"Aye. My circumstances.'' she said with soft, searing bitterness.
Beldar drew himself up. "Because, Mistress Lark, that would be as unworthy of me as it is of you."
A flush rose into her cheeks. "So you'll not help me?"
"I'll help you," Beldar replied, "but such aid is not to be construed as payment for your silence on this matter or any other."
Lark's smirk told him she saw his carefully worded parry for what it was: cowardice, dressed up in a magister's fine black robes, but cowardice all the same. And why should she think otherwise, when laws written to prompt men to own their words and actions were so often used to shrug off responsibility?
That was a question for another day. The wench was obviously determined to view any aid he might offer as silence-coin, and it was a reasonably cheap road to her immediate silence. Of course, those who wore black mail invariably made additional demands, but she was, after all, a woman, and common born at that. He could charm her into compliance long before her wits took her that far.
And if you can't charm her, a ghostly voice hissed deep in Beldar's mind, you can always kill her.
That notion was so absurd Beldar was able to brush it aside as absently as he might wave away a stingfly.
"It so happens," he told the unsmiling lass, "I know a wizard who just might serve our purpose…"
As the carriage pulled away from the offices of Dyre's Fine Walls and Dwellings, Naoni silently reckoned the cost of her impulsive extravagance. In her rush to leave the house, she'd snatched up the coinsack holding the entire profits of her latest delivery of gem thread. The fare for their hither-and-yon travels, plus gratuity for the patient carriageman, would devour nearly every coin.
Faendra was also reconsidering the morning's adventure, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as the carriage bounced and rumbled. At Naoni's look, she smiled ruefully. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather walk. The novelty's worn thinner than the padding under these seats."
"Novelty's like silk and passion," observed Starragar Jardeth in the disgruntled way Naoni now knew to be his usual manner. "All three wear out quickly."
Taeros, who'd proclaimed himself in need of a nap, lifted one eyelid. "Speaking from sad experience?" he asked archly. "The fair Phandelopae, perchance, has turned love's silken embrace into threadbare rags? Take heart, man. I know an herb…"
"Most amusing," snapped his dour friend. "Save your herbs to impress the Dyres' prickly maid. You'll need all you can muster to win past the thorns on that rose!"
The Hawkwinter's eyes opened wide, and for a moment he looked ready to dispute Starragar's words. Then a puzzled expression crossed his face. He closed his mouth without saying a word and settled back into his seat. Though his eyes closed again, Naoni doubted very much he sought slumber.
She pushed aside sudden dismay. Lark was a sensible girl, too proud to dally with the likes of Lord Taeros. On the other hand, the man's tart wit was like enough to hers that they might…
No, surely not. Even if Lark were interested, Korvaun would remind his friend to observe propriety. If ever a man could be trusted in such matters, Naoni mused, 'twas he.
Or could he?
A small sigh escaped her. She'd been reared believing no man raised with a noble's sense of entitlement could be trusted in such matters. It was a conviction too deeply and painfully engraved to lightly abandon.
The carriage stopped by the Dyres' door. Naoni accepted Korvaun's hand to alight then counted out coins to the carriageman. It seemed she'd reckoned fare and gratuity correctly; he tipped his cap in thanks before shaking the reins and rumbling away.
The front door opened before Naoni reached its latch, to reveal Varandros Dyre wearing an expression that brought to mind a gathering storm.
"Where've you been? I was about to call the Watch and report you missing!"
"Just tending to errands, Father," Naoni replied soothingly.
She waved at the men behind her. "Lord Helmfast's here to speak with you… to ask you to release him, and his friends, from their promise to keep clear of the women of your household."
"Why?"
Varandros Dyre launched that word like a war-arrow, leaving Naoni blinking in sudden realization that she had no words to answer him.
These men have offered to help us spy on your New Day activities, Father, was fairly accurate, but hardly likely to sway him. These young nobles desire to make common cause with you, in working to unmask the Lords… No. The first, approving reaction of Taeros Hawkwinter to this notion was too flimsy a foundation for that-and her father would never believe it.
Help came from a most unexpected quarter. "It's been pointed out to me," Taeros Hawkwinter said dryly, casting a glance at Starragar, "that I may have some interest in your maidservant."
Dyre glared. "The girl suits us fine and is not for hire!"
Faendra giggled. "Father, you're not that old, to have forgotten how matters of the h… ah, such things go."
The guildmaster flushed, redness swiftly darkening to the deep, mottled blood-red of fury. "If you're even thinking of debauching my servant-"
"I assure you, goodsir, I'd not insult that woman if I were in full plate and defended by the City Guard's griffonback lancers!" Taeros declared fervently.
Puzzlement chased ire from the guildmaster's face, and he passed a hand over his forehead. "I'm in no mind for puzzles just now, young lord."
The deep weariness in his voice smote Naoni's heart. "What is it, Father?" she asked softly.
He turned tired eyes on her. "We've another death, lass. Jivin was found in an alley with a warning carved into his hide." He looked at Taeros with more worry than anger on his face. "You might have need of armor and lancers if you plan to keep company with my lasses."
Korvaun said quietly, "Some might hear a threat in those words, sir, but I doubt that's your intent."
"No," Dyre said simply, ere turning back to Naoni. "I bade Jivin watch over you lasses, as he was quick on his feet and knew the streets. They killed him to warn me off, that's plain enough, but 'twas me who sent him to his doom."
Naoni heard Faendra's quick gasp and whirled around. Faen's eyes were wide, and the hand she held over her mouth trembled. Naoni reached for her sister's other hand. The small, suddenly cold fingers curled tightly around hers.
Starragar Jardeth lifted a hand. "The warning: What was it, exactly?"
Every face turned to him, incredulously.
"I mean no disrespect," the dark-cloaked lordling told them, "but if I'd seen someone in my employ so served, I'd not be of a mind to see past the outrage. One who stands apart may see clearly, and the precise wording may shed light on the intent-and the murderer."
Varandros Dyre stared at the young noble in silence for an uncomfortably long time before muttering, "Well said."
It was even longer ere he added, "Thorass, 'twas: 'The Wages of Curiosity.' I've been asking questions of late-never mind what about. Someone's warning me off."
"Perhaps we're not so far removed from this matter as Lord Jardeth suggests," Korvaun said slowly. "You should know, Master Dyre, that we've been seeking answers about the fallen buildings. A friend of ours died in the collapse of the festhall, he whose dagger you found. A good man, who shouldn't be judged by that one day's mischief at Redcloak Lane."
"So say you," observed Dyre, something also like sympathy in his tone, "and so you should say. Even if that foolishness told young Kothort's true measure, men should stand by their friends."
"We are agreed on that, and perhaps in other matters, as well," Korvaun said carefully. "These mysteriously fallen buildings may touch on matters that concern us both. If this is so, release us from our promise, and our swords are yours to command."
The stonemason blinked, staring at the young noblemen as if he'd never seen them before.