Sapphire Crescent by Thomas M. Reid Page A

business acumen and always advised the right course of action.
    “I’m sorry, Grandma, but I’m not a little girl anymore. It’s time to let me out of my cage, and Uncle Dregaul just doesn’t seem to see that.”
    “You’re absolutely right, Em. You’re not a little girl anymore, and it is time you were able to make more of your own decisions. But child, getting caught sneaking out at night is not the way to prove that.” It was funny to Emriana how her grandmother could tell her she was all grown up and still call her “child” in the same sentence. Somehow, it didn’t sound wrong, either. “If you want Dregaul to respect your opinions and your adulthood, then you must first show him that you are capable of being smart, of making good decisions.”
    Emriana sighed.
    “I know,” she said quietly, “but I’m not so sure he has any better an idea of what’s best for me than I do. He’s always thinking about what’s best for the family, and not the family members. I can’t be someone I’m not, Grandma.”
    “Em, do you remember your Aunt Xaphira?” The girl nodded and said, “A little bit.”
    “Your Aunt Xaphira was my youngest daughter. She was also the scamp in the family, and she drove
    Keep it to yourself, and eventually, you’ll hear the whole of it.”
    Emriana nodded, the sense of conspiracy genuinely frightening her. She was beginning to think that growing up wasn’t just about getting to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Turning sixteen suddenly didn’t seem quite as perfect and carefree as she’d once thought.
    across his chest, resting on his ample stomach, and he was drumming his fingers, each of which was adorned with a gaudy ring replete with gems of every hue.
    Bartimus waited by the door, unwilling to break the silence that hung so thickly in the air. Grozier had sent for him, though the wizard did not know why. He began to worry that the anger in the room was going to be directed at him, and the longer he could stave that unpleasantness off, the better. So he leaned against the side of the arched doorway and waited.
    “I would have thought that eliminating the evidence would have dissuaded him from pursuing this any further,” Grozier said, moving to sit on the corner of his desk. “I would think that a mercenary officer, or better yet, a young merchant scion, would have better things to do with his time. You’re certain you picked up on his intentions correctly?”
    “My divination functioned as it should have,” the priest said, turning away from the window and looking directly at Grozier. “He was angry and determined to keep digging when he left the station house. But you underestimate his priorities. He has no duties, no responsibilities, in his house. He receives a monthly stipend to live on and spends his time wenching and fighting, like all men his age and in his circumstances do.”
    “Then why doesn’t he go wench and fight,” Grozier demanded, “instead of chasing ghosts that are better off left to drift away to nothingness?”
    “In a way, this is his fight,” the other merchant said. “He’s made it his.”
    “Huh,” Grozier grunted, seemingly unsatisfied with that answer.
    “What he needs,” Junce said, not moving nor looking up at either of the other two participants in the conversation, “Is a distraction. Something else to keep him busy.”
    “Or maybe a warning,” Grozier muttered.
    The wizard bobbed his head obsequiously and entered the rest of the way into the study.
    “As you no doubt heard,” Grozier continued, “our young mercenary is being quite persistent. I’m concerned about what he might yet find.”
    “I arranged it so that there would be nothing for him to find, as you and I decided,” Bartimus said quickly, worried again that his employer was going to blame him for some shortcoming. “I can’t imagine what else he could do.”
    Grozier snorted.
    “Tell him what you and the priest discovered,” the merchant said,