place. Already there were rumours flying through the slums, claiming the anvil could only have been moved by magic. Patria studiously avoided Rory’s eye whenever the subject came up and refused to discuss the matter.
Rory had listened to her tale and then looked at his grandfather questioningly, but the old man shook his head and warned the boy to silence. It was their little secret. They had to wait, Rory knew, until they had an answer from his cousin in Hythria, because if the rumours were true, and he really had moved that anvil by magic, then the only chance he had of getting out of Talabar, out of Fardohnya, before someone discovered his ability, was if some girl in Hythria that he’d never even met agreed to send the money for his passage.
Rory wasn’t nearly so dubious about his grandfather’s stories any more. If he could accidentally throw an anvil through a wall with his mind, then the stories of their family having a Harshini ancestor might not be so silly, after all. And if that was true, what was to say all the other stories Warak Mariner told them weren’t just as real?
And if they were real, if Rory really had inherited some sort of magical ability, it made him more than just an object of suspicion.
It made him guilty of murder.
Chapter 5
Of all the debts her mother had left Luciena, the largest was the mortgage on the house, a sum of some one hundred and eighty thousand gold rivets. The debt itself was bad enough. What made it intolerable was she’d be lucky if the property was worth half that, so even selling it wouldn’t get her out of trouble.
And just to make matters worse, the money was owed to the most notorious moneylender in Greenharbour, Ameel Parkesh.
Ameel Parkesh was the sort of moneylender respectable people didn’t do business with and, for the life of her, Luciena couldn’t understand why her mother had been dealing with the man. Luciena’s father had left them with a healthy stipend. He’d arranged for his daughter and her court’esa mother to be kept in the manner they had become accustomed to while he was alive. Even Princess Marla, although she’d stolen the rest of Jarvan Mariner’s fortune the moment he drew his last breath, hadn’t attempted to interfere with the arrangements.
Or had she?
Perhaps that’s why the money had dried up? Perhaps they were in debt because her mother hadn’t wanted to tell her the truth? Perhaps that scheming bitch at the palace had decided she wanted it all , and even the relatively small amount it took to keep Luciena and her mother housed, clothed and fed had become too much of a temptation? Was that what had prompted the sudden invitation to the palace? Was Marla finally asking to meet with Luciena just so she could gloat?
There was really only one way to find out, so Luciena set out on foot for the financial district of town, several days after her visit from Lieutenant Taranger and the Palace Guard, to visit her father’s business manager, Farlian Kell. She allowed herself a private smile of triumph as she pushed through the crowded streets, wondering what Princess Marla’s reaction had been when her lackey had delivered Luciena’s message. She had visions of the princess in a towering rage, smashing priceless pieces of Walsark porcelain in her fury when she learned that even though she controlled almost unlimited wealth and probably
“Why?”
“Because if what I think happened tonight is true,” the old man replied, “you may need to get out of Fardohnya.”
That night, several weeks ago, still burned in Rory’s brain as if it had happened yesterday. Patria had come home a few hours later with tales of the unexplained death of a sailor in an alley off Victory Parade as if she was just repeating gossip and not intimately involved in the incident. The manner of his death had everyone talking, too. He’d been hit with an anvil, they claimed, and it had taken three men to lift it back into place. Already there were rumours flying through the slums, claiming the anvil could only have been moved by magic. Patria studiously avoided Rory’s eye whenever the subject came up and refused to discuss the matter.
Rory had listened to her tale and then looked at his grandfather questioningly, but the old man shook his head and warned the boy to silence. It was their little secret. They had to wait, Rory knew, until they had an answer from his cousin in Hythria, because if the rumours were true, and he really had moved that anvil by magic, then the only chance he had of getting out of Talabar, out of Fardohnya, before someone discovered his ability, was if some girl in Hythria that he’d never even met agreed to send the money for his passage.
Rory wasn’t nearly so dubious about his grandfather’s stories any more. If he could accidentally throw an anvil through a wall with his mind, then the stories of their family having a Harshini ancestor might not be so silly, after all. And if that was true, what was to say all the other stories Warak Mariner told them weren’t just as real?
And if they were real, if Rory really had inherited some sort of magical ability, it made him more than just an object of suspicion.
It made him guilty of murder.
Chapter 5
Of all the debts her mother had left Luciena, the largest was the mortgage on the house, a sum of some one hundred and eighty thousand gold rivets. The debt itself was bad enough. What made it intolerable was she’d be lucky if the property was worth half that, so even selling it wouldn’t get her out of trouble.
And just to make matters worse, the money was owed to the most notorious moneylender in Greenharbour, Ameel Parkesh.
Ameel Parkesh was the sort of moneylender respectable people didn’t do business with and, for the life of her, Luciena couldn’t understand why her mother had been dealing with the man. Luciena’s father had left them with a healthy stipend. He’d arranged for his daughter and her court’esa mother to be kept in the manner they had become accustomed to while he was alive. Even Princess Marla, although she’d stolen the rest of Jarvan Mariner’s fortune the moment he drew his last breath, hadn’t attempted to interfere with the arrangements.
Or had she?
Perhaps that’s why the money had dried up? Perhaps they were in debt because her mother hadn’t wanted to tell her the truth? Perhaps that scheming bitch at the palace had decided she wanted it all , and even the relatively small amount it took to keep Luciena and her mother housed, clothed and fed had become too much of a temptation? Was that what had prompted the sudden invitation to the palace? Was Marla finally asking to meet with Luciena just so she could gloat?
There was really only one way to find out, so Luciena set out on foot for the financial district of town, several days after her visit from Lieutenant Taranger and the Palace Guard, to visit her father’s business manager, Farlian Kell. She allowed herself a private smile of triumph as she pushed through the crowded streets, wondering what Princess Marla’s reaction had been when her lackey had delivered Luciena’s message. She had visions of the princess in a towering rage, smashing priceless pieces of Walsark porcelain in her fury when she learned that even though she controlled almost unlimited wealth and probably
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