Gabe ran another handful of water through his hair. It was longer than he liked; he’d have to get Mari to cut it again. “Lead the way, then.”
“You don’t want to do something about that nose first?”
“What’s the point?”
Michal sighed, headed for the door, shoulders already hunching in expectation of rain. “Sometimes I can’t believe you were the Priest Exalted.”
Sometimes Gabe couldn’t, either.
The storm had mostly stopped by the time they reached the boardinghouse. Calling it such was kind; it was more like a shed with bedrooms. It wasn’t as dilapidated as some of the row houses in the Auverrani Harbor District, but it was close.
Val waited just inside the door, perched on a stool, picking at her nails with a knife. She looked up as they entered, water from the erstwhile rain streaming off their shoulders and puddling on the floor. She raised a brow at Gabe. “Did you lose another fight?”
“Maybe.”
“You might earn more if you won once in a while.”
But Gabe was not prone to betting on himself. Not in anything.
A small room right off the main entrance served as Malcolm’soffice, cluttered with stacks of water-spotted paper. Apparently, the landlord’s accounts had been neglected for quite a while before Malcolm came along. He sat at the table, dark circles under his eyes. “Took you long enough.”
“He was getting beat within an inch of his life again,” Michal said, going to sit next to Malcolm. The two of them were always in close proximity when they were in the same room.
But Gabe was not interested in defending his extracurriculars. He was far more interested in the man standing in front of Malcolm’s desk.
He was dressed too well for the slums, though not so well that it immediately stood out. Handsome, well-groomed, with short dark hair and a trimmed beard to match, green eyes with a glint that said he would be a good friend to have at a bar and a bad enemy to have in a dark alley. The bare outline of a dark tattoo showed beneath the white linen of his shirt, and he stood with a lazy grace that reminded Gabe of Bastian.
The mysterious man looked to Gabe’s eye, which must be fully purple by now. He raised a brow.
“I wish you’d…” But Malcolm didn’t finish the thought, just shook his head instead. He didn’t stand up, but waved a hand at the newcomer. “This is Finn Lucais.”
“And?” Whatever manners Gabe’s nobility had bred into him had bled out by now.
Finn didn’t look offended. He looked delighted, in fact. “And,” he said, “I believe I can help you with your bloodcoat problem.”
The name clicked into place, recognition dawning even as Gabe’s muscles tensed for yet another fight. Finn Lucais, the former pirate. The Caldienan naval officer.
The only inroad into Caldien that the Kirythean Empire had ever almost made was through the Ourish Pass in the mountains. That was due, in large part, to Finn Lucais. He’d been an outlaw then, back when Ouran was the Emperor of Kirythea and slowlyconquering the whole continent. Finn’s crew had targeted mostly Kirythean ships, and they’d done such a good job at it that the ships had never made it to the Caldienan shore, leaving Ouran stranded at the pass without reinforcements or supplies. After the battle, Finn had been pardoned on all charges of piracy and made an honorary officer. By all counts, the rest of the navy loved him. The way he managed to leak charisma even in this tiny room with a tired, hostile audience made it easy to see why.
But Gabe had little patience for charisma, and he was across the small room with his hand on Finn’s throat in two strides.
“Our bloodcoat problem?” he said, sneering. “Currently, we don’t have one, but I assume you’re here to make one if we don’t pay up?”
“Gabriel!” Malcolm shouted, standing so quickly his chair toppled over. “Hear him out—”
“Fuck that,” Gabe snarled, but the low words were nearly drowned by Finn’s chuckle.
The fact that the man chuckled when Gabe was seconds away from crushing his windpipe just made his fingers tighten.
“While we can certainly discuss payment,” Finn wheezed, “I was actually thinking more along the lines of getting you under the Prime Minister’s protection.”
Gabe’s hand relaxed by increments. If looks could kill, Malcolm’s glare would be a bullet, and Michal and Val both looked less than pleased with him, too. With a stormy frown, he stepped back and crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
Finn grinned and made a show of straightening his pristine shirt. “In the course of my service to Caldien, the Prime Minister became my lover. Pillow talk suggestions tend to go over fairly easy. Though I’m not surprised you don’t know that, given your station.” He cocked his head. “I’ve heard interesting rumors in that regard.”
Gabe had never been one to play the subtle insult game. He sat heavily in one of the chairs at the table.
“Finn,” Malcolm said, rubbing wearily at his eyes. “If you could tell Gabe what you told me, please? I know he’s an ass. We’re working on it.”
