He paused his search to look at her. “Am I wrong, my count?”
“No, but—”
A noise from upstairs interrupted her. A noise which sounded like someone putting a key into a lock.
And there had been no knock, patterned or otherwise.
Janel stood, grabbed Brother Qown by the arm, and, before he could say anything in protest, pulled them both inside a closet. They crouched down behind the stacked boxes.
As the front door opened, Qown remembered they had left the lanterns lit, the containers open with their contents strewn. Anyone would notice someone had been searching for something. They would be discovered right away, betrayed by the priest’s heartbeat if nothing else.
“What—? By Khored, who’s been here?”
Brother Qown winced as he heard the voice. He hadn’t been in Count Janel’s service for long. However, he recognized the voice of Sir Oreth Malkoessian, the Markreev of Stavira’s youngest son. Also, formerly the count’s sworn fiancé.
“One moment, sir. Let me check.” The second voice sounded unfamiliar.
Brother Qown ducked lower as swift footsteps approached, followed by a closet door being slammed. Not, thank Selanol, the one where the count and he hid. He heard boxes being tossed about. If the newcomer searched both closets, he’d find them.
“I’m sorry, sir. They took the jewelry box.”
“Are you sure they kept it in that closet?” Oreth growled, his anger obvious.
“Yes, sir. I’m quite certain. It seems we have been robbed, although I can’t imagine who’d think anything was worth stealing in here.”
“You can’t, Kovinglass?” Oreth snapped. “Do you think perhaps your former liege’s granddaughter might have known about her own mother’s jewelry box?”
“She can’t be so stupid as to show her face here, sir,” Kovinglass said.
“I need that jewelry to pay my father’s interest rates!”
“Perhaps you can convince him to give you an extension?”
Sir Oreth scoffed. “I doubt it. He thinks it’s character building.”
“Yes, sir.” Kovinglass kept his tone neutral.
“He wants me to fail. He’d love nothing better than to see me crawl back to him.” Sir Oreth’s voice dripped with hatred. “Let the servants clean all this. Perhaps we can salvage something of value.”
“Am I interrupting?” A third voice spoke, a pleasant tenor with a western accent.
Metal plate and chain clanked. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Pardon my rudeness. I seek the Count of Tolamer.”
“Again, I ask: Who are you?”
“Oh? My name is Relos Var.”
Silence. Brother Qown imagined the two men looking at each other in surprise. He could only guess at Janel’s reaction. This must be the man she’d met at Mereina.
“I am the Count of Tolamer,” Oreth said.
Relos Var chuckled. “Are you now? Have you done something with your hair? I didn’t recognize you. Probably because you’re male and look nothing like Janel Danorak—”
“Her name is Janel Theranon.”
“Yes, that too. Lovely young lady. What do you call her coloring? Night-kissed? Fitting.”
“Janel is my betrothed,” Oreth corrected. “I’ll be Count of Tolamer soon enough.”
“No doubt she’s counting the minutes until that happy day.”2
“She’s not here,” Kovinglass said, “so perhaps you should leave.”
“Ah yes. I’m sure you’re right.” Footsteps walked to the stairs and then stopped. “But my pardon. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I believe we have a situation that may be mutually beneficial. I’d be remiss not to mention the opportunity.”
“Speak plainly,” Sir Oreth said. “What do you mean?”
The footsteps returned as Relos Var walked back. “Clearly, you’re a man who isn’t shackling himself to these quaint Joratese customs. Idorrá and thudajé are fascinating concepts, but a wise man uses all the resources at his disposal.”
“Choose your words carefully, old man.”
“If I’m wrong, then I apologize. I tried to reach a trade agreement with the old count, but he wasn’t interested. I can’t understand why; it would have solved all his financial woes. I thought his granddaughter might have been willing to consider my offer, but on hearing your own predicament…” Relos Var paused. “I’m sorry to waste your time. Good evening, gentlemen.”
The footsteps retreated once more.
“Wait,” Sir Oreth said. “What offer?”
“Oh, did you want to hear it?” Relos Var’s tone of voice made it obvious he was smiling.
“What—yes. That’s why I asked.” Sir Oreth might well have been grinding his teeth.
“I have a few friends who are looking to establish a mercantile route into Jorat and need a … let’s call it a safe harbor. Metaphorical, not literal.3 Tolamer Canton is well positioned. In exchange for preferential Gatestone access and your discretion, my associates are willing to provide a generous stipend to compensate you for your trouble.”
“A stipend?” Kovinglass spoke up. “When you’re asking us to break Gatekeeper bylaws? You’re going to make a fortune by avoiding royal tariffs.”
“I’m sure we can come to a suitable arrangement,” Relos Var replied. “If the late count had been willing to hear me out, all his financial problems would have been avoided.”
“I don’t remember the count ever mentioning you,” Kovinglass said. He sounded suspicious.
“Oh, I didn’t approach him when you were around. You’re a Gatekeeper, after all. Why would I make such an offer, only to see you run off to House D’Aramarin with my plans?”
“And it doesn’t bother you to tell me now?”
Relos Var chuckled. “Now I know you’re for sale.”
“How dare you—”
Qown heard scuffling and gurgling. He held his breath. He’d never met Kovinglass in person, but he knew the name; Kovinglass had been Tolamer Canton’s Gatekeeper. And also the man whose poor advice had put Janel’s grandfather in such dire financial straits.
Brother Qown thought this Relos Var person had picked the wrong target for his insults.
Then he realized he’d had it backward.
“Uh…,” Sir Oreth said. “Would you mind not killing my man? I need him.”
Something heavy fell to the ground.
“Thanks,” said Sir Oreth.
“Think nothing of it. But are you sure you need him? In my experience, a man whose loyalty may be purchased once with your metal may find it purchased a second time with someone else’s.”
Sir Oreth laughed. “Oh? And how do you buy loyalty?”
“Purpose, meaning, and appreciation,” Relos Var answered without hesitation. “My people aren’t loyal because of my coffers; they are loyal because of my cause.” He paused. “The coffers don’t hurt, though.”
Brother Qown started to understand why Count Janel thought this man the real threat.
The answer seemed to take Sir Oreth aback. “Where did you say you were from?”