The King's Blood by Daniel Abraham Page A

His eyes were narrowed against the light.
    “And what is it we lost that you’re thinking to look for?”
    “The cargo of the Stormcrow ,” she said. “We’re about to pay for it. The pirates have to come to ground somewhere. If we can find where, we might be able to recover some part of what we’ve lost. Even if it was a tenth of the manifest, it would be enough to put the guards back to full pay.”
    Seagulls wheeled past the wall, wide wings riding the rising air where the breeze from the sea broke against the walls of the city. Seven young Timzinae men in the canvas of sailors walked past, laughing and talking too loud. One of them shouted something playful and obscene. Marcus turned to watch them pass.
    “I can ask around, I suppose,” Marcus said. “No harm in that.”
    “It would have to be done quickly.”
    “I can talk quickly,” he said. “What are we trying to do with it? If we find the cargo and bring it back, what do you think we’ll have won?”
    “We’re keeping money for the branch,” Cithrin said.
    “Pyk’s not going to thank us for that.”
    “We wouldn’t be doing it for her.”
    “Ah,” Marcus said. “So it doesn’t help with the real problem.”
    “Not directly. But if the branch does better because of what we do, it may be of use later. When Pyk’s moved on.”
    “And when are you expecting that to be?”
    Annoyance knotted itself between her shoulder blades and she crossed her arms. A seagull swooped past, its shadow darkening her face and then vanishing again.
    “I have to do something ,” she said. “I can’t just sit here and watch her play the game so safely that we lose it.”
    “Agreed. And I’m in favor of anything that gets my men paid, not to mention myself. Going behind Pyk’s back only makes it sweeter. But if it works, the branch does better, and she’s more likely to stay.”
    “But if we cut down the bank in order to get rid of her, then we’ve cut down the bank.”
    Cithrin put her palms to her temples. She and Pyk had the same problem at heart.
    “If we could just trade roles,” she said. “I don’t care if I go to banquets and feasts. I just want control of the books.”
    “Don’t think she’s likely to agree to that.”
    “We could kill her,” Cithrin joked.
    “I’m not sure that would win the trust and approbation of the holding company,” Marcus said. “But we’re going to have to do something.”
    Cithrin shook her head. His words were like swallowing pebbles, a weight growing in her belly. She thought of the taproom, but pushed the thought aside. Ale wasn’t going to help. It wasn’t even really going to make her feel better. But it might help her sleep.
    “They’re never going to trust me, are they?” she said. “Komme Medean. The holding company.”
    “They might trust you once they know you better.”
    “Well, maybe I’ll write them some pretty letters,” she said sourly.
    “Can’t hurt,” Marcus said. “Meantime, though, let’s see if we can’t find your pirates.”

Geder
     
    A
    ster was smaller than Geder by half a head, and Geder wasn’t the tallest of men. The boy’s reach was less than Geder’s, and they were about equally strong. The advantage the prince had was this: he was fast.
    The sword hissed through the air as Geder tried to get his own to block it. The blades chimed against each other, the shock of their meeting stinging Geder’s fingers. Aster spun, the blade pulled close to his body, and then reached out. Geder understood the attack too late. Aster’s stroke caught his shoulder, skidded off the dueling leathers, and ended on his ear. The pain was sharp and disorienting. Sword forgotten, he clapped his palm over his ear, staggered back, and fell on his ass. There was blood on his fingers. He heard Aster’s blade clatter to the ground and looked up. The prince’s eyes were round with alarm.
    Geder laughed and held up his bloodied hand.
    “Look!” he said. “It’s my first dueling scar.