Ten Arrows

Chapter 2

The trip back to Tucat Keep was mercifully quiet. Tarryl, my driver, had become much more adept at reading me these past few months, and had required nothing more than a quick look at my face to decide that his usual witty banter would not be welcome this particular day. I made a note of it.

Cyrus, the man I utterly depend on for just about everything, turned out to be equally perceptive. He was waiting in the greeting hall just beyond my front doorway, wearing his usual outfit consisting of black, black, and more black, with one or two black accessories for the sake of variety. In the right light, my Knight-captain resembles little more than a floating, disembodied head.

After a quick scan of my face, Cyrus half-closed his eyes and pursed his lips, shaking his head the tiniest bit. Simultaneously, he used his boot to gently nudge a small something-or-other behind a nearby table, attempting to hide it from view before I got close enough to see it.

I didn't have to see it to know what he was hiding. It was a bottle of Tifii thirty-nine, a reportedly spectacular vintage, with a small red ribbon tied around the neck - the same bottle I'd bought a year ago. It was to be opened once I'd dealt with the person behind my family's murder. If I'd have walked in with a different expression on my face, he probably would have offered to have it chilled for me. He's like that.

"That son of a bitch," he murmured disgustedly, once I was within earshot. "Did he give you something, at least?"

"Well, he did give me a quick peek at the August Foyer, but other than that . . ."

"The August Foyer?!" Cyrus shot me a look of alarm. "Do you think he was trying to tell you-"

"No, I'm pretty sure he just wanted to make sure I was good and pissed off. Worked pretty well, too. Once I was outside the palace, I ended up buying a pie cart."

"A pie cart? What would you- . . . oh." He nodded his understanding, and I gave him a rueful nod in return. Lately, I had resorted to buying and breaking things when feeling particularly stressed or frustrated. Childish, I know, but I'd made an obscene amount of money in the past year, and honestly, opportunities like the one with the pie cart were about the only chance I got to actually spend any of that money on myself.

We stood in silence for several moments.

"So, Plan B?" Cyrus asked with a trace of a sigh.

"Plan B," I agreed.

He nodded, and used his foot to sweep a second bundle out from behind a nearby dresser, one that looked to be a traveling satchel of some kind. He retrieved the bag from the floor, hoisted it over his shoulder and stood at attention.

That's Cyrus - always prepared.

"Milord," he said, stiffly, "I find I've been working far too hard lately. I request to take leave of my position as Knight-Captain for a time, so that I might take a vacation."

"Granted," I said without hesitation. "I see you've already packed. You deserve some time off. You know . . . to enjoy yourself."

He snorted softly at that. Then he snapped his fingers, as though remembering something, reaching into his back pocket. From it, he produced a small slip of paper, which he handed to me.

"Almost forgot. I got a lead on that other thing you were looking into. It looks promising," he said.

"For Talia? Well, gods be praised . . . I get some good news today at least." I gave him a quick smile, inspecting the paper briefly before tucking it away in my vest pocket. "I think this is one of the last ones, too. Once everything's together I can finally spring it on her. Oh, and before I forget, there's also the tenant meeting I need to set up. I'm assuming that you-"