“That’s why we were picked. He knows how such things are done.”
“He’s just so cute,” Scarlett said to Royce, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Why is that hard to believe?” Hadrian asked.
“Is he serious? Is any of that even remotely true?” she asked Royce while cracking an egg into the same pan where the pork was starting to sizzle.
“Yes. And mostly.”
“It’s not that hard to understand.” Hadrian unfolded his arms so he could use his hands to better explain. “Royce is going to review the situation, then report on how a professional might go about killing Lady Dulgath so they can—”
“Do exactly what he says,” Scarlett said.
“What?” Hadrian paused a moment to rerun the idea. “No!”
“If you are really telling the truth—and I’m starting to think you might be—that’s exactly what they’re doing,” Scarlett told him.
Hadrian shook his head, pushed up from the stool, and planted both feet square on the floor. “The two of you are so distrustful. You look at a black-and-white cow and see gray. No! You see a conspiracy to poison farmers with milk!”
“Or”—Scarlett smiled at him—“we look at a conspiracy and see a conspiracy.”
“If the church wanted Lady Dulgath dead, why not just hire us to kill her?” Hadrian asked.
“Granted, that would seem easier, but this is the church we’re talking about. They have a tendency to overbuild. Have you seen their cathedrals?” She cracked another egg. “Think for a second. Let’s say they did that, and Lady Dulgath was killed. Do you suppose the king will just shrug and say, Oh well? No. He’ll send real constables.”
She sprinkled some pepper on the eggs. “They aren’t going to risk getting caught up in this. They’re trying to spread their tentacles here in Maranon—and doing a damn fine job of it. So what do they do? They find a couple of nonaffiliated cutthroats and get them down here. After they carry out the execution themselves, the cutthroats are arrested for it. Everyone knows they’re the killers: The murder happened exactly the way they said it would. Now the conspirators have their scapegoats, who they’ll execute before the king’s constables arrive. There’s no need for further investigation because justice has been done. The best part is you two aren’t part of any guild, right?” She looked at Royce, who nodded. “So they don’t have to worry about any retribution. Lady’s dead. Killers executed. King is satisfied. Justice done. Everyone’s happy.”
Scarlett used a wooden spatula to flip the meat. The little cottage was filling with the wonderful scent of cooking pork. Hadrian wasn’t certain if the smell of food had anything to do with it, but he was growing sympathetic to her points. He turned to Royce. “She could have something here.”
Royce had wandered to the bedroom side of the cottage. He held a red glove in his hand, looking it over, and not saying anything.
“Royce?”
He dropped the glove on the bed. “What?”
Royce had the hearing of a bat. He could practically listen in on what was happening tomorrow. After dropping the glove, he found a basket of rushes interesting.
“You knew?” Hadrian asked.
Royce shrugged. “I suspected. Hiring a consulting assassin is a bit odd, don’t you think?”
“Then why are we here?”
“Twenty gold tenents and expenses. The coffers were dry. We needed something. So we either took this or started thieving outright, and I knew how well that would go over with you.”
“Twenty? Gold?” Scarlett’s mouth hung open. “Damn. Glad I don’t have to outbid them.”
“Okay, sure, but we can’t spend gold if we’re dead.”
“And I have no intention of being framed.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Same as before. Nothing’s changed.”
“Really?”
“Sure. We still need the money, and Miss Dodge might be wrong—about them framing us, at least. Even if she isn’t, they’re paying to hear how I would do this job. And that’s exactly what I’m going to tell them. They can try to follow my plan if they want, but even the best in the Diamond couldn’t mimic my methods. The chances of them succeeding are as unlikely as someone stealing from the Crown Tower.”
Scarlett was loading plates with meat and eggs when she turned with surprise. “That was you?”
“Figure of speech,” Royce said.
“Oh—sure—of course.” Scarlett continued to stare.
“Before I tell them anything, I want to know as much as I can about what’s going on.” He glared at Scarlett. “Like why an ex-Diamond would be willing to take up a collection, or why villagers would pay to save their ruler.”
“Lady Dulgath is special.” Scarlett set the plates on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned that, but special how?” Hadrian asked.
“The Dulgaths have always treated their people well. They really care about us.”
“No offense to your humble abode,” Royce said, “but yesterday Hadrian and I were in the lady’s stables. They’re much nicer than this. Seems she cares more for her horses than she does her people.”
Scarlett shook her head as she pulled a loaf of brown bread out of a box and set it on the table. “That’s unreasonable. Dulgath is the home of several thousand people scattered in dozens of hamlets and fishing villages. The Dulgaths can’t provide for all of us. No one could. She’ll do what she can, just like her father had.”
“Which is?”
“Let us buy, sell, and trade without crippling taxes. Protect us with fair laws, evenly executed.” Scarlett grabbed a bucket and turned it over, making a seat for herself. “And…”
“And?”
“She heals people.”
Scarlett sat down on her bucket before the table and bowed her head.
“What do you mean, she heals people?” Royce asked.
Scarlett kept her head down, whispering to herself.
Royce looked at Hadrian. “What’s she doing?”
“I think she’s praying.”
“You’re kidding.” Royce rolled his eyes and slapped the table. “How does she heal people?”
Scarlett held up her index finger, asking him to wait.
Royce continued to glare at her, but Scarlett didn’t see.
Hadrian took the break in conversation to pull close to the table. The plate before him was steaming. The inch-thick pork was crispy brown, nearly black on the edges, the eggs dripping with dark grease. He tore a chunk of bread, pulled his dagger, and—using the bread to hold the meat—cut a piece. After he took a bite, bliss came over his face. “Good,” he told Royce, chewing.
“I think I’ll wait to see if you pass out or vomit blood before I eat.”
“Be cold by then.”
“It’s a trade-off I’m willing to make.”
Scarlett’s head came back up. Her eyes opened and she, too, tore a bit of bread free.
“Can we talk now?” Royce asked. He was still standing, but he put a foot up on the stool near him.
“Of course—as long as you don’t mind me chewing at the same time.”
“Then tell me how Lady Dulgath heals people.”
“She goes around to the hamlets just like Maddie Oldcorn used to.”
“Who’s that?”
“Maddie was—I don’t know, a legend really—an old woman who lived alone out in the forest near Brecken Moor. It’s said she gave Nysa Dulgath her gift before she died.”
“What gift?”
Scarlett took a bite of pork and chewed a moment, her lips glistening from the grease. “The gift of healing. Old Maddie was famous for it. Fever, pox, the Black Cough, blood sores, you name it, she healed it, and with little more than a wave of her hands. She was a divine servant of Maribor.”
“Up north, they’d burn Old Maddie as a witch,” Royce said.