Page 73 of Paladin's Faith

“Define ‘you’ in this context,” said Marguerite.

“You.” Davith waved a hand at her. “Presumably the mountain of meat here, too.”

“Not Wren?”

He shook his head. “So far as they know, she’s just someone you’re using for cover. I imagine they’d kill her if she got in the way, but they aren’t targeting her specifically.” He glanced over at Wren, then looked away again. “I, uh, told them she wasn’t important.”

Wren made a sound that might have been “Heh!” or might simply have been a small explosion of breath.

Marguerite dropped into the chair opposite Davith, mind racing, and began absently running her fingertips over the woodgrain of the table. “Who’s the local representative?”

“Calls herself Fenella. Fabric-buyer from Baiir. At least that’s her cover.”

Dammit. Marguerite had spoken to Fenella a half-dozen times, and while she was nearly certain that she hadn’t spilled any damning information, she also hadn’t even considered that the other woman might be an operative. Getting old. Getting slow. Gods, what did we even talk about?

Trading, mostly. Maltrevor. Pretty bodyguards. All of it innocuous, or so she’d thought. There might have been a recognition phrase in there that she hadn’t responded correctly to. Then again, there might not have been. I could have done everything right and still she’d have figured it out, if she could get word to the right people. Without knowing her chain of command…dammit, dammit, dammit.

All of which meant that the odds of her talking her way out of the situation were distinctly low.

Panic tried to rise in her throat and she fought it back. Yes, you’re afraid. You hate any situation that’s decided with steel instead of words. That’s why you’ve got bodyguards. Two rather unique bodyguards.

And what if one of them gets killed because someone on their side was smarter than you were?

Her gut clenched at the thought. This is what comes of caring for people in the business.

So stop whining and do what you can to make sure you don’t get them killed.

She focused on Davith again. “So they’re planning to kill me. How?”

Davith shook his head. “I don’t know that. Just that she told me that your vicinity was likely to be—ah—unhealthy in the near future.”

Unfortunately that left Marguerite with far too many options. And I don’t know if the Sail is willing to break their own cover or not. They could drop a corpse in here and frame us for murder, then discreetly garrote us in our cells, or they could simply have someone walk in, stab us, bundle us up in rugs, and pitch us off the side of the mountain into the lake. Or just stab us, let the maid discover the bodies, and sacrifice a pawn to take the fall if anyone connects the two.

Damn it all, that’s what that attack on Shane was, wasn’t it? They were either trying to remove him, or testing to see what I’d do in response. And instead of going to the Sail and demanding answers, I did nothing.

Marguerite weighed the possibility that Davith himself was the assassin, and discarded it. Davith was, as the saying went, a lover, not a fighter. He could probably have overpowered her, but he was certainly no match for Wren, let alone Shane. Although I doubt he knows that Wren is a paladin.

Wren seems to have played her part better than I did.

“All right,” Marguerite said. “If I send you with a message to Fenella—”

Davith was already shaking his head. “Marguerite, no.” He started to reach out a hand, then yanked it back when Shane growled. “You can’t negotiate your way out of this one, I promise you.”

“You’re saying Fenella doesn’t have a price?”

“Everybody has a price.” He carefully avoided looking at Wren. “I’m saying that you can’t possibly meet it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know what the stakes are.” He shook his head, then winced, lifting his fingers to his bruised eye. “The Sail believes that this artificer is a threat to their very existence. They aren’t going to be put off for a few gold and a hot tip on what’s selling in Delta next season. They’re fighting for their lives, and they’re going to kill anyone they think might get in their way.”

It was what she had expected, but she didn’t have to like it. Marguerite drummed her fingers on the table. “So why did you decide to warn me, then? Can’t have been safe.”

Davith already looked uncomfortable, but now his expression resembled a man sitting on a tack. “You helped me out once,” he muttered. “I owe you one.”

“You expect us to believe in your honor?” said Shane, going from standing to looming with a minor shift of weight.

“I do have some, you know,” Davith said. His left eye was rapidly swelling closed, but he managed to look wry nonetheless. “Valiantly as I have tried to squelch it. I don’t much like Fenella, and I don’t like seeing someone I’ve known for years slaughtered just because she’s trying to get the same information that I am.” He shook his head. “I want to beat you at the game, not see you dead.”