The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 28: The Bargain, Part 4

 Twenty years of caution told Ammas he was mad to be within a hundred miles of Talinara. Yet here he was, and not on the outskirts but ensconced in the city's best inn. The vast crowds of commoners and nobles who had come to pay their final respects to the Empress-Consort had served as a perfect camouflage. The innkeeper hadn't raised an eyebrow at a minor lord from a backwater prefecture traveling with a quiet, hooded scholar in his retinue, even though Denisius's cachet was quite a bit higher than it had once been. 

Ammas was fretful nonetheless. Although the capital was so teeming with throngs of travelers that he wouldn't have been surprised to find he was not the only member of the arcane brethren to have come in secret, none of them had been hired by an Imperial Princess to provide illegal services. Worse, he could not scrub away the bitter taste of what had happened the last time he had been in Talinara. Unsurprisingly, he'd been drinking too much wine since he'd arrived.

Barthim and Casimir he had already sent on their way back to Munazyr, and though Casimir hadn't liked to leave Ammas neither of them had protested much. Barthim had no desire to see the capital, and Casimir seemed to understand just what a terrible risk Ammas was taking by going there, a risk that would have been even greater if he'd come with an apprentice in tow. The temptation to accompany them, to take the southern road out of Gallowsport rather than the northern one, had been great, but in the end he could not consider his service to Carala fulfilled until he saw her safe in her home. That he once would have been satisfied with seeing her off on a carriage out of Munazyr was of no moment; too much had changed between them since then.

Pouring himself a second glass of wine (and trying not to feel a twinge of guilt at the sound of the city clocks striking noon), Ammas reflected that he could at least be grateful his health had steadily improved since that awful night in Gallowsport. The pains in his chest and head had mostly subsided, and his left eye had returned to normal. The walking stick he continued to carry mostly as an affectation, although if he walked for long stretches he did find himself leaning on it more than he otherwise might . . . and it made a good weapon should he be challenged in the streets of the capital.

Sharply a knock rapped at the door. With some difficulty, Ammas clambered out of his chair. He couldn't imagine who might be knocking; the inn was empty except for the innkeeper's wife and their youngest children, its many patrons having gone to the Cathedral of the Graces (or to the surrounding blocks, more likely). One hand on the hilt of his dagger, Ammas opened the door a crack, wondering if the innkeeper's wife had come to check on him, perhaps offer a midday meal to her sole guest.

What he saw shocked him so thoroughly he flung the door open wide, caution forgotten. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Varallo Thray, clad in the garb of a simple merchant, swept into the room, his lips curled in the familiar unctuous smile Ammas remembered from his youth, his eyes as shrewd and calculating as ever. He was older and even gaunter than in Ammas's memories, but there was no mistaking him, whatever he wore.

"I heard a rumor you were in the city, Ammas. It surprised me, but it's a fortuitous thing. Saves me the trouble of traveling to Munazyr. I don't like that journey even when the weather is fine, much less so close to Autumnsend, and the expense of the security needed to escort me to the Straits of Twilight is even worse than you'd think."

"What do you want?" Ammas said rudely. His fingers clenched the hilt of his dagger.

"Only to speak with you," Varallo Thray replied, smiling.

"Have you come to take me into custody? Deliver me up to Emperor like you tried to do last time? I'll cut your gods-forsaken throat before you lay a finger on me."