Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

“How much will you earn?”

Hettie looked at him coldly. “Still being negotiated. I don’t need another job yet.”

“Whatever you are offered, I can offer more,” he said. “I need a good Finder. Are you any good?” He fished inside his doublet pocket and withdrew an earring.

Hettie paled immediately. “I am not free to take on a new engagement right now,” she muttered. “Maybe later.”

“How old are you?” Kiranrao asked. His voice was mild, but there was an undercurrent in his tone, an implied meaning.

Hettie paused, her expression impassive. There was a tightness in her eyes, a fury as cold and ruthless as his own. “Young enough to wear only one.”

Kiranrao played with the earring, turning it around between his fingers, letting the hoop twist. Hettie seemed to brace herself as if the earring was a threat. “You look older than your years then. I like them young. My Finders, that is.”

Paedrin saw the expressions on the faces surrounding them. How they leered at Hettie hungrily, but no one would dare act against the one their leader had shown interest in. Like wolves desperate to hunt, but not daring to.

“It wouldn’t be good for my reputation to abandon a customer before the mission is done. If I’m bored and need a job, I know where to find you.”

“You do indeed, lass. You do indeed.” He gave her a nod and again lifted the cup and drank from it. The earring disappeared back into his pocket.

Hettie turned abruptly and saw Paedrin standing behind her. Her eyes flashed with surprise, her lip trembling with barely controlled emotion. He smiled at her and waited for her to pass him, clipping his arm with her shoulder.

Paedrin watched her go and then turned his gaze back to Kiranrao.

“Yes?” the Romani said with amusement, his teeth all white.

“I fancy your sword,” Paedrin said, catching another glimpse of the shadow thing out of the corner of his eye.

He was met by an amused smirk. “You have good eyes. I appreciate that. But I have no use of a Bhikhu in my dealings. Too much conscience isn’t good for business.”

“That suits me just as well,” Paedrin replied. “Bhikhu don’t work for hire anyway. Some people cannot be bought.”

Kiranrao shrugged. “And what if I told you I owned the debt on the Bhikhu temple in Kenatos?”

“Then I would answer that it is in dire need of repairs and you have been negligent in your duties.”

He got an eyebrow lift for the quip. It was worth it.

“Every bird relishes his own voice.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Paedrin said mockingly. “I am just getting started.”

He was met by a cold smile. But it was amused. Rarely did anyone stand up to this man, apparently. Cowards, all of them.

“Why are you in Havenrook, boy?”

“We needed some fresh country air to clear our lungs from the soot-filled skies of Kenatos. What clearer air is there to breathe than here?” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Does that ring hurt if I tell a lie? My mother was a fat Boeotian newt Finder and my father was a hob-nosed Preachán axle smith. Did it sting? A little?”

One of the Preachán started to shove his chair back, but Kiranrao raised just the tips of his fingers and the man stopped, his teeth clenched in rage.

“You are the world’s biggest fool,” Kiranrao said, almost in awe at the audacity.

“Perhaps,” Paedrin replied with a shrug. “But I am also the best Bhikhu in the temple, save Shivu himself.” He glanced down at the man’s ring, cocking his head slightly as if listening for it to make a sound. He let his words hang in the air a moment, turned on his heel, and left without being dismissed.

“Do not turn your back on me,” Kiranrao said.

Paedrin paused, but did not turn around. “You think a fancy sword will humble me? Use it then.” He waited.

“The Bhikhu temple needs to learn a lesson in humility,” the other man said softly.

“Really? And you teach courses in humility? I’m rather surprised. You don’t wish to fight me? I will be on my way then.”

He heard the chair legs squeal.

Paedrin was expecting a blade attack from behind. Perhaps a man pretending to be drunk who would stagger into him and let go with a poisoned needle or even just a fist. He was not expecting Hettie.

She dug her fingers into his forearm, her face nearly even with his, her voice a raw hiss of pure anger.

“What do you think you are doing?! Are you completely insane? Do you know where we are and what you just did?” There was a wild look in her eyes, the look of complete and abject terror. She wrestled against his arm, trying to tug him away from Kiranrao’s table.