Page 64 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

Kal

S im?o Gomes D’Amato nested his best set of jeweler’s loupes in a box of black velvet and secured the bundle with twine.

The tools represented thirty years of his life. Now they, like him, were fleeing. It was only a matter of time before someone came to silence him for good.

His throat tightened as he tucked the box into a shabby cloth suitcase. Don’t look rich, his mother always told him. People will try to cheat you. But don’t look poor, either, or they’ll think you’re a failure.

Not an easy woman to please, his mother, but she was right about that. He’d always kept a low profile. Prosperous, but not wildly prosperous.

He never went looking for trouble.

It found him nonetheless.

He regarded the brass scale, the set of testing acids, and the ledger—no, not the ledger. Damning evidence. He’d burn it.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself. “Greedy fool.”

It had started innocently. A man claiming to be Consul Casolaba’s aide had visited Sim?o’s shop a year ago.

Would he be interested in providing information about what gems were moving through the market?

Nothing illegal—just early alerts about major finds, who was selling what, which rockhounds had struck it lucky.

The arrangement was easy and profitable. Every month, an envelope of crisp dragha notes would come through the mail slot. He listened to gossip, watched the trends, sent weekly reports through a courier. It was most agreeable.

Then the witches turned up.

One morning he’d arrived to find two of them waiting inside his locked shop. He’d nearly pissed himself. Not just witches. White Foxes. The man was huge with silver teeth, and the woman wore a dozen studs and hoops in her face. She looked a bit crazy.

“You have an arrangement with the consul,” the woman said. “You’ll give us the same deal for half the price. And you’ll keep your mouth shut about it.”

He had nodded fervently. “Of course, of course. I am happy to be of service to the chapter house.”

She leaned in. “You don’t serve the chapter house. You serve me .”

“Yes, yes.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hand came away sticky with pomade.

“Good,” she said. “We’re looking for a gem that resembles serpent’s eye. It’ll be cold. No ley. Understood?”

“Sure. No ley.”

She dropped a wad of bills on the counter. Her gray eyes reminded him of the fish on ice at the market.

He hadn’t had a choice. Not really.

For a while, it had gone smoothly. The White Foxes demanded little, and their payments supplemented what he got from the consul’s office.

He moved from his small flat in a lousy neighborhood on the city’s outskirts to a larger apartment within walking distance of the shop.

Feeling flush, he sent money to his sister in Old Sarpedon, who had too many kids and a no-good husband.

Life had been good. Until those kids walked into his shop.

Sim?o closed his eyes, feeling sick. He should have turned them away. Said nothing.

But he’d been scared. What if they took the stones to another jeweler, and it got out that they’d been in his shop?

“Then it would have been me floating in that river,” he muttered.

The shop bell tinkled, jerking Sim?o from his thoughts.

“We’re closed!” he called. “Come back tomorrow!”

No answer, just footsteps. He shoved the acid kit into his suitcase and snapped it shut. He’d have to leave the scale behind. It was too bulky.

“I said we’re closed!” he called again, emerging from the back room.

His heart stopped.

The girl from Pota Pras stood there. She held a gun, pointed at his chest.

“Please,” he gabbled, raising his hands. “I had nothing to do with?—”

“With what? Selling us out?”

The look in her eye made his bladder feel heavy and full.

“I didn’t know what they would do!” he squeaked. “I just passed along information. That’s all I ever did. I’m nobody!”

His eyes darted to the front door. The street beyond was busy with late afternoon shoppers. If he shouted, someone might hear.

The gun lowered to his crotch. “Run and I’ll blow your dick off.” Her laugh was wild. “Maybe I will anyway.”

“I have money!” he blurted, glancing at the cash drawer. “Take it all! It’s yours.”

She stepped closer, the gun steady on his left eye now. “I’m not a dumb hick. I know you’ve got a safe in that back room.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, keeping his hands where she could see them. “Okay.”

“Slowly.”

He led the way into the workroom, painfully aware of the pistol aimed at the back of his skull. The safe sat behind a false panel in the wall, concealed by a heavy cabinet. He moved the cabinet aside. It slid silently on hidden rollers.

“Open it,” she said.

His fingers shook as he dialed the combination.

He had to try three times before it opened.

Inside sat stacks of dragha notes, bound with paper bands marking their denominations.

Hundreds, mostly, with a few bundles of smaller bills.

A year of payments, plus the large bounty he’d received from each of his clients when he gave them the stones.

The girl inhaled sharply. It must be more than she’d expected.

“Stand back,” she ordered.

He retreated to the corner. With her free hand, she pointed to his suitcase, sitting on the workbench.

“Dump it,” she said.

He hesitated. “My tools?—”

“Dump it now .”

He unlatched the case and upended the contents.

“Lie on the floor and start counting.”

Sim?o sighed and sank to hands and knees. His belt dug into his generous belly.

“All the way,” she barked.

He awkwardly lay face down. He heard the rustle of banknotes filling the suitcase. The snap of the latches.

“Didn’t I tell you to count?” she said.

He sneezed. Dust filled his eyes. “How long am I counting?”

“To a thousand. I’ll be back to check, so you better not stop.”

She poked him with the barrel on the back of his neck. He began counting aloud, his voice weak. “One. Two. Three. Four . . .”

He heard her footsteps retreat, then the tinkle of the bell. Still, he counted.

“ . . . ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.”

Sim?o paused. He strained to listen. Just the distant sounds of the street.

Cautiously, he pushed himself to his feet and crept to the door. It stood ajar. He peered out, looking both ways. The girl from Pota Pras was gone.

He hurried to the back room, stomach churning. He had to leave town before someone else came. Someone without mercy.

The face of the White Fox with the silver rings in her face came immediately to mind.

But how could he run now? He had nothing?—

Sim?o drew up short, blinking in surprise as he peered into the depths of the safe. He couldn’t believe it. She’d left him about a third of his stash.

And that wasn’t all.

He picked up the stone. Watched it turn blue, then red, then violet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, filled with shame once again.

* * *

Kal shuffled forward with the crowd waiting to board the ship. A port official moved down the line, checking identity cards. She handed hers over with a smile.

He glanced at the forged documents, then at her face, then back to the papers. Sweat gathered at the small of her back despite the cool breeze coming off the water.

“Purpose in Iskatar, Miss Jentzen?” he asked.

“Family visit,” she replied with a smile. “My cousins live in Lagash.”

The official handed back her papers with a disinterested nod and moved on to the next passenger. She exhaled and crossed the gangplank with a bounce in her step.

The steamer was a workhorse with peeling paint and a barnacle-crusted hull.

Not the elegant cutter she dreamed of, but it would get her to Iskatari capital.

From there, she planned to buy her own ship, hire a crew, and set sail for the corners of the map.

Someplace beyond the reach of witches and angels both.

Kal found a spot at the rail and set the suitcase between her feet.

She scanned the docks, looking for a young man with dark hair and eyes that had a habit of subtly changing color.

Who had blood like quicksilver. She still didn’t know who Levi worked for.

Didn’t even know what he was . But the forged papers he gave her were good enough to fool a customs official.

Of course, she didn’t see him. Levi would be searching the docks and train stations in Arjevica, not Kota Gelangi.

She felt a pang and berated herself for a fool.

The deck vibrated as the steamer pulled away from the wharf.

The gap of dark water widened. Kal looked back at the sprawling city of Kota Gelangi, at the distant smudge of the Zamir Hills.

She wondered what D’Amato was doing right now.

If he was smart, he’d take the money she left him and run.

The funny part is that the gun wasn’t even loaded.

She’d used up all the bullets shooting at the blue emperor.

Kal slid a hand into her pocket, folding her fingers around the clay disk stamped with mining license 009-735-021. And under that, in fading letters, D. Padulski.

She would gladly trade the contents of the suitcase at her feet for a chance to go back and do things differently. Pick a different jeweler this time. Or better yet, figure out what they’d found before it was too late.

But she couldn’t. So she’d do the next best thing and make all of his schemes come true. Travel the world and build a fortune to beggar the queens of old.

“You did it, bitch.”

She turned. Durian stood beside her, the wind ruffling his hair. His eyes were fixed on the open sea beyond the harbor mouth.

“We did it,” she corrected.

He grinned. The unrepentant smirk of a scapegrace. Of a poor boy from nowhere whose dreams were as big as the Southern Ocean. He winked at her.

And then he was gone.