Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1) (19 page)

Jesca pulled Tyrissa aside one afternoon in the
guildhall with the promise of a more interesting new contract: an extended job
providing security for a Felarin Trade Prince and his daughter.

It was near sunset as their band of four walked
along one of Heights’s curving streets that spiraled up the largest hill in the
city. While styled like the rest of the city, here the rows of houses were set
further back from the street and each entrance was fronted by ivy-draped stone
walls enclosing private gardens. Looking up the hillside, one could see a distinct
increase in size of the homes the closer they were to the summit, where a
palace of gray stone stood above all, the former residence of Khalanheim’s
discarded line of kings, now forever empty.

Tyrissa was unfamiliar with one of their band, a
brick shaped man named Grauss. His hair was a cap of black curls that reminded
her of Anton and his mastodon handlers, though Grauss wasn’t nearly as
talkative. However, Tyrissa had been thoroughly introduced to the other man in
their group.

“You’ve been avoiding me in the yard, Tyrissa,”
Arveld said over his shoulder as they rounded another bend in the winding
streets of Heights. “I still want that rematch.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” she said with a devilish
smile. “I’ve just been
so
busy with training and getting settled.” She
knew she got lucky in the assessment and was certain she bruised his pride,
even if Arveld shrugged it off.

“Arveld, is there anything else we should know?”
Jesca asked between glances at the briefing file in her hands. “You two were
hired by Alvedo last year.”

“Not much else to tell beyond what’s in the
briefing. Master Alvedo’s family has a knack for side-stepping Southwest’s monopoly
over Felarill and cutting deals with whomever he wishes here.”

“Enough of a knack to create grudges?”

Arveld shook his head. “I doubt it. What he does
is hardly rare. He’s just better at it than most foreigners.”

“What about the daughter?”

“Master Alvedo dislikes the extra steps in the
Khalan way of doing business. Olivianna will likely attend many of the social
functions in his stead. A social surrogate and heir in training.”

“This should be rather low impact,” Jesca said to
Tyrissa. “Shows, market visits, parties, that sort of thing.”

Jesca handed over the dossier and Tyrissa gave it
another glance. She knew Felarill was a nation of river lands and island chains
to the southwest of the Khalan Federation. Aside from a handful of good pirate
tales, the stories that she’d read from those lands glorified the interplay and
subterfuge of Felarin noble houses and were seasoned with a healthy amount of
passion and romance, the heroes often dashing sailors or clever courtiers. She
didn’t count them among her favorites.

Olivianna Alvedo’s schedule did indeed skew to
the social side of things with a minority of drier meetings with this or that
merchant of this or that guild in between. Much of it, including tomorrow, was
a checkerboard of ‘To be determined’. The first highlight seemed to be next
week’s ‘Prime Autumn Gala One’. That worryingly implied a second.

“So is she hiring guards or temporary friends?”

“In our case, it’ll be a little of both. It’s
customary for foreign traders and diplomats to make visible use of locally
hired services. It’s a way of saying ‘my coin will benefit many instead of
few’. The Felarin in particular must put on a specific look while in Khalanheim
since their nation still operates under the rule of a codified nobility.
Bringing their full entourage here would be a massive social gaffe, you know?”

“Sure.”

“As for temporary friends… well, if we all get
along it’ll just be that much more pleasant of a contract.”

“So as long as I’m not standing watch over some
insufferable tea party, how bad could it be?” Granted, Tyrissa had a narrow frame
of reference with respect to Cadre contracts. Aside from the escort of Delmor at
the Harvest Market, she had only been on training runs and a handful of dull
night watches at some vault or another.

Their destination was much like the other homes
along the street save for the open garden gate. A guard dressed in all black
with a pair of thin dueling swords at his hips waited for them. He would have
been a fitting image of the typical Felarin bravo save for the exhaustion in
his eyes. He exchanged a few words with Arveld and led their band into the
pristinely manicured front garden before retreating into the house.

As they waited Tyrissa came to the realization
that for the past few months almost everything and everyone she encountered was
not quite what she expected. She had begun to fear that she would be slightly
wrong about everything. As their clients exited their rented home and
introductions were made, Tyrissa was able to put that fear to rest.

Ferdinand Alvedo was a slender man of at least
fifty with piercing eyes and hair showing the beginnings of turning from a
black to gray. He moved with a stiff, ingrained formality that extended to his
black, well-cut clothes. His daughter stood to his right and was exactly what
Tyrissa imagined. Olivianna Alvedo, wore a distinctly foreign blue dress with a
wider skirt and lower neckline than the current Khalan styles. She was prim and
pretty, with raven hair and high cheekbones that gave her face a haughty cast.
She shared her father’s dark eyes that belied a sharp intelligence. Taken in
full, she had every appearance of a glass vase that might take slightly more
effort to break.

As the most senior of their delegation, Arveld
made the announcement, a formal introduction. “Master Alvedo, allow me to
present the delegation of Kadrich’s Cadre. I am Arveld, and this is Grauss, van
Rild, and Jorensen.” They each bowed as their names were called.

“I welcome you into my service, sirs and madams.”
He spoke in a crisp and clear voice, with only the slightest hint of a
long-disciplined accent. “I am Ferdinand Alvedo of Gardula, and I present my
daughter, Olivianna.” She gave their group a shallow curtsey.

Father and daughter split to their respective new
guardians. Olivianna swished over to Tyrissa and Jesca, face masked in a cool
appraisal.

“Miss Alvedo, I’m Jesca van Rild and this is
Tyrissa Jorensen,” they gave slight respectful bows in unison, as discussed,
the repetition a token reverence to the Felarill’s continued use courtly
gestures and formalities. “We’ll be your escort during any business you have
away from your father.”

Their new client broke into a gracious smile and
said, “Please, you may call me Olivianna. But always Olivianna. Every syllable.
Every time. I cannot abide pet names.”

Tyrissa couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at
that. The Olivianna’s accent was far less schooled than her father’s and she
leaned into her words with a distinct foreign purr at a refreshingly slower
pace than the typical clipped Khalanheim accent. Tyrissa couldn’t begrudge
Olivianna for that when she still got odd looks on a daily basis.

“Of course, Olivianna,” Jesca said without
hesitation. “How was your journey from Gardula?”

“Smooth, aside from having to wait in Rilderdam
for three days while they resolved some trouble with the canals.
Such
a
dreary city, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jesca’s smile tightened at that comment.
“Rilderdam has its charms, but they may be difficult to find in such a short
stay.”

“Ah yes, the charms of the damp, muck, and swarms
of flies. Delightful.”

Olivianna looked up at Tyrissa and gave her a
second, slow narrow-eyed appraisal, before frowning in obvious disappointment.
Across the garden path, the three men had a good laugh in their friendlier
reunion.

“I have to say I’m a little surprised with the
Cadre’s choice of guardians.”

“I think I can handle your safety,” Tyrissa said.
Then added, “Miss Alvedo.”

“Well you’re certainly large enough. Where are
you from? I don’t recognize your… drawl.”

“Morgale. Miss Alvedo.” At this point, she could
begrudge her as much as she wanted. Her accent wasn’t that bad, especially
after a few weeks of practicing it down.

“Ah. How rustic. Tyrissa, was it?”

“You will call me Jorensen.” Their chance of
being on a first name basis was quite gone.

“Very well.”

“Olivianna,” Jesca said, saving the introductions
from becoming any frostier, “There is the matter of tomorrow.”

“Of course. I’ve been in correspondence with a
handful of my peers here in the city and I have reserved a table at the
Countess’s Court tomorrow afternoon. Please look your best.” She gave Tyrissa
one last half-glare. “If at all possible. I look forward to our time together.
If you’ll excuse me ladies, I should retire for the evening.”

“We can leave,” Jesca said in a low voice as
Olivianna Alvedo swished her way back into the townhouse. “Functionally we’ll
be two separate bands.”

They retraced their route along the avenues of
Heights back down to the Cadre’s guild hall, walking beneath the now-aglow
night lamps. Aside from the rattle and grind of passing carriages, the streets
were oddly quiet compared to the rest of the city at this hour. Tyrissa was equally
silent, wondering if she did something wrong to offend their client. Then she noticed
Jesca trying to hide a smile.

“What happened back there?” Tyrissa asked.

“I suppose I should have warned you about the Felarin
fondness for playful clashes of mild insults.”

“That was playful?” Tyrissa tried to image how
they treat someone they actively disliked. At least that explained why Felarin
stories had excessive amounts of wordplay in lieu of action.

“They can come off as a little abrasive—”

“Understatement.”

“It’s how they feel out boundaries with each
other, the testing of another’s will and wit. You did quite well. Insisting on
her last name was a nice touch. Try not to take it personally.”

“Easy for you to say, she was nothing but smiles
and honey towards you.”

“Not entirely. I’m from Rilderdam after all and
the autumn is the nicest time of year there. It’s hardly a swamp.”

Tyrissa still felt like it went poorly. Hopefully
tomorrow would be less venomous.

“Jesca, what is the Countess’s Court?”

“It’s one of the best tea houses in the city.
Should be a
lovely
afternoon.”

Tyrissa groaned. Night watches at storage vaults
were looking more attractive by the minute.

“No complaining! I should probably fill you in on
an additional facet of this contract…”

Tyrissa swept her gaze over the main floor of the
Countess’s Court for what may as well have been the hundredth time. Warm
afternoon sunlight filtered through the thick panes of the skylights,
scattering small prisms across a grid of tables cloaked in white cloth. About
half of the tables were occupied and the clientele consisted exclusively of
fashionably dressed women of all ages. The sum total of their politely hushed
conversations resulted in a pleasant, unintelligible din sprinkled with the
clink of cups against saucers and the rustle of cloth. Some tables were deep in
games of
daajik
, the victor of a round rising above the ambient noise of
the tea house when she triumphantly read out her winning hand. The air was
heavy with fragrant herbal scents, and the uniformed wait staff buzzed about
the floor with practiced efficiency and attentiveness.

All in all, it was the nicest tea house Tyrissa
had ever seen, even if it had a thorough monopoly in that regard. She wasn’t
alone in keeping watch over nothing. There were a number of other hired guards
here that lent a subtext of suspicion to the room, even if those seated at the
tables didn’t care to notice it.

To her credit, Olivianna Alvedo had managed to
create a miniature court on her first full day in the city, complete with house
guard and handmaiden. Jesca sat at the table and her ‘additional facet of this
contract’ seemed to be a dress. This was a trial run of an incognito bodyguard
paired with an obvious one. Jesca explained it as making their services more
presentable and even more invisible. Tyrissa wasn’t completely sold on the idea,
even if Jesca’s transformation was quite convincing, the scrapper disappearing
into a courtier. For all the passion she showed toward the Cadre and the life
of a modern mercenary, she certainly had a knack for switching into a more
refined persona in a heartbeat.

For the afternoon Jesca was now Joyce d’Haute of
Rilderdam, the choice of her actual hometown a response to Olivianna’s slights
last night. Their client took to the idea instantly, and the two of them
concocted and refined a reasonable backstory in the carriage ride to the tea
house.

Tyrissa paid fleeting attention to whatever
Alvedo was saying as she conferred with the waitress over the precise timing
and details each round of tea, preferring to do her job and watch their
surroundings. Hearing her name brought her back to their table just as the
waitress walked away with a telling, tight smile.

“And Jorensen… well I suppose you stand there and
manage whatever it is that runs through your mind. If we need to crack open any
walnuts, we’ll ask for you to lend a
hand
.”

The other reason for her singular focus was
simply because she was wrong last night. Alvedo’s little barbs only continued
and Tyrissa tried her best to ignore them, unsure of when and how to respond.

Alvedo’s guests, three young women, arrived in
quick succession. Introductions were made, and through a
remarkable
coincidence each of Alvedo’s guests belonged to a different Prime guild, Harlin
to Khalan North, Nina to Southwest, and Alene to Northwest. Though they wore no
obvious guild insignia, Tyrissa was able to accurately guess which owed
allegiance to which Prime from the color of their jewelry and clothing. Strange
that Alvedo would cast her net so wide, so soon. Tyrissa was hardly a veteran
of the city but had already internalized the idea that the rivalries ran deep
between the Primes. They tried to undermine each other at every level, from
grand trade agreements down to frivolous afternoon social calls in a tea house.
The three were
meikeen
, a term Tyrissa had only learned this morning. It
was a uniquely Khalan position, a hybrid of socialite and mercantile scout who
initially vet potential partners and deals for their guilds when the other
party is relatively unknown. The ‘getting to know you’ side of business was
their entire job and establishments like the Countess’s Court were their
arenas.