Sly

Chapter Forty Six

"Still nothing?"

I'd barely closed the door on the library room when Rorik spoke. Drawing the hood back from my cloak as the cooling weather now allowed me to wear one without suspicion, I shook my head.

Rorik sighed, leaning back in his chair. It had been like this for weeks now, me going out to spy on this noble or that merchant in the hopes that they still had a connection to Girault, but not I or any of the daggers had heard a single thing so far.

Sinking into the chair opposite the desk from Rorik's, I pulled a pitcher toward me and grabbed a glass off the small cart we kept in the room for drinks. "Anything from Prince Genral Mason?"

Rorik scoffed. "Not a thing. We haven't heard anything from the bastard since he slipped out of Unays. Most of these stupid meetings are about the final steps Lindmead is taking to wrap up this gods-damned war. Thank Sage we're finally pulled out of it."

I took a long drink of a pungent berry wine that Pettypiece was partial to and coughed. "Shit."

Rorik snorted. "Shall I keep a bottle of cider in here for your delicate pallet?" 

"Respectfully, your highness, shut your pox-muddled mouth."

That earned me a full-bellied laugh, and I smiled as I sipped the wine. Nothing like a near-death experience to put things in perspective, and I was honestly glad for these private moments where I could call Rorik a friend. I didn't use his title in earnest anymore, not behind this library door. This was a place where he was nearly just another one of the daggers to me, and I think he appreciated the rarity of what I could offer him. He had almost no one else that knew the real him and the captain wasn't about to be so familiar with him no matter how much the prince asked.

"What about your search for more of the passages?" I asked. A chance for a distraction, I know, but he seemed so exhausted lately and it couldn't be good for his health.

"A few interesting possibilities." His expression shifted and he reached for his ancestor's journal. "There was supposed to be a balcony accessible from a kitchen that no longer exists. I think that one disappeared in a fire. A tunnel somewhere above the dining hall, though I can't for the life of me figure out where the entrance to such a passage would be. A roof access hidden by a chandelier in an upper hallway, though that one is surely visible to any servant that had to dust the damn thing."

"Sounds worth exploring," I said, taking another drink from my glass.

His eyes narrowed as he smiled. "Enough distractions. If you haven't heard of Girault you can at least report on what you have heard."

Shaking my head, I drained my glass and settled in for a long, mundane report.

~

"One more."

I took a deep breath in the crisp morning air of the training yard. It wasn't even dawn yet, but a certain captain of the guard had insisted I try a run with my throwing knives in low vision conditions. And yet . . .

"My arm is going to fall off with all these 'one more's you keep giving me," I complained.

Pettypiece smiled under his mustache. "We will make this the last one then. I forget the physician told you to take it easy for another week at least."

I sighed through my nose, walking over to the target to pluck out the last batch I threw. For all my whining, I really did appreciate the time he spent helping me improve. As he said, I couldn't learn to manage a sword until I was fully healed, and even that would take years. For someone with my size and speed, building on the foundation I already had would be the best for now. And so, I stood here before even the first bell of the day, throwing my blades at a wooden disc.