Seven: The Making of a Shipwreck

Baron Trenn Corin was never a man prone to error. With one hand under the base of the teapot and the other steadying the spout with an open palm, he served black tea in the old Calabrion way. Not a drop spilt. He watched Pirrun all the while, gazing out of the window as though he were anticipating the arrival of some foreign cavalry. Trenn wondered what army would be less welcome than Pirrun himself was at the moment.

He had reported the property damages to Pirrun’s father shortly after the assault on his bondsmen, Jemec and Keda Gomohov. While Keda’s injuries would not prevent her from returning to work, Jemec’s would for a time, and that was a loss. The Gomohov accounts were already running a deficit. That family was one bad winter away from the slave market. Still, in the event that the Gomohov family had to be sold, Trenn’s losses would be mitigated without the political nightmare that Pirrun Irojah was bringing to the table.

“I'm afraid that we may be at an impasse,” Trenn said. “While I am aggrieved to learn about what happened to those children, and while the event has occurred at no small cost to me personally, I cannot prosecute this case. Lectro Sholde is his father's dearest pet, weird little thing that he is. The deed is done, and to agitate it further would only break my long-standing relationship with General Sholde. I've suffered enough for one catastrophe. The last thing that I need is an irate old man with the entire civil guard under his command breathing down my neck. I assume that your father has no knowledge of your findings?" Pirrun looked at Trenn over his shoulder.

“You assume correctly.” Trenn arranged the items on his desk so that they aligned with the beveled edge. Tidiness was a mundane form of meditation for him.

“You would force the earl to choose between your word and the honor of a close friend,” he asked.



“For the Gomohov family, I would.”

“Why?”

“Because they are innocent.” A pause. Trenn ran his knuckles up and down the smooth side of the teacup. Pirrun had always been too soft. If he had not thrown himself onto an enemy spear during the war, it was only to spare another soldier the guilt of his death.

“Come, have a seat at the desk.” Trenn waved Pirrun towards him. Pirrun sank into the chair like a much older man. Trenn knew Pirrun to be sympathetic even unto the point of sentimentality, but he had not yet learned how to make Pirrun see reason.



“Bad things happen to innocent people every day, Lord Irojah,” he said. Pirrun raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps, but I have a responsibility to the people of this province, not merely to the lords that rule them. Even as a point of view, if your neighbor is starving because the baker denies him bread, do you stand idly by as a courtesy to the baker? Or do you forfeit your own loaves to feed the starving man?”

“Neither. I have the neighbor arrested for vagrancy and let the state serve the poor wretch his supper.”

“Fie, but you understand the principle of the thing. Do you really want your children to inherit a world where the baker may pick and choose who has enough bread?”

“Why not? Do you know of another world?" Pirrun massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand then, squinting his eyes shut against the world that he deemed to be so unjust. Trenn stopped fiddling with the desk. "Forgive me if I seem unsympathetic. I only believe that a man does not sacrifice his well-being for a stranger but lives to fight for his own. All that General Sholde would need to do is to bat his mummified lashes at Earl Irojah, and Lectro stands protected. Consequently, you are deployed to the farthest reaches of the earth where you may do no harm from here to eternity and to what end? Lectro walks, the little girl remains defiled and her brother, without his tongue. It's folly.” Trenn felt the color rushing to his cheeks, though he could not have said why. Pirrun had not so much as sipped his tea. He stared Trenn down hotly.

“Aren’t you angry at all? The Gomohovs are your bondsmen. It is therefore your right that has been trampled upon, your peace violated, your coin lost. And who is to blame but the people that you pay to maintain those same interests?” Trenn pursed his lips. He was angry, but a battle with Maran Sholde was a battle inherently lost.

“I’m furious, believe me, but I’m also wise enough to know when to roll with the punches. If you love this province, you might take a similar leaf. This is a rather serious accusation, and the only credit that you have to your name is a battered shield. What success can you have against Maran Sholde?”

“I am optimistic about my choice of allies.”



“Pirrun, I tell you that I cannot be involved! And your father the earl would, at best, say the same.” Pirrun smiled in a somewhat bemused fashion.

“I accept your refusal—both of your refusals—but I will proceed in bringing this case before the court. His Grace is on my side. Lord Pietry Korain, I mean.” Trenn frowned to keep from snorting. Oh dear, oh dear.

“All that stands between Viceroy Korain and the king's justice is the fact that his sister is still breathing.” That, and Pietry’s determination to be buried in his monk’s robes. Pietry Korain was never one for the pomp of court or the tedium of ruling. This had been to his benefit. As Water Standard, Pietry was out of sight and out of mind. It would be to no one’s benefit for him to give testimony before the Merchants on what was bound to be rather a controversial and politicized matter. Out of sight, out of mind had been Pietry’s saving grace.

Trenn saw then that he had spoken without considering his audience. Some terrible warning froze every muscle in Pirrun’s body with no indication of recovery. It was quite the spectacle. Trenn feared for his little tea cup. He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry. You and he were close once, were you not?” Pirrun unclenched his teeth, but only just.



“As boys.”

“But no more?” Pirrun shrugged.

“We had a misunderstanding some years ago.”

“So why is he doing this for you now?” Pirrun eased a little at the question, averting his gaze.

“Maybe he wants to make amends,” he said.

“Oh? Does he have something to make amends for?” Pirrun exhaled. He seemed to turn the question over in his mind, his eyes darting from one corner of the room to the next. Trenn knew what he had stumbled into. Over the years, there had been a lot of speculation about why a young Pietry Korain had run away from his quiet, country home in Vorbine only to turn up on a battlefield just south of Upper Jier and his belongings in an enemy tent, no less.

“We both were to blame, and neither was,” he said. Well, well.



It mattered little enough what exact dispute ended their friendship. All of the intelligence that Trenn required was contained in Pirrun's response, unspoken but implicit. Why Pietry Korain would potentially jeopardize himself in such a way was made clear to Trenn. Now that Pietry can see Pirrun sinking on the horizon, he jumps at the first opportunity to go down with him. Theirs was a shared guilt and just as it was in the beginning, so shall it be forever, world without end. Trenn's own sons often made such oaths between them; if one were sent to bed without his supper then the other would refuse to eat. Such bonds of fidelity were blind to self-preservation. If the accusation against the Sholde boy went sour, Pirrun would not escape the backlash, and Pietry would be right there beside him.

Trenn licked his lips in thought. Pietry Korain had something that Trenn stood a good chance of inheriting in the event of a dismissal-- his title, which Pietry had managed to keep only by the skin of his teeth. Trenn too had a claim to the Eastern Territories. He would be viceroy today if Pietry's elder brother only had the decency to die before the siege. Pietry's involvement in the Gomohov case did indeed make all the difference.

Pirrun would play the sacrificial lamb in this new bid to discredit Pietry. This was regrettable, but Pirrun was determined to prosecute the case anyway, no matter what Trenn offered or didn't offer. Trenn thumbed the pages of the text open on his desk. There was evidence enough to support Pirrun's claim, but Trenn little knew what good it would do him. Still, it would be an encouragement and sometimes, that was all that man needed in the making of his own shipwreck.



“By my register, the Gomohovs owe nearly eighty drakos to the civil guard of West Quarter. By my calendar, the day that the family was attacked followed the new moon. And by my reckoning, Lady Sholde does the accounts at the start of each lunar phase.” Pirrun got to his feet.

“And you would testify to that?”

“I would.”

“Thank you, friend.” Pirrun headed for the door.

“And Pirrun?” Pirrun stopped in his tracks. Trenn licked his lips, savoring the genius of this last observation, which had only just occurred to him in the moment. Lectro had not acted alone. Indeed, imagining the size and strength of Lectro against Jemec Gomohov, Trenn doubted whether Lectro had acted at all. “Maran Sholde does not send his favorite sheep out to pasture without a guard dog for escort,” he said. “Look to the sons with teeth and claws.”



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Night was falling over Udlan, and the shrouded form of Michilav Korain came in with the breeze. Lectro had been stationing himself next to that open window every night though he never fully expected to see Michi pass through it again. Lectro lowered his quill but did not look up.

“What do you want?” Michi smiled somewhat cannily at the address, but Lectro knew what hurt that smile disguised.

“A wise man would know to welcome his guests with less skepticism before he learns the nature of the visit,” Michi said. Lectro shrugged in a show of disinterest that was only half-feigned. He scraped the nub of his quill against the lip of the inkwell, reprising his calligraphy even as the view from his window dimmed. Outside, the rain began to pour.

“And why would he do that?” Michi pulled something as small as a pebble out of his sleeve and rolled it across the backs of his fingers. Lectro stared, transfixed in his attempt to identify the thing.



“A wise man would want to make himself appear obliging, just in case the visitor had something that the wise man wanted.” Michi held the face of the object toward Lectro, who squinted at it. A crack of thunder, a glimmer of light, and recognition flared inside of him. Lectro took a swipe at the button, but came away with empty air.

“Where did you get that? Give it to me.” Michi held it away from him, grinning.

“Funny how these things come full circle, isn't it? I buy your silence with silver, and now you may find yourself owing. Not so fast. From the look on your face, I’d say that this button is worth a lot more than what I paid for it.” Lectro exhaled, hoping to look less desperate than he felt. For all of his teasing, Michi seemed to know nothing. Perhaps he had not heard about what happened at the Gomohov house. Lectro slumped down onto his chair.



“I hate to sound like an echo of myself, but what do you want,” he said. Michi shrugged, jovial still.

“To be honest, I haven't decided yet.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Abusing you.” Lectro sucked his teeth and looked away.

“Come off it, Michi. You've no idea what you're fucking around with. Give me the button.” Lectro held out his hand, and Michi pulled his farther back.

“Give me one good reason,” he taunted. Lectro held his ground.

“If my father finds out about Didra then you shall have one less testicle. Give me the button.” Michi took a moment to consider then ultimately relented.

“You're no fun,” he said. Michi handed it over before hopping onto Lectro’s bed. Lectro examined the button. There was no doubt that this was the one.



“Where did you find this?” Michi propped himself up on his elbows and grinned.

“Nicked it off Pirrun Irojah. He thought that it was mine.” This sentence was punctuated by a yawn. “He and uncle Pietry seemed really interested in it. Asked me a bunch of questions.” The room was spinning. Lectro clenched his knuckles tight in his lap. Someone knew.

“What did you tell them?” It was all that Lectro could manage to say without giving away his guilt. Michi scratched his head beneath the hood of his cloak, and Lectro caught sight of his hair. It was cropped very short now and sticking out at all angles. Lectro could not have known why Michi would have done a thing like that, but it made him look very young and even a bit silly. Michilav Korain did so love playing the part of the innocent fool.

“Not much. I said that it was yours, and that I’d given it you. Nothing more.”

“And where did they get it?”



“The hell if I know. Say, are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need me to—” Lectro raised a hand, cutting Michi off.

“If I needed your help, I’d have asked for it.” Michi lay down on Lectro's bed, his cloak sprawling. He looked like a drowned man floating face-up. A chair moved across the floor above their heads. Lectro’s twin sister, Didra, was most likely backing away from the vanity before retiring to bed. Lectro only ever heard one set of footsteps in her room these days. Her maidservant was forbidden from dressing her any longer for fear that the girl would see the raven’s mark carved low at the base of Didra's abdomen and know it for what it was.

“How is she?” Michi's voice was no higher than a whisper. Lectro turned back to his studies.



“Better since she’s had nothing to do with you.”

“I’d have married her, if things were different.” Michi rubbed his leg through the coarse fabric of his calling. Lectro fidgeted with the button.

“No, you wouldn't have.” He added in his mind that Michi was selfish, manipulative, quite possibly in league with the Three Shades and wholly unworthy of his sister. She may have been stupid enough to allow herself to be seduced by him, but she was not stupid enough to chain herself to him for life. If Michi knew her at all, he would have known that she would have rather died than to live out her days with a man who would treat her so recklessly. She almost did die.

“You needn’t be cruel,” Michi said. Lectro shook his head mostly to himself.

“You've never seen a son of Maran Sholde be cruel.”

“What does that mean?” Lectro placed the button on his desk where it wobbled independently of his touch. All of his guilty silences were forming a tally, one behind the other. If he had any idea that Orea would want the Gomohov girl, he would have gone to the docks himself to get the ingredients to heal his sister. He would have haggled in his broken Lomombric at the risk of life and limb, for Lomombrics did not take kindly to those that they suspected of dark medicine. That done, Lectro would have forgiven the Gomohov's defense debt so seamlessly that even Baron Corin would not have suspected foul play. His brothers would have had no cause to enter that house. Orea would have never seen the girl, Jemec would still be working towards his physic, and Lectro would be fast asleep right now.

Lectro had been too clever for his own good. When Didra and Michi came to him for help, he knew that they could not go to a Lomombric healer for what they needed. As luck would have it, he did however know of a tinker in West Quarter that had worked under a healer for many years. Jemec Gomohov was a clever fellow, one who could have taken direction from someone learned in such arts, someone like Michi. The tinker's account was in arrears. He agreed to help Didra in exchange for relief of the debt. But to perform the rite that would appease the ancestors and erase all evidence of the deed upon Didra's body required certain ingredients that could only be bought on the docks. It took time to acquire the ingredients and the physic that would heal Didra's scars took still more time to prepare.

Nadda knew something was amiss by Didra's odd behavior and sudden disappearances. After the maid was dismissed, he beat the truth out of Lectro. Nadda ensured Jemec's silence after. Lectro placed a solemn hand over the button, burying it.



“Thank you for this, but you should probably get going.” Michi sat up on the bed.

“If you don’t want me here then why do you still leave your window open?” Michi inclined his head towards his exit, and Lectro narrowed his eyes.

“Because so long as I know you’re down here, I know you can’t possibly be up there.” Lectro motioned to the ceiling above him, where he imagined his sister blowing out the taper at her bedside. Michi cringed and stood.

“Fine. You know where to find me.”

“I shan’t come looking.” Michi paused in front of the window. His breath was audible and his hurt now made plain. Michi had broken Lectro's trust irreparably and yet he seemed to have a knack for making Lectro feel like the villain.



“Will this ever be right between us?” Lectro rubbed his arms against a growing chill. He had hoped that their acquaintance was behind him. He would never be done with his anger, or his shame.

“Go home, Michilav.”

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Nova set her hairbrush aside, glimpsing Nadda's reflection in the mirror. He was leaning against the doorframe with his legs crossed. This was his attempt at blocking Nova's escape route but making it look casual. His intentions toward her were no clearer than when he was threatening her without words.

“Yes?” She was more annoyed than anything else, and was glad for her annoyance. Her annoyance masked her uneasiness, and Nadda was the sort of animal that pounced at the first whiff of fear.

“Is it mine?” Nova shot him a questioning look through the polished tin mirror.



“Is what yours?” No sooner had she asked than knew the answer. She rolled her eyes at him. “You know if you aren't careful, I shall write Uhaka Cuil and have him cut-off your opium supply.” Nova reprised brushing her hair.

“Well, is it?” Nadda was breathing hard through his nose in a show of barely contained fury. Nova knew him well enough by now to recognize when she would need to tread with caution. He was a man of few words and when he was angry in earnest, he let his actions speak for him. Nova separated her hair to begin her braid.

“How dare you barge in here to call your wife a whore? When she suffers with your child?” Nova turned around in her chair, gripping the back rest with both hands. It was within her power to shame him, as she had proven time and time again. She had only consented to marry him knowing the reach and the sting of this sole weapon that she had against him. But for the moment, Nadda seemed immune. He straightened himself up.

“I do not call my wife a whore, I call her an adulteress. Two different things,” he said. Nova turned around in her chair. She wound a bit of brown leather around the end of her braid.

“You've no cause to call me either.” She pouted her lips. He had his twinges of sympathy for her, she knew. Nadda threw back his head to keep himself from looking at her.

“Woman, I found his belt on your bedroom floor.” By reminding Nova of Aythis's belt, he was not reiterating a truth so much as issuing a warning. Nova clicked her tongue.

“You found your own belt, Nadd. It was the black calf's hide your father brought back from Nunir. You've only to ask him.” Nadda crept up on her, confronting her as though he could hardly believe what he was hearing. A sadistic smile spread across his lips. Nova suspected that this was the effect of her shrinking away from his proximity.



Nova's heart was pounding in her ears but she was too proud to back out of the chair. He knelt down behind her. His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, sending a tiny shiver through her body.

“I am disappointed in you, Nova, and I don’t take to disappointment much grace. The last person who so disappointed me had business with our family that suffered from his lack of motivation. And if there is one thing at which I excel, it is providing motivation.” Nadda paused to stare admiringly at her face. It turned her stomach more effectively than his fury ever had. “This person was a talker. He could talk, talk, talk his way out of any situation. I haven't the patience for excuses, as you well know. So I jacked open his mouth by wedging a bit of kindling between his teeth and removed the organ that had so disappointed me with far less skill than what is required of a surgeon.” Nadda kissed her hair above her temple and straightened. “Imagine then, dear wife, what you might stand to lose.”



****************************************************************



A garland of stale smoke and rotgut hung in the air. Ynav was reminded of nothing if not the bitter incense burning at the vigil outside the door of his dying grandfather’s bedchamber. This night too was a waiting game. He did not know what he expected to come of the evidence that he delivered against Lectro. It seemed pathetic to think that his brothers would appear before him, weapons in hand, demanding that he recant. Pathetic, but that did not stop him from thinking it. He spent every moment as though he were teetering on the edge of a knife.

“You seem distracted.” Ynav glanced down at the woman in his lap. She was round and warm and spilling out of her dress. His focus traveled no higher than her clavicle. He drew a deep breath before speaking, taking her in.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” It was a lie but with the right amount of drink, she could be anything that he wanted her to be or more to the point, anyone. The girl shrugged.

“I've heard it once or twice," she said. Ynav laughed aloud. There was something about the brazen toss of her shoulders, something about the sharp glint in her eye. With one fell swoop, she had succeeded at making herself very congenial indeed. Ynav tried to smirk lasciviously at her but it felt forced. Another night would have seen him less detached.



“Once or twice, she says. A valiant attempt at modesty. If I am honest, which I am, I don't much like modesty in a girl.” Ynav made his admission with both eyebrows raised, daring her to ask the obvious. She took the bait.

“Well, what does sir like in a girl?” Ynav picked her up by the hips and slid her back against his prick, eliciting a surprised gasp. He learned forward and muttered in her ear.

“Would you care to find out?” The girl laughed, and Ynav liked the sound of it. This one, he would have tonight and perhaps her friend too.



It had been the other girl, now lost at the bottom of her mug, that had attracted Ynav to the pair in the first place. Her piercing eyes had him from across the room the instant he entered the pub. Now they were red-rimmed, the lids heavy with drink. He leaned forward to clasp her knee with one hand while he explored the new favorite girl's drooping neckline with the other.

“Is this the current fashion?” Ynav was all innocence. The girl swatted his fingers away, still giggling like a tart.

“My collar ties have gone is all!”

“Really? Where have they gone to?” The girl pushed him playfully at the center of his chest.

“Cheeky.” Here, the hulking figure of a man loomed above them, obscuring the lamp light.



“You Riven-Sholde?” He had a voice to match his build. It might have sent a shiver up Ynav’s spine if he had not consumed enough gin to make his entire body numb from the bladder up.

“That depends on who's asking.” Valor was yet another side-effect of drink. The man crossed his arms over his chest.

“There's a lord waiting for you outside. Didn't catch the name.” The man sniffed in derision. “Someone's husband no doubt.” The favorite girl slumped against Ynav's chest in a childish show of annoyance.

“That signals the less than perfect end to an otherwise delightful evening. My apologies, ladies," He locked eyes with the favorite girl, who looked to be on the verge of pouting. "I'm afraid you never told me your name.” She mustered a smile.



“It's Ute.” Ynav stood, tossing his long hair over his shoulder as he did. It was one of those petty tricks that he found women liked.

“And whose daughter are you, Ute?” Her expression warned him against this last, however jovial.

“Sir should know better than to ask,” she said.

“Ah. A gentleman, is he? Where might I find you again?” Ute giggled, shaking her head. The game was forfeit. Ynav's expression soured. “You're breaking my heart, Ute.”



“If the man outside doesn't kill you, I'll still be waiting right here.” There was an adorable sense of resolution to the upturn of her chin.

“And if some other man absconds with you?” He had not meant to put it that way. Most girls gave him odd looks, demanding to know whether he had choked on a dictionary when words like 'abscond' emerged past his lips. Ute only folded her arms over her ample bosom and shrugged, shooting him that canny glare of hers.

“Then you were too slow.” Ynav came very close to kissing her then. He leaned forward as far as he dared, but she pulled away. It was too flirtatious to count as a rejection, but the game was indeed over. Ynav headed outside.



There was no one. The rain came down in billowing curtains, flooding the streets. Ynav rounded the corner and stuck close to the wall to avoid getting wet. A stray dog crossed his path. It regarded him indifferently as it passed. Its eyes were mismatched. Ynav wondered if this were some sort of an ill omen. He waited impatiently for the absent though alleged nobleman.

Maybe that giant invented the story to get him out of the pub. Maybe he fancied that Ute girl. Or maybe it was his discreet way of telling Ynav that he'd had enough to drink. That last possibility lodged in Ynav's brain and stuck, causing him to fume. Let no man claim to be an expert on his sobriety but Ynav himself! As Ynav began to head back to give that over-sized stranger a piece of his mind, something caught the back of his robe. His collar yoked his neck, cutting off his windpipe.



He struggled to loosen the growing tightness around his throat as heavy palms shoved him forward through the alley. Ynav writhed drunkenly in the other man's grip, unable to free himself. Oh, fathers. Oh, wide night sky! He could not take in enough air to lodge a verbal protest. A clammy hand grabbed the side of his head, forcing him into a neighboring barn.

The horses trampled restlessly in their stalls, Ynav's mare among them. The other man threw him towards a pile of straw. Ynav's long legs tangled one over the other but he did not topple.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ynav turned to look at his assailant and had to blink twice to ensure that the light was not playing tricks. He pinched the bridge of his nose, screwed his eyes shut and opened them once more. No, his eyes had not been mistaken. The man who stood before him was quite possibly the furthest person from all of his imaginings.



“Lower your voice, you frivolous ass!” Pietry Korain was staring Ynav down, redder than beets and somehow more terrifying than a hundred Naddas. Ynav racked his brain to remember what he could have done to infuriate one of the most powerful men in Iyves but came up dry. In the end, he could only offer a stammering,

“Y-your Grace?” Pietry stepped forward with a face that threatened to spit fire, and Ynav stepped back, shielding his head from blows that never fell. He was afraid to move, even to bow.

“I little know what you think you're planning, but under no circumstance will I allow the good name of a man who has fought and bled for this country be dragged through the mud by a sniveling, tedious, drunken—”

“My lord, forgive me, but I know not what you mean!” Ynav hazarded a glance at Pietry from beneath his arm. Pietry did not raise a hand to hit him.



“The silver button, you imbecile! Did you give it to Pirrun Irojah?” Ynav lowered his arms slowly. Much had happened in the interim if the button story had leaked all the way to Pietry Korain. Ynav wondered too why Pietry was so apt to defend Nadda, or even how he had connected the button to Nadda in the first place. But even drunk, Ynav knew better than to ask risky questions.

“It was meant for the earl.” Ynav's voice was small, infantile even. Pietry exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Why? What did you hope to gain?” Ynav stood gaping for a spell. The question took him by surprise. He scrambled to assess the situation from Pietry's point-of-view. Pirrun had evidence that could undo a nobleman, supposedly. That evidence came from a third party who claimed to have gotten it from Ynav, who was the half-brother of the man who stood accused. With the look that Pietry was giving him now, it could not be denied that Pietry suspected foul play. How could he not? If Ynav was setting someone up-- Lectro, Nadda, Earl Irojah or all three-- and his brothers were found innocent, everyone involved in the prosecution could come crashing down. Idiot! He was such an idiot! But it was too late now to let the tide wash the evidence away.

“My lord, please allow me to explain—” Pietry shook his head, cutting into Ynav's speech.



“My nephew bought those buttons for your brother. Did you know that?” Pietry was almost shouting, despite his prior warning to Ynav to keep his voice down. Perhaps some new suspicion had entered Pietry's mind. Ynav was afraid of which nephew Pietry meant, for his twin sister was the queen. Pietry’s other living sibling was his younger brother Aerthos who only had the one child and that was—Ah. Of course. Michilav Korain. That boy was trouble, but his mishaps were never any more than boyish pranks and scrapes. Then again, if Lectro were capable of something like this, then who was to say that Michilav wasn’t involved? With Scary Uncle Pietry breathing down his neck, Ynav would never posit the notion.

“No! But understand, I—I paid a visit to the Gomohov family the day after it happened. The little girl was there. I saw her, and I just felt—”

“What in the name of all that is holy were you doing there?” Ynav scuffed the dirt with the heel of his boot. The honest answer would have made him an opportunist. The honest answer would have made him some sort of a sick voyeur. The honest answer would have made him as moronic as he felt.



“Paying my respects. They are my neighbors, regardless of their station.” Pietry shook his leonine head. He did not seem entirely sold, but he paused to allow Ynav to continue. “She gave me the button, and I knew it to be Lectro's. I had no prior cause to think my family had anything to do with the incident. I am still not convinced. I sent the button to the earl because it was the right thing to do, but I do not want to be party to any of this. And for what it's worth, I never intended for Pirrun Irojah to get involved.” The moment the words left his lips, Ynav knew consciously what he had perhaps unconsciously suspected. Nadda Sholde was not the soldier that Pietry was so quick to defend. Pietry pressed two fingers to his lips and turned his gaze to the ground.

“No,” he said. “Start at the beginning. How did you know that this was Lectro's button? Had you seen him wearing it?”

“Strictly speaking, no.”

“No?”

“Well, I don't know. He has a whole coat full of these buttons. The laundress thought that she had lost that button, and I helped her to search for it. By the time I got the button from the Gomohov girl, I knew the set very well. They're distinctive, to say the least.”

“Right. When she gave it to you, what did she say? ‘This is the button of the man that forced me?’”

“No, she didn't say anything. She wasn't speaking. She only put it in my hand.” Ynav extended his hand to Pietry in a phantom gesture of his acceptance of the button. He could feel Keda's arm around the back of his neck, even now. He rubbed his shoulder absently.

“She did not say where she got it or why she was giving it to you?”

“Her meaning was plain.”

“Was it?” Ynav paused to second guess himself. In his mind, he was by the hearth at the Gomohov house. Keda was looking him in the eye. She was prying his hand open with her tiny fingers.

“There was so much desperation in her. It could have been nothing else,” he said. Pietry made an about-face. He paced the length of the barn. Ynav took the opportunity to begin the process of wringing the rainwater from his hair.

“So then you hired a messenger, and had the button sent to the Tower.” Ynav could not tell whether Pietry meant that rhetorically or not. He decided that it was in his best interest to respond regardless.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And you don’t know any more than this?”

“No, my lord.”

“So what do you suppose happened? Your little brother just woke-up one morning and decided to ravish a girl then cut her brother's tongue for sport?” To hear it aloud was a shock to the senses. Ynav clutched his elbows instinctively as though he were protecting his stomach from attack.

“I...” Ynav did not want to contradict himself, but he scarcely suspected Lectro of mutilating the Gomohov boy. Nadda's bloody shirt was all the proof that Ynav needed of Lectro's innocence. But if he knew Nettie's mastery of her trade, then Nadda's shirt was tucked away in a chest just then, as virginal and spotless as they day that it was stitched. The only sign that Ynav had of Nadda's guilt was the knot in his stomach. “I don't think Lectro capable of removing that boy's tongue,” he said.

“But you think him capable of ravishing the girl?” Ynav wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He recalled being a boy not much older than Lectro was now, bouncing his youngest brother on his knee. Lectro was such a merry little chap, rosy-cheeked and full of curiosity. As a child, Lectro was quick to laugh and open in his compassion for others. More than once, Lady Sholde had been forced to extract him from the company of beggars who wanted nothing more than a kind word and a copper for bread. Ynav had secretly appreciated him for that. Lectro was everyone's favorite—scabbed knees, pet toads and all. Life beyond the nursery had hardened Lectro to such a degree that Ynav did not know the person that he had become.



“Perhaps,” Ynav muttered. He hoped that Pietry took his watery eyes and running nose for a reaction to the wet autumn night. He tilted his head back to stop his tears from falling.

“Why?” Ynav shrugged the question off. Pietry stopped his pacing. The look that Ynav caught from Pietry then was almost benign, almost understanding. “Without motive, you have nothing. No narrative, no argument. All that you have is a silver button.” Ynav was well aware of this. Part of him wanted to have even less than a button. Pietry turned his gaze to the straw-thatched heavens though the light did not travel far enough for him to have seen anything of substance up there. Ynav remarked his posture, which was tall and statuesque even at an age that would have begun to stoop most men. Pietry was the grandson of a Khode prince and his spine must never have forgotten it.



Perhaps they were not so different, he and Pietry. During the war, Pietry's father and elder brother were wrongfully hanged in Khodar. Their king and close cousin had accused them of espionage. As the story goes, Pietry reacted to his loss by swearing his fealty to Gordon Regis of Iyves and coercing his two remaining siblings into doing the same. Suffering a great wrong, particularly as a youth, can be a deeply radicalizing thing. Tonight he stood before Ynav as an Iyvrian at heart, if not by blood. He was more than a traitor to his house, he was a traitor his king and commonweal. Ynav had some small authority on what that felt like. Pietry exhaled deeply through his nose and turned.

“I suppose this is all moot, anyway. Baron Corin refuses to prosecute Lectro. Pirrun remains determined, but I doubt that his father will want to bring this case before the High Merchants without the baron.” A deep sinking feeling threatened to overwhelm Ynav then, surprising him with its potency. Ynav had been counting on a trial. Moreover, he had been counting on a conviction. His brothers could not hurt him from the inside of a prison, though his father might try. And if Pietry knew about Ynav's treachery, then others probably did too. It was only a matter of time before Nadda knew and worse-- before Lectro knew. Lectro was a boy but he was calculating. He could be very cold when the situation merited it. Ynav felt that he had a chance of escape from Nadda's blunt brutality, but Lectro's intellect could sniff him out anywhere. Lectro was the sort of man who could unearth other men's weaknesses and use them to great torment.

But it was not only himself that Ynav was afraid for. The Gomohov family was entirely defenseless. They had been abandoned by law enforcement and their lord. Ynav was all that they had. Well, Ynav and two aging noblemen, one of whom was giving Ynav a rather penetrating stare.

“There has to be something that we can do,” Ynav said. The words came out in a rush. Pietry opened his mouth to respond when the hay bale to the right of Ynav swore profusely.

“Furry fucking cunt, I'll slice you up the middle and hang your entrails as an example to all the rest!”



A human form emerged from the hay limb by limb. Ynav scuttled to the opposite end of the barn terrified of who or what could have been lurking unseen for the duration of their impromptu meeting. The figure hunched its shoulders, brushing the hay from its front and continuing to rant. Its slurred speech gave rise to few comprehensible words amid a dense soup of language—piss, kill, you, run. A pair of white rats escaped the scene through a hole in the barn wall, unharmed. It was then that Ynav recognized the stable-keep, Aythis Droad, decked in straw beneath the lamp light.

“You! Boy! What did you overhear,” Pietry bellowed. Ynav stepped forward. The Droad woman only yawned.

“Will you be needing your animal then, lordship?” With that, she began openly picking her teeth. A peculiar grimace pulled at the corners of Pietry's lips and then vanished. Ynav supposed that he had just realized that Aythis was no boy.



“I shan't ask you again.” Pietry had a low, rumbling voice that demanded attention and respect but Aythis, ever her own master, just scratched her stomach through her tunic. She was so thoroughly unimpressed.

“Well let's see here,” Aythis paused to cover her mouth with the butt of her fist as she suppressed a belch. Ynav wondered briefly whether he was equally off-putting when drunk. “I heard summat about a little girl and a button and Lectro Sholde.” Ynav threw his hands in the air, knowing the futility of secrets in a city where even the straw had ears. Pietry narrowed his eyes, stepping in closer. He sniffed at her in derision.

“I know you,” he said. “North Quarter. You used to train hunting dogs for Lord Killiad Pothol.” Aythis smiled. She looked almost sinister in the dark.



“You've got a long memory then.” She turned her attention to Ynav. Aythis made her way over to him, dropping a trail of little tawny stalks as she went. Ynav could not put his finger on it, but something about her approach set his teeth on edge. She stopped just an arm's length from the hem of his robe, looking him square in the eye as she spoke. “But I know something you don't know.” Ynav was afraid to ask what. And though she was staring right at him, he knew that she was speaking to Pietry.

“It is late. Riven-Sholde, we will continue this conversation later.” Pietry started to make his exit.

“Lord Nadda confessed the crime to his wife this very evening,” Aythis shouted after him, causing Pietry to stop dead in his tracks. “Can't vouch for what happened to the girl, but Nadda Sholde carved that boy, no question.”

“Oh? And I suppose that would make you in his wife's confidence?” Pietry spoke to her from over his shoulder, not deigning to face her. Aythis shifted her weight.

“It would, and I'll say no more about that. But if you're looking for evidence to put Nadda Sholde away, I'm your girl. I could get the blade he used without breaking a sweat. Lady Sholde has had it in her hand with that tinker's blood still drying on the steel.” Pietry rolled his eyes, though only Ynav caught the gesture.

“Have you any idea what the word ‘moot’ means,” he said. Aythis spat on the ground.

“I do, and it ain't. You know as well as I do you don't need an earl's say-so to bring a violent case before the king's court and counsel if you have the weapon. Even a common man could do that, let alone the dang Water Standard.” This glimmer of hope piqued Ynav's curiosity.

“What is she talking about,” Ynav asked. Pietry gave him a look that seemed to say, Are you really going to take legal advice from a woman stable-keep? But Ynav had reached the point where he would take the advice of anyone who was willing to tell him what he wanted to hear. Pietry sighed.

“There is a class of prosecution whereby the interested parties are represented by noblemen without a position of interest in the dispute. It's called a ‘vessel merchant pursuance’. One of the qualifiers for such a prosecution would be, as our friend the dog trainer has pointed out, the submission of the weapon used in a violent crime. But while Nadda's blade might get us a trial, it will take much more than that for us to win it.” Ynav wet his lips, both eager and afraid to ask what more could be done to build their case when Aythis broke into the silence.



“See? I don't know much but I know my way around a courtroom, sure and certain.” Pietry shot a look of stern reprimand in her direction with his feet still pointing towards the door.

“Because you are a thief,” he asked. Aythis spat on the ground once more.

“Aye, because I am a thief.” A moment of stillness passed, during which Ynav could hear only the rain against the rooftop. The blunt onset of a migraine was beating against his eye socket. He should be half asleep by now, listening to his bedroom door close behind a sturdy girl with an easy wit and even easier neckline. Pietry nodded almost imperceptibly at Aythis, and in that there was some relief for Ynav. The wheel was set into motion.

“I will of course be needing pay, and thieving from a nobleman don’t come cheap,” Aythis said.

“Yes, of course. We will discuss that after the deed is done.” Aythis bowed to him like a man before leaving the barn. It was the first sign that she had shown of knowing with whom she was speaking. Ynav waited until she was out of sight to reproach the Water Standard.

“Your Grace, did you just hire a thief to trap a ravisher?” It was almost funny. Pietry kept his gaze fixed ahead of him, at the door.

“No, you did,” Pietry said after a spell.

“Wh— Sorry?” Pietry spun around so quick that it forced Ynav to back away. The look in his eye was murderous. Ynav struggled to keep his pace ahead of Pietry as he skipped backwards through the barn. He knew that he was on the verge of receiving the beating that he had feared earlier when Pietry had him by the collar.

“Stealing is a criminal offense. If it is proven that the dagger was stolen before special dispensation was given to investigate this crime, then the prosecutors themselves could face conviction. But as it just so happens, I have the authority to give that dispensation, and so I shall give it to you by official writ. I will have it in his Majesty's hand at dawn.” Pietry soon had Ynav pinned tight against a thin sliver of wall. Ynav threw his palms in the air, ready to push Pietry away.

“Now hang on! I am happy to help—more than happy—but only so long as I stay anonymous—” Pietry pounded the wall above Ynav's head, startling him into silence. He crept in so close that Ynav could feel the other man's breath warming his cheek.

“If it is proven that the button was stolen before the filing of the writ, I cannot aid those who would stand accused. I will not.” Ynav felt himself sinking low against the wall. He knew the accusation in those words. Anyone who had spent his life as the lowest and least loved of his house would know the accusation. A man did not get to Viceroy Korain’s place in life by being stupid. Clearly, he had considered every angle of this debacle and the age-old story of the treacherous bastard son seemed as likely as any other.



“I didn't.” Ynav’s voice was weak, barely audible. Pietry moved away from the wall. His well-trained eyes were measuring the clockwork of Ynav's soul.

“Allow me to explain something to you here; several witnesses have seen Pirrun and Kolhue in possession of that button. Were Pirrun and Kolhue to be put to the proof about its origins, they would have nothing. If you are any kind of man,” Pietry paused here to sneer. “then you will appreciate the necessity of protecting a lady under those circumstances. None of us can afford the luxury of being anonymous, least of all you. I for my part will not see honest people go down because your one act of altruism happens to coincide with your one act of familial betrayal. Am I perfectly clear?” He was now. Kolhue, of course. Always Kolhue. Ynav could not blame Pietry for sticking his neck out for her, but he did not have to like Pietry for it either. They were rivals.

“Yes, Your Grace. Of course.” Pietry left without another word. The rain was starting to let up. Ynav slid down the length of the wall, planting himself sloppily on the floor. He was unmanned, alone and quite frankly frightened. He did not know where Aythis had gotten to or when she would be back, but he did not wish to be the last line of defense against horse thieves on top of everything else. He pulled himself to his feet and only then did it hit him that he had forgotten to pay his tab.

He made his way back to the pub with barely an upward glance. His reason was in a fume. Too much had come to pass in too short of a time. The barkeep was staring at him sidelong, wiping the rim of a mug with a dirty rag. Ynav deposited a fist full of copper coins onto the bar-top when a newly familiar laugh cut through the air.



Ute was sitting across the room with a few other ladies, chatting merrily. Her half-bare shoulders seemed impossibly smooth to him from where he stood. He thought of kissing those shoulders. He thought of ripping through her worn shirt collar and sucking on her enormous tits hard enough to cause her pain. He thought of putting his hand up her skirt and making her beg. Ute noticed him watching her then. It was all the invitation that Ynav needed. He strode over to her full of purpose.

She seemed confused when he led her by the hand into the night, but she came obediently. Neither one of them spoke a word. Ynav pressed her body against the wall, kissing her deeply and gathering the hem of her dress in his hands.



Ute tried to tilt her head away, perhaps to take a breath or perhaps to speak but Ynav would allow neither. He fumbled in untying the cloth cupping his manhood. The muscles in his stomach tightened. He found her beneath the folds of her dress and pushed two fingers inside of her roughly. Ute's nails were digging into his arms through his sleeves. He needed this. His blood roared in his ears, and she cried out from either pleasure or discomfort but he could not be sure which. Ynav moved her leg so that her right foot perched upon the edging at the joint between the wall and the pavement. Ordinarily, he enjoyed the entire ceremony of bedding a woman, but tonight he was a raw nerve. Tonight, he knew only bestial acts.