Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie LaCrosse Novel (32 page)

“You’ll believe in my foot up your ass if you ever do anything like . . .” His voice faded into the crowd.

After a moment Liz said with certainty, “We’re never having children.”

“Agreed,” I said, and kissed the top of her head.

There was another commotion up the street. Callie stood over someone crouched on the ground, hands covering his head. She beat at him anyway with what looked like a broom handle. “You lying sack of
donkey shit
!” she yelled. “This was your ‘big-time gig’? You dishonest lump of
cat turd
!”

Tony the minstrel risked a look up at her. “Baby, please, I can explain—”

“Explain how come you’re a ball of
chicken piss
?” she screamed, and smacked him again. His partner watched nearby, but was smart enough not to come between Callie and the object of her ire.

“And,” Liz added, “we’re never breaking up, because I don’t have the energy to go through all that drama.”

“Agreed,” I repeated.

There was little else to see, and nothing to do, so I took Liz on to the moon goddess hospital. She’d befriended most of the staff during my convalescence, and they descended on her like a benevolent swarm of tittering hens. They quickly took her from me, cleaned and dressed her wounds, then placed her in a quiet room for rest. Mother Mallory took me firmly aside and told me to go home and clean up so Liz wouldn’t wake and see me looking so awful.

“And please,” she added, “take a bath. Whatever you’ve been rolling in almost makes my eyes water.”

I still carried the scent from the cave, so I had to agree with her. Another set of clothes for the fire; at least they wouldn’t burn with me in them, the way Candora’s had.

I went home and cleaned up, then stopped at Angelina’s. It was late, but the crowd was still healthy thanks to the fire. Callie stood in the corner, watching Tony the minstrel mop up some spilled ale. She had her hands on her hips and, although she no longer carried the broomstick, I got the distinct impression she wouldn’t hesitate to smack him around bare-handed if he got out of line. Some wags at a nearby table snickered and made snide comments.

I took an open stool. When Angelina came by, I said, “I see Callie’s got the upper hand in the relationship now.”

“At least until pretty boy earns back the money he stole from her. Not too smart to run out on your girl and only go a couple of streets over.”

“ ‘Smart’ doesn’t seem to apply much to minstrels,” I agreed. “I didn’t see you at the fire.”

She waved her hand. “I’ve seen plenty of things burn down in my life. Besides, I wanted to make sure none of those weird red-rag people came running in here. They need to just go back to the hills where they came from.”

“That’s harsh.”

“
I’m
harsh, in case you hadn’t noticed. Are you hungry?”

“Are you harsh?”

“Hang on, then; I’ll whip something up.” She went into the kitchen, and I watched Callie continue to monitor her ex-boyfriend’s progress. He was soot streaked from the fire, as well as red eyed and pale from lack of giggleweed, but maybe sobering up was what he needed. He stopped mopping and looked to her for approval. She pointed to something he’d missed, and he wearily resumed his work. A bearded tanner poured some ale on the floor right in front of Tony’s mop, but he said nothing. The tanner and his friends laughed.

Callie flounced over to me, almost shivering with delight at the new balance of power. “And how are you tonight, Mr. LaCrosse?” she said as she kissed me on the cheek.

“Not as good as you, apparently.”

“Well, Tony and I have reached an understanding. He’s working off the debt he owes me; then we’re going to send for Joan Diter and he’ll go to work for her.”

“Why?”

Callie leaned close and whispered, “Because
he
burned down the Lizard’s Kiss. Passed out and knocked over his giggleweed pipe.”

“No,” I said with mock surprise.

She nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah. He’s lucky nobody died. And now he’s going to pay for it. For me, and for every other girl he’s ever screwed, then screwed over.”

Callie returned to supervising Tony, and Angelina brought me a plate of food. “So how’s Liz?”

I gave her the short version, without mentioning the dragons. It still made her eyebrows crawl toward her hairline. “Holy shit, is she okay?” she asked when I was done.

“She will be. She’s resting, which is really what she needs. She’ll have some scars, but we all have those. And she’ll be sore for a while. But she really came through in the end. Don’t find many people, men or women, who can keep their cool like that.”

“No, you don’t,” Angelina agreed. “So what about that other thing that was bothering you before?”

I shrugged as I wolfed down some gravy-soaked bread. “Seems kind of insubstantial now. I mean, we’ll talk about it, but it matters a lot less than I thought it did.”

She mussed my hair the way she’d done to Hank Pinster’s oldest boy. “You big softie. I bet you bleed pudding, don’t you?”

I finished my dinner, then went upstairs to check my office. Nothing looked different from the last time I’d been there two days ago, when I found old man Lesperitt waiting; certainly no new clients were hiding under my desk. I’d have to see about that fairly soon. Dragon slaying sure didn’t pay very well.

I grabbed some of Liz’s belongings from our place and returned to the hospital. They still wanted to keep her quiet and isolated, but they let me stretch out in an empty room and gave me something to make me sleep. Which I did, straight through to morning, deep and blessedly dreamless.

They brought me in to see her then. She slept peacefully on clean white linen. She’d been washed, her wrists bandaged and the cut across her thigh tended. With her hair held back by a headband I saw the bruises on her forehead and jaw, the swollen bridge of her nose and her lips cracked and dried from dehydration. If Candora hadn’t already been killed in a manner more horrible than anything I could’ve inflicted, I’d have made the process a long and slow one, worthy of the man who cut Marion up alive.

Still, Liz looked more beautiful than ever to me. I sat in the bedside chair and touched the back of her hand lightly above the bandage. She made a little whimper of contentment but did not awaken.

There was a soft tap at the door. I turned, expecting to see one of the young apprentices or Mother Mallory, but instead a slight figure in an expensive hooded cloak stood there. In the brightly lit hospital this looked especially out of place, and my hand went automatically for the knife in my boot.

The figure pushed the hood back. Princess Veronica said softly, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I hope I’m not intruding.”

I sat back and glared at her. “You are.”

She did not seem fazed. “May I come in?”

“It’s your country.” My etiquette training did its best to get me to my feet, but my disgust won out and I stayed seated.

She closed the door and stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Liz. Although the princess’ hair was immaculate and the dress under the cloak spotless, she looked as tired and worn as I felt. I could imagine the fiery scene with Gary and Argoset after I left. “Is this your wife?” she asked softly.

“What do you care? She’s just another immigrant like me. She’s not your concern.”

She ignored my sniping. “I’m assuming your presence here means the problem we discussed earlier has been resolved?”

“Yes. Two people died horribly, Liz was tortured and . . . well, let’s leave it at that. There are no dragon eggs for your father, I’m afraid.”

“I never really believed there were,” she said sadly. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but her demeanor was calm, even icy. “It was just another fairy tale.”

“So what do you want?” I demanded impatiently. Her presence both aggravated and unnerved me a little.

She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I owe you my life, and I have not honored that debt. But I wish to do so.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Your Highness. Except the honor of your absence.”

“Mr. LaCrosse, within the next few years, my father will die. Either from natural causes or otherwise. When that happens, I intend to ensure Muscodia does not suffer the rule of my brother, Frederick.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“By whatever means are required.”

The firm tone surprised me, although it really shouldn’t have. It was easy to talk about assassinations and coups, especially when you were a spoiled, headstrong teenager. “And how does that help me?” I said, unable to keep the harshness from my voice. “Or pay your debt to me?”

“I am very smart, and reasonably courageous. I am not very experienced, however, as the events this week have illustrated. When I ascend to the throne, I will need experienced people around me.”

The implication hung in the air between us. A tiny smile touched her mouth. “I see you’re surprised.”

“I see you’re delusional,” I shot back.

Now she smiled for real. “Mr. LaCrosse, my offer is serious.”

“Muscodia needs me?”

“I need you.”

“What about Argoset?”

Her smile faded. “Daniel has been reassigned.”

“Permanently?”

“That’s up to him. His judgment, or lack thereof, has done a lot of damage and gotten people killed. He’ll have to convince me that’s changed if he wants to regain my favor.” It was plain that Argoset’s fall had broken her girl’s heart as well as engendered her royal scorn.

“I still have his horse,” I said.

She waved dismissively. “Consider it a gift. His name’s Little Blackie, I believe.”

I nodded my thanks. “Will Argoset be upset that you’ve offered me his job?”

“He would never be suited to the job I’m offering you.”

I had to smile now, too. “Your Highness, I appreciate the offer, but I’ve lost the ability to be a team player. I work better on my own. Besides, you know how sword jockeys are: greedy little men snooping around taverns and whorehouses spying on faithless spouses. We leave a trail of slime wherever we go.”

She nodded. “I assumed you’d say that. And I won’t push you. But I will seek you out again once I’m queen.”

“My answer will be the same.”

“Well. I suppose we’ll have to see. In the meantime, I hope your wife fully recovers. She is a lucky woman to inspire such devotion.”

“She’s not my wife,” I said. “And I always figured I was the lucky one.”

The princess pulled the hood back down over her face and turned to leave.

I said, “But you know what?”

She stopped.

I stood, formally bowed and said, “I can’t do anything for Princess Veronica of Muscodia. But if that nice girl Nicky ever needs my kind of help, under the table and behind the tapestries, with something too delicate for official channels . . . she just has to ask.”

Her smile was visible inside the hood’s shadows. “She appreciates that very much, Mr. LaCrosse.” Then she left.

chapter

THIRTY-ONE

T

he next morning I awoke in the chair at Liz’s bedside and found her watching me. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut, and blood was still caked around her nostrils. She smiled, ointment gleaming on her cracked lips. “This has a familiar feel,” she said in a weak, thin voice.

“Except you’re on the wrong side of the bed.”

“So are you.”

My entire body seemed rusted into my sleeping position, and moving out of it took a few moments. “How do you feel?”

“Numb. Are my toes wiggling?”

“Yes. They gave you some concoction to help you relax.”

“Any more relaxed and you’ll need a ladle to move me. How long have I been here?”

“Only a couple of days. Nowhere near my record.”

She reached a bandaged hand toward me. “I owe you an apology. If I’d told you about Lesperitt the night of the fire, I wouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “But we don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Okay. Why
didn’t
you tell me?”

She was silent for so long I wondered if she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. At last she said, “I could give you some story about wanting to take care of things on my own, but the truth is that really . . . I was embarrassed.”

“By what?”

“By the fact that I still wanted to believe. That even though the adult Liz knew the truth, the little girl in me still believed dragons might be real. And she had to know. So Little Liz pitched a hissy fit, and Big Liz went along just to shut her up.”

I nodded. “And now both of them know they were real.”

She shook her head. “No. Not the kind I wanted to find. Not the ones filled with wisdom and power and love. They were just cold, beautiful animals.” Tears welled in her eyes. “What kind of idiot insists on believing in gods, anyway?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. I leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were slippery with the minty healing ointment. “I’m not filled with wisdom or power, but I
do
love you.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ah, you’re just saying that to get into my pants.”

“Did it work?”

She scooted over on the bed. “Not yet. But it probably will. Now get over here.”

I stretched out beside her, let her snuggle close, and we fell asleep together despite the sunlight bouncing off the white walls. Before my eyes closed, I resolved that, as soon as she left the hospital, I would tell her about my past relationship with her late sister. I couldn’t very well be mad at Liz over this if I wasn’t willing to face the same music myself.

AROUND
noon I left her sleeping and headed back to town for lunch. I’d had my fill, literally and figuratively, of the medicinal stuff the moon priestesses called food. I needed something dipped in grease and fried. Before I left, though, I poured Frankie’s money into the donation vase. The noise was horrendous in the hospital silence, but no one appeared to investigate.

A whole company of Muscodian troops lined the street outside the Saraden’s Sword. They looked tired and ill-mannered, especially the ones not lucky enough to be on horseback. A potbellied captain stood beside the door, while a crowd of onlookers gathered a respectful distance away. I’d seen more crowds in Muscodia during the last week than I had in all my time here, and really looked forward to the day there would again be nothing to gawk at.