They acknowledged us at the same moment.
Morrolan bowed, but not as low as he had to Baritt. I didn’t try to figure it out; I just bowed myself, very low indeed. Verra looked back and forth between the two of us, then over at Barlan. She seemed to be smiling. I couldn’t tell about him.
Then she looked back at us. Her voice, when she spoke, was deep and resonating, and very odd. It was as if her words would echo in my mind, only there was no gap in time between hearing them in my mind and in my ears. The result was an unnatural sort of piercing clarity to everything she said. It was such a strange phenomenon that I had to stop and remember her words, which were: “This is a surprise.”
Barlan said nothing. Verra turned to him, then back to us. “What are your names?”
Morrolan said, “I am Morrolan e’Drien, Duke of the House of the Dragon.”
I swallowed and said, “Vladimir Taltos, Baronet of the House of the Jhereg.”
“Well, well, well,” said Verra. Her smile was strange and twisted and full of irony. She said, “It would seem that you are both alive.”
I said, “How could you tell?”
Her smile grew a bit wider. She said, “When you’ve been in the business as long as I have—”
Barlan spoke, saying, “State your errand.”
“We have come to beg for a life.”
Verra’s eyebrows went up. “Indeed? For whom?”
“My cousin,” said Morrolan, indicating the staff.
Barlan held his hand out, and Morrolan stepped forward and gave him the staff. Morrolan stepped back.
“You must care for her a great deal,” said Verra, “since by coming here you have forfeited your right to return.”
I swallowed again. I think Verra noticed this, because she looked at me and said, “Your case is less clear, as Easterners do not belong here at all.”
I licked my lips and refrained from comment.
Verra turned back to Morrolan and said, “Well?”
“Yes?”
“Is she worth your life?”
Morrolan said, “It is necessary. Her name is Aliera e’Kieron, and she is the Dragon heir to the throne.”
Verra’s head snapped back, and she stared straight into Morrolan’s face. There is something terrifying about seeing a god shocked.
After a little while, Verra said, “So, she has been found.”
Morrolan nodded.
Verra gestured toward me. “Is that where the Easterner comes in?”
“He was involved in recovering her.”
“I see.”
“Now that she has been found, we ask that she be allowed to resume her life at the point where—”
“Spare me the details,” said Verra. Morrolan shut up.
Barlan said, “What you ask is impossible.”
Verra said, “Is it?”
“It is also forbidden,” said Barlan.
“Tough cookies,” said Verra.
Barlan said, “By our positions here we have certain responsibilities. One of them is to uphold—”
“Spare me the lecture,” said Verra. “You know who Aliera is.”
“If she is sufficiently important, we may ask to convene—”
“By which time the Easterner will have been here too long to return. And his little jhereg, too.” I hardly reacted to this at the time, because I was too amazed by the spectacle of the gods arguing. But I did notice it, and I noted that Verra was aware of Loiosh even though my familiar was inside my cloak.
Barlan said, “That is not our concern.”
Verra said, “A convocation will also be boring.”
“You would break our trust to avoid boredom?”
“You damn betcha, feather-breath.”
Barlan stood. Verra stood. They glared at each other for a moment, then vanished in a shower of golden sparks.
It is not only the case that Dragaerans have never learned to cook; it is also true, and far more surprising, that most of them will admit it. That is why Eastern restaurants are so popular, and the best of them is Valabar’s.
Valabar and Sons has existed for an impossibly long time. It was here in Adrilankha before the Interregnum made this city the Imperial Capital. That’s hundreds of years, run by the same family. The same family of humans. It was, according to all reports, the first actual restaurant within the Empire; the first place that existed as a business just to serve meals, rather than a tavern that had food, or a hotel that supplied board for a fee.
There must be some sort of unwritten law about the place that those in power know, something that says, “Whatever we’re going to do to Easterners, leave Valabar’s alone.” It’s that good.
It is a very simple place on the inside, with white linen tablecloths and simple furnishings, but none of the decoration that most places have. The waiters are pleasant and charming and very efficient, and almost as difficult to notice as Kragar when they are slipping up on you to refill your wine glass.
They have no menus; instead your waiter stands there and recites the list of what the chef, always called “Mr. Valabar” no matter how many Valabars are working there at the moment, is willing to prepare today.
My date for the evening, Mara, was the most gorgeous blonde I’d ever met, with a rather nasty wit that I enjoyed when it wasn’t turned on me. Kragar’s date was a Dragaeran lady whose name I can’t remember, but whose House was Jhereg. She was one of the tags in a local brothel, and she had a nice laugh.
The appetizer of the day was anise-jelled winneoceros cubes, the soup was a very spicy potato soup with Eastern red pepper, the sorbet was lemon, the paté—made of goose liver, chicken liver, kethna liver, herbs, and unsalted butter—was served on hard-crusted bread with cucumber slices that had been just barely pickled. The salad was served with an impossibly delicate vinegar dressing that was almost sweet but not quite.
Kragar had fresh scallops in lemon and garlic sauce, Kragar’s date had the biggest stuffed cabbage in the world, Mara had duck in plum brandy sauce, and I had kethna in Eastern red pepper sauce. We followed it with dessert pancakes, mine with finely ground walnuts and cream chocolate brandy sauce topped with oranges. We also had a bottle of Piarran Mist, the Fenarian dessert wine. I paid for the whole thing, because I’d just killed someone.
We were all feeling giggly as we walked the meal off; then Mara and I went up to my flat and I discovered that a meal at Valabar’s is one of the world’s great aphrodisiacs. I wondered what my grandfather would make of that information.
Mara got tired of me and dumped me a week or so later, but what the hell.
I said, “Feather-breath?”
Loiosh said, “Sheesh.”
“I think,” said Morrolan judiciously, “that we’ve managed to get someone in trouble.”
“Yeah.”
Morrolan looked around, as did I. None of the other beings present seemed to be paying us any attention. We were still standing there a few minutes later when Verra reappeared in another shower of sparks. She had a gleam in her eye. Barlan appeared then, and, as before, his expression was unreadable. I noticed then that Verra was holding the staff.
Verra said, “Come with me.”
She stepped down from her throne and led us around behind it, off into the darkness. She didn’t speak and Morrolan didn’t speak. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. Loiosh was under my cloak again.
We came to a place where there was a very high wall. We walked along it for a moment, passing another purple robe or two, until we came to a high arch. We passed beneath it, and there were two corridors branching away.
Verra took the one to the right and we followed. In a short time, it opened to a place where a wide, shallow brick well stood, making water noises.