Royce stayed by the window, his eyes glued on the street. “Albert, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you. Gwen is safe, and that’s all I wanted.”
“Well, I don’t know now. I was searching for news in every inn and public house in the Gentry and Merchant Quarters this morning, and apparently no one remembers me from the party—or no one cares. Almost depressing if I were to really think about it. I’m rather invisible. I guess I have that sort of face or personality. Explains a lot, really. No one ever noticed me. In a world of clout and influence that’s a problem, but as the liaison for a pair of thieves, can there be a better talent? Besides, I have to admit I’m impressed. No—forget that—I’m astounded. I thought I was in league with lunatics, but you did it. You took down a ranking noble, rescued all the girls from the dungeon, and no one even knows you did it.”
“That we did it,” Royce corrected.
“Right.” Albert smiled. “I think I’d like to stay and see where this goes. Besides, I already lined up that job. Would seem a shame to disappoint our client.”
He handed the purse of gold to Royce, who began to count the coins.
“Who’s the job for?” Hadrian asked.
Albert pulled his damp hair back into a ponytail and said, “A nice lady who’s being blackmailed by her servant and an evil baron to betray her husband.”
“I like it.”
“Twenty-five gold?” Royce looked up.
“Half now, half when you deliver.”
Hadrian was concerned, but Royce was the first to ask, “What does she want us to do for fifty tenents?”
“Steal an earring.”
“An earring?” Royce asked skeptically. “Is it guarded by demons or something?”
Albert shook his head. “I suspect it’s not guarded at all. Likely just sitting in Baron McMannis’s jewelry box.”
“Fifty gold to return an earring?” Royce muttered incredulously. “What are these earrings worth?”
“Oh, I suspect they’re actually not worth much at all. Old Hurbert isn’t known for his generosity, even to his own wife,” Albert explained. “The money is for saving the woman’s reputation, which is worth far more than any pair of earrings.”
Hadrian pushed out his lower lip and nodded. “This whole noble thing might actually work.” Then turning his attention to Royce, he added, “You owe me.”
Royce scowled. “I know. I know. We’ll deal with that later.”
“He owes you?” Albert asked.
“When you originally went to the castle the night of the party, Royce said you’d run. Disappear with your new clothes.” Hadrian tied up the purse. “Which once again proves that people are basically good.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Royce said with a gambler’s confidence. “Albert came back because he didn’t want what happened to Exeter to happen to him, right?”
Albert let his shoulders droop and nodded.
Hadrian raised a finger. “You also said he’d hold out on us if he made any money, and he handed it right over. You didn’t even need to ask him.”
Royce folded his arms across his chest. “Albert? The first time you offered me this purse, you said it held twenty gold. How do you think it magically increased to twenty-five?”
The viscount smiled awkwardly. “You remember that, do you?”
“Albert?” Hadrian frowned and sighed.
“It was just five, and I’ve given you all the money this time. Doesn’t that count for something?” He had a terrified look on his face. “I … I expected I would need them to, you know, get away.”
Royce smiled. “See, you can always count on people doing what is best for themselves.”
“Like I did?” Hadrian said.
The smile left Royce’s lips. “You’re a freak of nature or the world’s greatest fool. I’m still trying to figure that out.”
Albert watched them. “I’m sorry I lied. It will never happen again. Please don’t kill me.” He said it just above a whisper, but Royce heard everything.
The thief almost laughed. “You were only going to steal your share of our first profit—all that means is that you’re officially one of us now.”
“And what is that exactly?”
Royce and Hadrian exchanged glances and raised eyebrows. “I suppose we should figure that out at some point.”
Albert happily turned to the food on the table. “I just discovered I’m starved. Are there any pickles?”
“Pickles?” Hadrian paused, surprised by the word and the memory it conjured.
“Yes—little things, sort of tart.”
“No … I don’t know. Go check for yourself.”
Albert looked puzzled.
Before anything else could be said, Royce ran past both of them, punching open the front door to the tavern.
Hadrian and Albert followed the thief out into the rain, which appeared to finally be letting up. Hadrian saw the troop of ladies coming down the road. They were all there, save Rose, all clustered around Gwen, helping her walk. Then like a flock of ducks they scattered as Royce raced in. His arms wrapped around Gwen, lifting her in a hug and a gentle twirl. Scooping her up, he carried Gwen back to Medford House as the sound of rain gave way to the sound of girlish laughter.
CHAPTER 23
HILFRED
Reuben woke to dazzling sunlight streaming through a window, and his first thought was that he was dead. Something about the brilliant light, how it splintered into visible shafts as it angled across the bed, held a mystical quality. Everything was bright, so that he had to squint to focus. From the ceiling above him hung all manner of plants. Dry and brittle. Most looked like flowers, common ones that grew in the fields and even around the walls of the castle courtyard. Reuben didn’t know half of them but recognized thyme, honeysuckle, and cowslip, which he found near the stables a lot, as well as ragwort and toadflax, which grew in the cracks of the castle walls. He could hear voices, lots of voices, and distant sounds like wheels and hooves. The second thing he thought was that he was not dead, because he didn’t believe there would be so much pain in death, and Reuben was in agony. His throat burned as if he had swallowed molten lead, and his chest felt congested and ached as if it had a block of granite resting on it.
He tried to take a breath and instantly doubled up in a series of hacking coughs. The jerking movement brushed his skin against the linen sheet. It looked as soft as rabbit’s fur, but it scratched like a million needles. His head ached, he felt nauseous, and all he could do was smell smoke. He lay back, realizing he was on a bed of some sort. He had never lain on a mattress before. He always thought they looked nice, only at that moment he could just as easily have been on a torture table, but then just breathing was torture. Even blinking hurt.
He was indeed alive; he just wasn’t certain if he wanted to be.
A woman approached and peered at him. “You’re awake. That’s good.” He’d never seen her before. With gray, almost white hair and spider lines around her eyes, she was old but friendly. “I imagine you’d prefer to keep sleeping. But I can tell you those who keep sleeping … well, they never wake up. But look at you! And I wasn’t so sure. Nope, not certain at all. When they brought you in pink as a roast pig, I thought the best could be done was size you for a box. They said ‘he’s young and strong,’ but I wasn’t so sure. I’ve seen a lot of the young and strong nailed in boxes, and a lot looked better than you. Still, you got your hair and that’s something.”
She ruffled the mop on his head, but when he cringed, she stopped. “I suppose everything is sensitive. That’s the way with burns, but sensitive is better than not. All that pain you feel is good. Means your flesh is still alive. If you didn’t feel nothing, why, you might never feel anything again. So I know you don’t think it now, but later you’ll be happy for the suffering.”
“Water?” he croaked, his voice broken, cracked, and thin.
She raised her eyebrows. “Water, eh? Think you’re up for that? Maybe you should just stick with a weak wine.”