“She hasn’t, not since. Stripped them all of their papers and threw them onto the streets. They’ll be in Dregmeet now, hiding from the constabulary.”
Malachi scowled. Indentured southwealders weren’t technically slaves. Nonetheless, the exodus-brand on the palm meant they couldn’t take paid work without papers. At best, Ebigail Kiradin had doomed her servants to a life of starvation and criminality.
“Hold on . . .” Rosa grunted. “Are you drawing comparison between your betrothed and Marek, or your betrothed and a thieving servant?”
Kasamor’s lip twisted. “I speak merely to my mother’s occasional lightness of character.”
“One smile. And you think Calenne Trelan can coax forth another?” Rosa shook her head. “You must be in love to be so blind. I’m surprised your mother hasn’t disowned you.”
“Disown me? Her favourite son?”
“Her only son,” said Malachi.
Kasamor brushed the detail aside. “Some friends you are, dousing my happiness. I shan’t allow it. Calenne is to be my wife, and I the happiest man in the Republic.”
Malachi let the matter drop. He felt more than a little mean-spirited for needling his friend so. Whatever the complications of Calenne Trelan’s southwealder heritage, Kasamor was besotted. After two betrothals ended by Hadari spears, he deserved a good marriage. And if it was one founded in genuine affection rather than in furtherance of a dynasty, then Malachi envied him.
Rosa drained her tankard. “It’s my round. Another?”
Malachi stared into the remains of his ale. He should have left hours ago. Now he’d face a lecture and a polite smile undercut by disdain. Easier to face them after another drink.
“Sure.”
Kasamor lurched to his feet. “Put your coin away. We celebrate in style, and at my expense. In fact . . .” He paused, brow furrowed in thought.
Malachi caught Rosa’s eye, but the moment of shared realisation came too late.
“. . . I shall buy a drink for anyone who’ll offer a toast to Calenne Trelan,” Kasamor bellowed. “The jewel of the Southshires, and the brightest star in any sky!”
The hubbub gave way to a chorus of cheers. Fists and tankards hammered at tables in approval. Kasamor grinned broadly. He clambered atop his chair and drank in the adulation. Empty tankard in hand, he goaded the Silverway’s clientele to greater uproar, conducting their raucous clamour as music sprung from an orchestra.
Malachi released a sigh of relief. For a moment, he’d worried that . . .
“Toast your southwealder whore elsewhere.”
The cheers fell away.
Kasamor froze mid-gesture. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Then I’ll say it again, and clearer.”
Malachi twisted in the chair, striving to identify the speaker. There, in a booth by the crooked stairs. Nearer his own thirty-five summers than Rosa and Kasamor’s lesser tally. No intoxication in her face, nor in her husky voice. He’d seen her before, at council. Not in the Privy Council chamber, but attending Lord Tarev. His daughter . . . but what was her name?
The woman stood. Like Rosa, she’d forgone a bare-shouldered dress for a close-fitting blouse, jerkin and trews. Practical garb for a practical woman – especially when slumming it on the dockside.
“I lost my mother and a sister at Zanya. You want to toast a Trelan, do it in the gutter where you both belong.”
Kasamor jumped down and slammed his tankard onto the table. Malachi’s memory snapped into place. Aske Tarev . . . that was the woman’s name. But not for much longer, if something wasn’t done. Malachi rose a trifle more unsteadily than he’d have liked and blocked Kasamor’s advance.
“Then your kin sacrificed to make the Republic whole,” he told Aske. “Our divisions died with Katya Trelan. Let them remain in the past.”
“Malachi Reveque, ever the conciliator,” sneered Aske. “You don’t speak for my family.”
Kasamor growled. “And you owe my betrothed an apology. Must I tear it from you?”
Malachi set a hand against his chest. “Ignore her.”
To his relief, Kasamor halted.
There were too many swords in the Silverway. Kasamor could only count on Rosa’s in addition to his own. Judging by the stony faces at Aske’s table, she had three supporters. As to the rest? Most of the clientele wouldn’t risk getting caught up in a noble’s brawl. Probably. But you could never be sure once the blood was up.
“Rosa?” said Kasamor.
Alone of the three, Rosa still sat in her chair. Her crossed legs and propped elbow gave the impression of a woman taking her ease. However, her eyes darted back and forth, weighing up the odds.
“This would be better discussed outside. I like this tavern. I wouldn’t want to see it damaged.”
Translation: Rosa didn’t care for their prospects if it came to a straight fight. Malachi wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The chances of walking away from a tavern brawl were much higher than a back alley duel. The latter would spare Malachi and Rosa from injury, but it might cost Kasamor his life.
“Well?” Kasamor folded his arms and levelled a stare at Aske.
There was no amusement in his voice, no trace of the boisterous suitor of earlier. His smile belonged to a wolf. Malachi shuddered. This was the side of Kasamor the Hadari saw.
Aske didn’t reply at first, her watchful eyes taking their own measure of the odds. But the outcome was never really in doubt. You didn’t walk away from a challenge, however coded. Not with so many witnesses to hand and reputation at stake.
“Have it your way.”
Four
By unspoken accord, they settled on the alley between the Silver-way’s dray yard and the warehouse behind. Far enough from the roadway’s firestone lanterns so as not to draw a constable’s eye. Close enough that the low rush of the river weir rumbled beneath every word spoken.
Rosa halted a pace or two into the alley. She set her shoulders against the wall and shooed the others along. “Well? Get this over with.”
Malachi cast a nervous eye towards the river. “You heard her. I’d rather not be caught.”
Kasamor shook his head. “You’re always so concerned about your reputation.”
“I’m only here to stop you doing something foolish.”
Kasamor offered a wry smile. “Too late. And I’m not fighting for my reputation, but Calenne’s.”
Might be he even believed it, Malachi decided. Pride was a complicated burden. Yet, there was a rare lightness in Kasamor’s voice. Perhaps this was all about Calenne. Malachi only hoped the young woman was grateful for the risks taken in her name.
Malachi kept his thoughts to himself. His attention he spared for Aske’s group, deeper into the alley. Three others accompanied her. Two in the crimson and black surcoats of Tarev hearthguards, and the last in plain black garb. It struck Malachi as unfair that she’d brought so many, but that was the problem with such duels. The ritual had been born on distant battlefields and carried home by soldiers on leave. There were no rules, just a loose acceptance of what was to unfold.
Kasamor clapped him on the shoulder and set off down the alleyway. On reaching the midpoint, he spread his hands wide, sword still in its sheath.