Page 35 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Thirty-Five

I can appreciate fine craftsmanship when I see it. This desk, for instance, is a gorgeous ebony, carved into intricate shapes and filigrees. I rest my feet atop its surface, crossing my ankles and sinking into the cushioned chair.

Yes, the magistrate has fine taste, indeed.

I debated a more delicate approach to petitioning his lordship when the idea first came to me, but upon verifying my suspicions with Rhosyn, this was the way to go.

She’d already tried petitioning the man numerous times to no avail. He wasn’t required to adapt to the new by-laws under Her Majesty the Queen. Each town has their own governing structure with local magistrates enforcing their laws, and the town of Kalinia has yet to yield to the very popular notion of allowing next of kin inheritance laws to include all manner of kin, even by will of testament. No, Kalinia still holds firm to the archaic law of the town absorbing inheritances in the absence of a suitable male heir.

The ornate desk beneath my filthy boots and the silk cushion I’m staining with my road-worn attire offers me all the insight I need to understand The Honorable Magistrate Ridion’s hesitance to adapt.

I tuck my hands behind my head, careful not to disturb my cap. For such an expensive room, the magistrate relies on piss-poor locks for security.

Rhosyn adjusts her skirts where she sits in the visitor’s chair, flashing me a knowing grin. As soon as I informed her of my plan, her eyes had glimmered with excitement and cunning.

“He travels most frequently,” she had said. “ I heard a rumor he got drunk enough to confess he had a companion in every major city.”

I bet every coin from my share of the hoard his wife doesn’t know that. Nor does he take the same pains Jaromir does to ensure no woman he lays with faces lasting developments to their coupling.

Jaromir crosses his arms, leaning a hip against the wall where he waits. He, of course, won’t allow Rhosyn or me to confront the magistrate alone. I don’t mind. This concerns him as much as Rhosyn, so he should be here.

The added comfort of knowing I have a hulking bodyguard is another point in favor of his presence.

Footsteps sound just outside the door. Jaromir tucks deeper into the corner, as much as he can, given his size.

I reach up and adjust my cap. The same fluttering of excitement I get before a performance erupts in my belly.

It’s showtime.

The door swings open, and a man in a black chaperon and robes steps into view. He stills, the tippit of his elaborate headwear fluttering with the movement. His gaze travels along my relaxed posture, with my feet atop his expensive desk, and over to Rhosyn where she sits, the picture of patient elegance. He narrows his eyes, adding more creases to his crow’s feet.

“I see you’ve come to badger me again.”

Jaromir firmly shuts the door behind the man, causing him to jump and spin around in surprise. Without uttering a word, Jaromir angles his body to block the exit.

Magistrate Ridion lets out a derisive snort. “And you’ve hired thugs to threaten me to do your bidding.”

Rhosyn rolls her eyes. “We’ve come to offer a proposal. His presence is merely to ensure you’ll listen. Don’t you recognize Damir’s brother?”

The magistrate takes a cautious step in Jaromir’s direction. “Are you here to accept your claim to his inheritance or to sign it over to me? There can be no other legal reason for your visit.”

Jaromir’s scowl never lessens. “Neither.”

I clear my throat. “I’d say have a seat, but as you can see, there are none to be had. You wouldn’t expect a lady to relinquish her chair, would you?”

The magistrate has the good sense to bite his tongue against whatever barb he might have had prepared. Probably something about there being no ladies in sight or some such nonsense. Through clenched teeth he utters, “Of course, not.”

“Splendid!” I clap my hands together, delighting in the flinch of irritation it earns. “We haven’t met, dreadful shame, but allow me to rectify that.” I sweep my cap in a flourish. “Sylvaine Abelan. Bard extraordinaire, defender of both written and spoken word. Acting notary in some happenstances. Formidable slinger of stones”—I toss a wink Jaromir’s way, reveling in the private smile I receive—“and, at present, your guide for a better tomorrow.”

Magistrate Ridion scoffs, eying me with thinly veiled disgust. “An elf who thinks she’s more than gutter refuse. How charming.”

I laugh at the attempt to disarm me, but Jaromir’s hand clamps around his throat.

“Watch your tongue or lose it.”

Ridion’s eyes bulge from his head as Jaromir’s grip tightens, a faint wheeze escaping from his mouth.

“Thank you, but we need his signature,” I say.

“His apology first.”

Ridion’s face is turning a lovely shade of purple. “S-sorry.”

Jaromir releases his hold, remaining a close and threatening presence.

Ridion gasps, coughing and rubbing his throat. “You’re all animals,” he chokes out. “Common beasts.”

“Oh, come now! You don’t know me well enough for that sort of talk.” I lower my feet from his desk, leaning onto my elbows instead. “I know you, though.”

“You know nothing—”

“William M. Ridion. Most assume the M stands for Mortimer after your father, but it stands for Margaret to honor your mother’s midwife.” I pause. “I actually quite like that. It’s rather endearing.”

I allow him exactly five heartbeats before I continue.

“I know your father had to pay off your exorbitant gambling debts twice before his untimely passing. You and your wife have two lovely daughters and a strapping young son. I know the local healer advised you to watch your intake of spirits and meat due to your heart troubles, and I know you've sired no fewer than four illegitimate children in your travels. Children you’ve neglected despite your lavish lifestyle.” I wave to indicate his furnishings.

William Margaret Ridion gapes at me, a tremble building along his shoulders. “You can't... you can't possibly prove any of these claims…”

“Can't I?” I raise a brow and allow a sly smile to cross my face. “William, I'm a collector of stories. They all came from somewhere.”

Like the friendly locals, the serving girls at the tavern, a dwarven healer, a traveling merchant, and the fellow bard I interrogated.

“Besides, I don't need to prove it. All I need to do is what I do best.” I lean my chin atop my fist, waiting for him to realize the extent of the destruction I could cause for a man like him and my penchant for writing catchy songs. “Isn't there a vote coming up? I heard something about it. A new town motto? A new trade route?”

He seethes, his narrow chest rising and falling with each breath. “The next magistrate's term, you abominable heathen.”

I snap my fingers in triumph. “That's it! I should think you'd want to keep a low profile where scandal is concerned.”

Magistrate W. M. Ridion's shoulders lower, collapsing his posture. “What do you want?”

I nod to Rhosyn. This is her demand to make. Her home. Her life.

She rises, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. All poise and grace as she lifts her chin. “You will dispense with this antiquated inheritance law and make the proper amendments so no person can be thrown from their home in the wake of family tragedy. You will serve the people rather than steal from them when they're most vulnerable. You will enact Queen Dhara’s inclusive land and title ownership policies so any person can create a life in Kalinia.” She glares down at him; I hadn't realized how much taller she is, but the effect is jarring in the best way. “And you will accomplish this all today. Or Syl will sing of your exploits this night.”

His cheeks redden, a vein bulging in his forehead. “It will take time to draw up the proper legal documents. To track down a scribe, and a notary—”

“No need.” I flash him my brightest stage smile as I fish the legislative document I penned on Rhosyn's table while she paced around the kitchen. “It's all here, and as a notary, I can witness your signature and the official stamp of your signet ring.”

His hands clench as if he'd love nothing more than to wring my neck. Jaromir shoves him toward the desk, a reminder of his presence and a warning.

“Very well,” Ridion mutters through a tight mouth.

“Oh, in triplicate.” I grab the duplicate documents, fanning them out across his desk and trying not to smear my ink-stained hands across the words. “I’d hate for you to misplace one.”

“Indeed.” His lips have thinned to almost nonexistent proportions as he flourishes his signature and stamps his ring with more force than necessary.

I stand and immediately hand one copy to Rhosyn, tucking the other under my arm. “Pleasure, William. Do come watch my set tomorrow evening!”

His eyes widen. “You wouldn't still…”

“Not if you behave.” I march out of his office, Rhosyn and Jaromir trailing behind. When we finally push through the outer door, dusk has fallen. I exhale a sigh of relief. The faintest hint of the earliest stars glimmer against an increasingly dark sky, and for the first time in weeks, I can appreciate the sight.

I pull the coin purse from my pocket, the one I’d swiped from his desk. Tossing it from hand to hand, I grin. This will go straight to the mothers of his forgotten children. Perhaps I should visit him monthly and pilfer his reserves for familial upkeep. Call it my civic duty.

“I can't believe that worked.” Rhosyn's voice is soft as she stares down at the proof of her ownership. “I can't believe it worked!” she repeats, hitting an ear-splitting shriek as she scoops me up into her arms and spins me around. “You absolute seraph! I can’t thank you enough!”

Normally, I love praise, especially well-deserved praise. But at her words, my cheeks burn and I have a warm, squirming feeling in my gut. She sets me back on my feet. “I was prepared to invent an heir. What luck he really is a scoundrel. My threats carry the weight of the truth.” I’d caught wind of his dalliances that night in the tavern when we were here last. Little tidbits of secrets passed between confidantes. I’d almost forgotten, courtesy of the dwarven whiskey and the broken heart I’d been nursing that night. But what was meant to be Jaromir’s goodbye in the middle of the road unearthed the hazy memory.

I glance over to find Jaromir giving me a strange look. His lips are parted, and his eyes are wide as he refuses to break his stare. He gives a slow disbelieving shake of his head as if he’s still in shock we pulled it off.

As if he still can’t believe his life is wide open again.

I give him a little shrug, and the corner of his mouth lifts. He takes a step toward me, and the air between us is rife with everything we haven’t said.

Rhosyn intercepts, pulling him into an embrace and whispering in his ear. He nods and places a chaste kiss to the side of her head. Once again, his gaze finds mine. We have all the time in the world to sort out what this means for us.

“I don't know about you two, but I'm in the mood to celebrate!” Rhosyn glances between us with a knowing grin.

A celebration is undoubtedly due. Something ridiculous. Naked howling at the moon would be a good start.

I glance down at my clothes. Dirt and ash still coat my skin, along with some questionable stains I haven't been able to scrub clean yet. As soon as we ventured into Kalinia, I set to work investigating, and before that we were on the road, fighting corpse-eaters and slaying a fake dragon.

“Yes,” I finally say, beaming back at Rhosyn where she’s twirling her skirts in glee.

There is much to celebrate, an entire life wide open for the taking, and there is something I must do before I can conquer this newfound destiny of greatness.

“But first a bath.”