She ordered a beer and took a seat facing the open door, watching the faces pass her in the street, and put her feet up on the chair opposite to discourage company. The beer was terrible, but it was cold, and she downed it quickly and went for another. It took a lot for a powder mage to get drunk, but she wasn’t looking for that—just the slightest buzz to take the edge off the soreness from a week in the saddle, and a week with Taniel.
She wondered why it bothered her so much. They’d parted on good terms, and she hadn’t seen him for ten long years. In the years since, she’d thought long and hard about whether she had any residual feelings for him, and decided it wasn’t that, either.
Perhaps it was because they’d been practically siblings before becoming lovers. Taniel and Tamas had saved her from the streets and given her purpose, and Taniel had been her closest friend and confidant. She wondered if there was a part of her that wanted that back. Taniel’s murky ambitions, and her own growth over the last decade, made that an impossibility.
Vlora’s contemplations—and her fourth beer—were cut off by a figure passing through the street outside the bar. She frowned, tilting her head to the side and glancing at the glass in front of her. She almost ignored the figure, but curiosity got her to her feet and out onto the stoop. She caught another glimpse, and hurried along the walkway to try and get another one, pausing for a moment at the next intersection as the figure finally turned to give her a view.
It was a tall, distinct-looking woman with the shoulders of a boxer and long brown hair in a ponytail. She carried a blunderbuss casually on one shoulder and the right side of her face was reddened by an old blast wound that left her eye milky white. Vlora was certain she knew the woman, yet hesitated for long enough that her quarry slipped down a side alley.
Vlora hurried across the street and turned down the alley, only to come face-to-face with the flared muzzle of a blunderbuss. “Follow me one more step and I will blow your … Vlora?”
“I’ll be damned,” Vlora said, raising her hands, open palms outward. “It is you. How are you, Little Flerring?”
“You’ll be damned? By Adom, Vlora, what the pit are you doing in Yellow Creek?” Flerring lowered the blunderbuss and thrust a hand toward Vlora, which she shook happily.
“It’s a long story, but I could ask you the same thing.” The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Taniel, who stepped into the alleyway behind Flerring, his sword drawn. Vlora turned to him sharply. “Were you following me?”
“I was just trying to catch up.”
“I thought we’d split up for the night?”
Taniel stared at Flerring, clearly unwilling to say more in front of her. He eyed her blunderbuss for a moment before putting up his sword. He did not answer her question.
Flerring looked back and forth between Vlora and Taniel, finding herself boxed in, and scowled at Taniel. “Who the pit is this? Aren’t you still with Olem?”
“It’s not like that,” Vlora explained, gesturing Taniel to join her. He slipped past Flerring and came to stand beside Vlora. He leaned in, speaking in a whisper that only she could hear.
“So you know each other?”
“We do,” Vlora said. “She’s a longtime contractor for the Adran Army.” She smiled reassuringly at Flerring and said in a low voice, “Should we tell her who you are?”
“You trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Then go ahead.” Taniel shrugged, dropping the whisper. “Your men already know. Word will get out eventually that I’m still alive.”
“All right.” Vlora spoke up. “Little Flerring, this is Taniel Two-shot.”
Flerring scoffed. “No shitting?”
“No shitting,” Taniel said, offering his hand.
Vlora continued. “Taniel, this is Little Flerring. She makes powder. She sold the Adran Army enough gunpowder to get us through the Kez Civil War, and then some.”
Flerring took Taniel’s hand. “Two damn powder mages out here on the frontier. Adran powder mages, and one of you is supposed to be dead. What are you doing here?”
Taniel whispered softly, “You’re sure you trust her?”
“I do,” Vlora responded. “She’s an Adran hero after the Kez Civil War, and we worked together closely.”
“You better trust her,” Taniel said, still in a whisper, “because it’s here.”
“The stone?”
“Yes. I sensed it moments after we split up. I’ve been trying to find you to tell you. It’s definitely here, but I don’t know where. We might need help finding it.”
Vlora had no idea why Taniel could sense the thing and she could not. It probably had something to do with Ka-poel’s sorcery. But confirming it was actually here was the first step in their mission. “Flerring,” she said, “do you have somewhere we could talk?”
CHAPTER 19
Michel spent nearly a week following Marhoush before finally losing patience.
He and Tenik sat on the rooftop of an abandoned store about a block from the cobbler’s, where their target had been holed up this entire time. It was a blisteringly hot afternoon, the roofing tar sticking to the bottom of their shoes, but Michel wanted the vantage point to be able to see down into the street both in front of and behind Marhoush’s hiding spot. He sat near the edge of the flat roof, hidden behind a cluster of chimney stacks, and watched the street while he and Tenik sweltered.
A week, he knew, was a long time. There’d been two other bombings. A perpetrator had been caught after the second, but she’d managed to commit suicide before being questioned. Michel had recognized the body as that of a Bronze Rose who worked for je Tura.
Beyond that one lead, none of Yaret’s Household had managed to get any closer to tracking down the source of the bombings.
“Marhoush hasn’t come outside for over a day,” Tenik observed. The Dynize had his feet up, his shirt off and wrapped around his head to shade it from the sun.
“He might have a secret entrance,” Michel responded. He’d spent the first two days scouring the area and consulting old maps to find out if that were the case. The basement of the cobbler’s shop might connect with the catacombs within the plateau, but he didn’t think they did. More likely, Marhoush had slipped out sometime the night before last when Michel was catching a little sleep and just hadn’t come back. He’d left one of Yaret’s Household layabouts to keep watch but didn’t know if they were at all reliable.
Michel would soon find out. He consulted his pocket watch, then glanced down the street, where he saw a squad of Dynize soldiers milling about in the intersection. They took their helmets off, exchanged skins of tea, and spoke freely among themselves. A similar scene was playing out in two other nearby intersections, and Michel couldn’t help but smile.
In the short time he’d been among the Dynize, he’d found out a great many things. One was that Yaret’s Household had access to hundreds, perhaps thousands of loyal soldiers that could be called upon in a pinch. Another thing he’d learned was that Dynize soldiers took orders very well. Give them a battle plan and they’d follow it. Explain how to properly stage a raid, and they’d follow your instructions to the letter.
“What happens if we don’t catch the Silver Rose?” Tenik asked. He took out his coin for the first time in two days and flipped it, caught it, then flipped it again.
“Depends on the size of the safe house and the number of Blackhats we pull out of it. If we catch even two of them, we’ll be able to start asking questions. They might put us back on Marhoush’s track or even help us find the Gold Rose.” He didn’t bother adding if we’re lucky. He was incredibly frustrated that Marhoush had slipped past him, and if this raid came up with nothing useful, he’d be out a week’s worth of work.
Which wouldn’t inspire confidence in his new boss.
Tenik lifted his hands, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “Iron Roses are the lowest rung—then Bronze, Brass, Silver, and Gold?”
“That’s right.”
“And you were a Gold Rose?”
“Only briefly. I earned my Gold Rose just before the invasion by tracking down a Palo freedom fighter. I was a Silver Rose for a couple years.”
“This Marhoush … how well do you know him?”
“Only by sight. We’ve met twice, I think.”
“You have a good memory?”
“When you’re a spy, you have to develop a talent for names and faces. It’ll save your life.”