Page 50 of Paladin's Faith

It was adorable.

He turned a page, the firelight highlighting the curve of his neck and shoulder and winking off the small lenses as he turned his head. Worse, she was pretty sure that she knew the book he was reading, and it had been good. She’d enjoyed it. She had to stifle the urge to ask if he’d gotten to the one bit yet.

Really, there ought to be laws against this sort of thing.

She could have handled him being pretty. Marguerite had met a great many pretty men, and most of them weren’t worth the trouble. And she could have handled him being brave and trustworthy and responsible, because there were plenty of people like that in the world too, and you just learned to grit your teeth and deal with it.

She could even—probably—have handled companionable silence. She’d come close with Grace, although she rather suspected that she’d driven the other woman up the wall with all her muttering, and…well, all right, Grace was her dearest friend in all the world, but that was fine. There was no reason Marguerite couldn’t also have a companionable silence with a man. She was allowed to be friends with men. Even pretty men. Even pretty, brave, trustworthy, responsible men with good taste in books.

Adorable was a step too far, though. She could not be expected to work under such conditions.

A lifetime or so ago, Grace had asked her if she was attracted to a paladin named Stephen. Marguerite remembered replying, enumerating his virtues, and laughing, “What would I do with a man like that?”

The answer, as far as Shane was concerned, was apparently “very, very bad things.”

Ironically, it was Stephen who had convinced her that paladins were worth bothering with. Merchant operatives rarely crossed paths with holy warriors. She had spent most of her life believing that the brightest thing about most paladins was the polish on their armor. Then she and Grace had been thrown together with one, investigating a poisoning that turned out to be someone else’s political maneuvering. And she’d realized, to her mild chagrin, that Stephen was not stupid, except perhaps when it came to talking to women. He was straightforward and trustworthy and uncomplicated, which people often mistook for simplicity, but he still understood how people worked.

Her bodyguards were cut from the same cloth, she suspected. Perhaps all the Saint of Steel’s people were. Wren was young and naïve and wore her heart on her sleeve, but having a whole legion of lethal older brothers would probably do that to you, even if you had been married before. Shane…well, the Bishop had certainly been right. He was a much keener observer than she would ever have guessed. In another life, he might have made a fine spy. Except that like many trustworthy people, he was too trusting, and honor had never been something Marguerite worried about much.

He licked his thumb and turned a page. Marguerite followed the flick of his tongue then stared determinedly down at her paperwork. The names swam before her. Did she even know any of these people? Did she care?

It’s not like I’d be despoiling the innocent. He was one of the Dreaming God’s people. They get around plenty. Bet I could show him a few things they never taught him in the temple, though.

Hell, he could even keep the glasses on.

She stood up. For a moment, their eyes met across the room. “Something wrong?” Shane asked.

“Wrong,” Marguerite repeated. She looked down at her papers. Was something wrong? You’re frustrated and haven’t bedded anyone for pleasure in the better part of a year, that’s what’s wrong. “No. Not really. Just going through the replies to my invitations.”

Shane waited politely. Marguerite abandoned her fantasies—Probably for the best—and waved a piece of paper at him. “A few people sent their regrets who I’d wished would attend, so now I’m going to have to track them down another way.”

“Ah.”

“I swear that half the people from Charlock are coming, which doesn’t surprise me. Most of them are probably genuinely interested in the perfume. But of course the two that I really wanted to have an in with aren’t. And apparently Davith’s not coming.” She went to the table to pour herself a cup of watered wine.

“Your…ah…former colleague? Is that a problem?”

There was some not-very-well-hidden disapproval there. Marguerite shook her head. “Not a problem, exactly. But since I know who he’s working for, I could watch him and see who he paid attention to, or didn’t, which could lead us in the right direction. Or even just to see if there’s anyone he’s taking his cues from.” She still didn’t know if there was a senior Sail operative here in court at all. She scowled at nothing in particular. “But of course he knows that. So possibly he’s more suspicious of me than I thought.”

Shane nodded gravely at this, closing his book.

“Or possibly he really did have a prior engagement that evening. For all I know, the widow he’s seducing is demanding he escort her somewhere. That’s the problem with intrigue, everything looks significant and almost nothing actually is.”

“I don’t know how you make sense of it all,” Shane said.

“I don’t either,” she admitted. “I just soak up as much as I can and listen to people telling me their life story, and sooner or later something clicks into place. All this work is just waiting for the click.”

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Are you ever wrong?”

“God, yes. Anyone who says their intuition is always right is lying. Frankly, that’s why I prefer dealing with merchants and trade deals. People may go broke if I’m wrong, but they’re less likely to get killed.” She thought of Samuel and winced internally. “Of course, there are always exceptions.”

“Which is why we need to find this artificer before anyone else does.”

Marguerite nodded.

An actual click came from the door, and they both turned toward it. A few seconds later, Wren came down the short hallway, whistling a merry tune.

“And how are we all doing this evening?” Wren asked.