So I rode into the city, the stars at my back. And, gathering the frayed seams of my aimless fury, I began to sew a plan.
37
This must have been how predators felt, waiting in darkness for their prey.
At the click of footsteps, I lazed back in the armchair, winding the string of imitation rubies between my fingers. Sabira shuffled into her bedchamber, her leather bodice gleaming from the shadows. She emptied her pockets, and coins clattered onto the vanity.
“A big haul tonight?” I asked.
Sabira jumped, cursing. Before she could flee, I angled my face toward the watery light.
She grasped her chest. “Alissa!”
I let her catch her breath before pursing my lips in appraisal. “I wonder... will you still address me so informally once I’m queen?”
Sabira stiffened. She looked over the scene, from the string of fake rubies to the little open jewelry box on the table beside me.
“How did you get in?” Her voice quivered. “You have no right—”
“Would you know a fine blade if you saw one, Lady Sabira?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a lady of Parrey, the military province, home to the finest bladesmiths in Daradon. Surely you can identify a high-quality blade?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I know fine blades.”
“I thought so.” I draped the fake rubies on the table. “It’s the same for me and jewels. I grew up around craftspeople, you see, who gifted my father with all manner of bejeweled trinkets. He knew I was fascinated by them, and so he gave the gifts to me.Little Magpie, he used to call me.” I lifted the jewelry box and lowered my voice. “I could identify real jewels by the time I was ten.”
I brought the box down hard. Sabira flinched as the red gems smashed to pieces.
“If only people could be so easily judged,” I said.
She swallowed. “What do you want?”
“I want to know why someone who rinses the gentry in the Games Hall every day can’t afford real rubies.”
“My winnings are my business.”
“Rightly so. Too many nobles parade their fortunes these days. Take Rupert, for example. The scotch collections; the summer homes. It raises the question of how he’s funding such purchases.” I ran a finger down the velvet armrest. “Luckily, Rupert’s not the only Creakish man with a low tolerance for drink. If you ply his bookkeepers with enough whiskey, their tongues grow embarrassingly loose.”
Sabira’s forehead glistened, her curls frizzling around her temples. I should’ve refilled the lanterns before she’d arrived, to better see every flutter of her panic.
“Apparently,” I said, “Rupert has received a quarterly income from an anonymous benefactor for the last seven years.” I looked toward the jewelry box. “Is that around the same time you started wearing these... baubles?”
I flicked a fake sapphire ring off the pile. It pinged against the dresser, and Sabira flinched again.
“That’s enough,” she said weakly. “Remove yourself from my chambers.”
“Of course.” I stood and brushed past her. “Which exit should I take? The one in the lounge, or the one in your closet?”
As Sabira staggered back, I noted the telltale scent coming off her—the one I hadn’t recognized the first time.
Her leather-armored bodices, stored so close to a hidden passageway, had absorbed that distinctive musk.
“Surely you remember that door?” I asked, smiling. Then, trusting my intuition enough to take the risk, I said, “It’s the one Wray Capewell employed to visit you during your stays at the palace.”
Sabira’s eyes went wide—the look of someone caught—and I tried not to show my triumph at the confirmation.
