A Tempest of Tea, page 8
But it was monsoon season, and Arthie’s mother did not think her sickly eight-year-old daughter would survive the journey, so she took her to the village healer, who had toured the world beyond Ceylan and acquired the knowledge of it. The man had taken one look at Arthie and claimed they needed a miracle.
“Anything,” Arthie’s mother had said in her red sari, so focused on saving her daughter that she didn’t realize her own window to escape was closing. “Anything.”
Anything. Anything.
In the years that followed, Arthie sometimes heard that fervent plea in the dead of the night. She could hear the bullet that struck her father. The three it took to stop her mother.
She slammed her bedroom door closed, shutting the memory inside. The death. The blood. It was ironic that she was in the business of the same substance that haunted her past.
From the shadows of the second-floor balcony, she watched the way Flick devoured Spindrift, her hunger at odds with her sweet demeanor. The girl was taller than Arthie, buoyant curls framing warm features and a pert nose, her skin a deep, dusky brown. She was skilled beyond reason, enough that Arthie could overlook the fact that she was the daughter of one of Ettenia’s vilest women alive.
Arthie watched as Flick clutched the address like a lifeline. Whether she accepted the job or not was to be seen, but Arthie had her guess.
“Your guard is here,” Jin announced, rapping his knuckles on the wall behind Arthie. “I can see why you said yes.”
Arthie didn’t take her eyes off Flick. “I will not ask you to elaborate.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jin crooned, and she knew that if she looked his way, he would waggle his eyebrows. “You had to have some reason to shake hands with our enemy.”
The two of them had spent the remainder of the previous night running through the probabilities and risks. Their alliance with Laith would be tenuous, but they were on equal footing, for if he was dangerous and unpredictable, so was she.
Jin leaned against the railing and peered down, following Arthie’s line of sight when she shifted her gaze to Laith. He looked different in the daylight, more boyish and youthful. He looked like much easier prey than he did last night.
“Think we can get this ledger in two weeks?” Jin asked.
“We have to, and we will,” Arthie said.
“We’ll need to close Spindrift though. Neither of us will be around, and we’ll need all hands on deck.”
Arthie pulled her gaze away from the crowded floor, a kaleidoscope of color and aroma, of money trading hands and secrets spilling like rain from broken skies. Reni and Chester together had uncovered a scandal from the Afton sisters—apparently, their brother had carried on an affair with a maid, and their father had fired her, resulting in an accident that cost her life.
That made Lord Afton, by all convoluted counts, a murderer—a useful bit of information in the face of an impending betrothal between one of his daughters and the son of the late viscount that neighbored them. It was a union that would make Afton a bit too powerful for Arthie’s tastes, particularly since he ran the shipping warehouse where she stored her cargo.
Chester was on his way to the viscount’s house now, where a footman or two would learn the news and pass it onward and upward. Chaos kept the world in order. Not bad for their last day open.
“Then close,” Arthie said.
Jin was watching her. “It’s okay to feel something about it.”
She cut him a look. Oh, she felt something about it all right.
Jin looked like he wanted to say more, but Arthie didn’t want to hear it, so she descended the stairs and made her way through the bustling tables.
Laith lounged by the windows, a portrait of stillness amid the mayhem of the patrons filing in and out. He was in those snow-white robes again that tapered off at his mid-calf above fitted pants. A broad sash secured around his middle boasted a curved dagger.
“What’s this?” Arthie asked.
He rose and presented the bouquet in his hand like a dead rabbit. “I heard that the custom here is flowers.”
He was giving her flowers while she was planning his funeral. “We’re working together, not courting.”
“Are they not one and the same?” Laith replied.
She took the bouquet. The wax paper was smooth beneath her fingers, the flowers fragrant, the gesture altogether unexpected. She clenched her jaw.
Laith was devouring every second of it. Nope.
“Chester,” she said, stopping him on his way past her. “Be a dear and take these flowers outside, will you? Toss them in the dirt where they belong.”
Laith’s tiny, knowing smile reminded her of what he’d said in her office, when her eyes had betrayed her by following the shift in his throat.
“Aw, Arthie’s first flowers,” Jin remarked, joining them. “Pity they’re from you.”
“No need to be hostile. I brought you a gift as well,” Laith said. “Apple?”
There was a weight to his accent, so the p’s sounded like soft b’s. Abble. Jin stared at the offering. It was the shiny kind he liked, the skin a plum color near black.
“Pretty sure there’s a fairy-tale analogy for this moment,” Jin said, taking it from him. “I’m Jin. Jin Casimir.”
“I wondered about that,” Laith said, tilting his head. “You don’t look related.”
“We don’t really care for lineage on this side of White Roaring,” Jin said, but what he didn’t say was that he had spent days looking over his shoulder when Arthie and he had first linked hands, fearing whoever had come for his parents was coming for him too, until Arthie gave them a last name of their own.
It wouldn’t do much, really, but when one was young and lost, almost anything made you feel powerful. A new surname promised a new start, a new future they could forge for themselves.
Laith hmmed but didn’t comment. He dipped his head. “Laith Sayaad.”
“Welcome to life as a criminal,” Jin said. Laith began to protest, but really, one couldn’t ally with the Casimirs and not get a little tarnished. “Can’t say we have your kind around here. Where from?”
Laith’s gaze dimmed. “Far enough that two became one.”
That was new information. Had he left someone behind, or had they died? Arthie inched away, turning her back on Laith, and Jin followed.
She could sense the smirk on his face.
“I take it your mission to Admiral Grove went well,” she said before he could speak, heading for the stairs.
That did the trick. He sighed and straightened a frame, oozing reluctance.
“You know she’s the best forger there is,” Arthie said with a sidelong glance. “So stop whining.”
“You didn’t even let me start whining.” He followed her upstairs. “She doesn’t forge anymore.”
“She will for me,” Arthie said. Flick was already invested. Arthie had seen it on her face. “You never complained about working with her before.”
In fact, he’d always wanted to—offering to go down to her warehouse before Arthie could, taking more time than was necessary. He’d even offered to pick up Flick today when Arthie had planned to go herself, knowing Admiral Grove loomed with the ghosts of Jin’s past. He was the reason they’d even trusted Flick to begin with, given who her mother was.
“It’s one thing to go out to her warehouse and hire her for a job. It’s another to involve her in a dangerous scheme. She’s not cut out for this,” he said. Flick was innocent, that was true. Untried and untested. The girl looked as though she were made for decorating pastries, but looks were meant to deceive.
Arthie opened the door to her office. “If only her mother was as concerned for her well-being.”
Jin was still scowling. “Did you at least tell her about the job?”
“I don’t make a habit of talking twice, Jin. So no, not yet,” Arthie said. “We’ve only got four in our crew right now.”
Jin picked up the vase on her desk. “Should have kept the flowers. Poor captain boy.”
“They matched my hair quite well, didn’t you think?” Arthie asked, turning away when his eyebrows shot up. She pulled on her baker boy hat and stepped back out to the balcony hall before he could tease her again.
Laith was still seated at the same table, strands of that unnaturally bright white hair dusting his forehead. Arthie wasn’t naive. He spoke with an accent, he wore the clothes of his kingdom, he walked with a distinct pride many foreigners shed like a coat—he was new to Ettenia. Too new to be so invested in the ledger and taking down the Ram. Too new to care for a country such as this.
She didn’t like the idea of him breathing down her neck, privy to her every word, but this was White Roaring. Comfort was hard to come by—even coffins were made of stone.
“Waiting on you, habibti,” he called as she started down the stairs. She didn’t know what that meant and didn’t want to ask. It was likely an insult. He stood up, and the sun cast his eyes in honey and spice. “Where to?”
Arthie pulled up her collar, and Jin picked up his umbrella. “We’re going to 337 Alms Place to recruit our fifth.”
10
FLICK
Flick glazed her lips with a fresh coat of pink as she crossed the street. She had missed it. The carriages rattling past, the horses trotting away from the newsboys waving papers with the day’s gossip, the hustle and bustle and how insignificant it made her feel. How she could walk and laugh and twirl and no one would scrutinize or rebuke her. She passed a few Plodders with the lurid yellow popped collars common to the gang, and then a stand displaying flowers in the same color as her lavender dress and lopsided cap.
Everyone knew who lived at 337 Alms Place, but Flick didn’t know how Matteo Andoni fit into Arthie and Jin’s plans. Surely he hadn’t allied with them. Flick unlatched the gate and stepped onto the cobblestone walkway, where Arthie, Jin, and someone she didn’t recognize were waiting.
What would her mother think if she saw her now? Did her mother even know she’d been arrested? Had it only made her angrier, or did she miss her? It would be over soon, Flick told herself. She was going to fix everything.
Jin turned at Flick’s approaching footsteps, and she wondered if she imagined his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “I knew you couldn’t resist an invitation.”
“Hello, Jin,” she said.
“Flick.” Arthie inclined her head. “Glad you could join us. I thought you could use some fresh air. I’m sure mother dearest will forgive you for it.”
Flick froze, but Arthie turned away almost instantly. They were just words, Flick told herself. Arthie couldn’t know what Flick was planning.
“We haven’t met,” the boy she didn’t recognize said. He was far more cordial than she had expected. “You must be the talented forger I’ve heard much about. Honored to make your acquaintance.”
“My name is Flick,” she said, abashed.
“Laith,” he said, tipping his head.
Jin scowled. “I don’t think you want to get chummy with the Horned Guard.”
Flick gasped, stepping away from him. “You—”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Laith said. His voice had a calmness to it that settled her nerves. “As far as I know, Felicity Linden is locked behind bars.”
Up ahead, the manor door opened and a butler stepped out.
“Afternoon, Ivor,” Jin called. “It’s your favorite dashing duo again!”
The man called Ivor looked disdainful.
“Here to see Matteo,” Arthie added.
Though Flick hesitated to call Arthie graceful, there was precision in her movements. She lived and breathed a type of fluidity born from confidence, and Flick was envious of her boldness.
Ivor drew himself up to his full height, which was really only a smidge taller than Arthie, and his mustache puffed out with his chest. “Master Andoni is not taking visitors.”
“Remember our meeting last night? He’ll want to see me,” Arthie said. It sounded like a threat, though Flick didn’t understand how Arthie could threaten someone as well-loved as him. “Go on. We’ll wait.”
Ivor glared and turned on his heel. Arthie leisurely pulled out her watch with one hand, the other hand in her pocket.
“Matteo Andoni?” Laith asked when they were alone. “Is that how you intend to fetch the ledger? With a rake?”
Arthie looked back. Her eyes were molten honey beneath the brim of her cap. “We’ll have our ledger without you insulting my methods.”
Something small squeezed through the gate and stumbled to the guard’s ankle. “There you are.”
It was a kitten. Her fur was dove gray and mostly white, as bright as his hair. Her tiny claws dug into the leather of his boots, and both Arthie and Jin looked skeptical when he crouched and picked her up with gentle hands.
Flick gasped. “She’s adorable! Where did you get such a precious darling?”
“I found her cornered and pawing at a snake. Poor thing would have died if I hadn’t found her in time,” Laith said, and then his gaze turned distant. “I know a helpless soul when I see one.”
“I want to know what the skinny bloke mixes in his tea,” Jin said under his breath, flummoxed. Flick had to admit the guard’s words were a tad sanctimonious.
“Of course the saint would have a cat,” Arthie said.
Laith rubbed the kitten’s chin and looked at Arthie. “You know, criminal, I’d prefer if you called me by my name. The sooner you treat me like a member of your crew, the easier it will be for all of us.”
She smiled, sweet and amiable and threatening, and Flick stepped between them before they could snap at each other’s throats. She scratched under the babe’s chin until her yellow-green, marble-like eyes fell to slits. “Does she have a name?”
Laith looked as if he hadn’t even considered that she might need a name. Flick thought names were important. They told you a lot about someone, which was why she felt she was more of a Flick than a Felicity. She’d outgrown her name when her mother had outgrown her love.
The front door swung open again, and the butler appeared.
“Aren’t you going to invite us in, Ivor?” Arthie asked, like they were vampires who needed inviting.
Ivor hesitantly stepped onto the threshold with a frown so deep it looked right about ready to slip off.
“Come in,” he said, in as much of a grouse as a respectable butler could muster. “Welcome to the Andoni Residence.”
* * *
Flick’s heart was racing in her rib cage as the butler led them through the house, first past a receiving room, then down a hall lined with cabinets stocked with antiquities. The air felt rich and homely all at once, making her wish for a blanket and a book to curl up with on one of the oversize armchairs they’d passed along the way.
She was pulled from the fantasy when Arthie murmured something to Jin, who proceeded to turn a keen eye to their surroundings—and not, it seemed, to appreciate the decor.
Was Flick wading into something she should not be involved in? You were arrested, she reminded herself. Even if she wasn’t in a prison cell, she couldn’t wade much further than that.
Still, she was a sheep among wolves, dainty and colorful compared to their sharp lines and dark cuts. She was meant for needlework and gossip, not pistols and blackmail. Young women of her age and status were swooning over suitors and naming future children, not marching with the likes of the Casimirs.
Flick liked that about Arthie. She not only defied society, she owned that defiance. She had forged a crown for herself when the world told her she was not meant to have one. Flick wondered if Laith saw the same in Arthie, and if that was why he watched her so intently. For it wasn’t the scrutiny a guard gave a criminal, no. She wondered if Arthie shared Laith’s interest. If there was ever a type Flick didn’t want to involve herself with, it was the Horned Guard. She had too many crimes to her name.
“Almost done giving us the tour then, Ivor?” Jin called as they turned down yet another hall. “Can’t wait to see the kitchen pantry.”
Not that I’m here to involve myself with anyone, she reasoned when Jin closed in beside her and she had to remind herself to breathe.
The butler ignored him, leading them into a wide and well-furnished parlor, its drawn drapes standing in contrast to the chandelier bathing the room and its crimson baroque walls in gilded warmth. It was as rich as her mother’s estate, but it oozed comfort and warmth.
“No,” a voice was saying. “I’d rather not.”
A figure stepped through another door, more statue than man, far too beautiful to be real. Matteo Andoni. A girl was beside him, insisting on something, and noticing her flushed skin and low-cut bodice, Flick could tell what he was turning down. Matteo was widely desired, but it was well-known that he kept to himself. He wasn’t the rake Laith said he was.
Flick’s hand flew to her throat when the girl turned around. It was Beatrice MacArdle. She had snickered at Flick’s gown last season, and now here she was with her own mostly undone. The girl said something else, but Matteo shook his head, and she turned with a screech before stomping out of the parlor.
“A little warning would have been appreciated, old boy,” he said, voice low. He was a lot younger than Flick thought he’d be. “I was quite busy.”
Ivor didn’t bat an eye. “Apologies, sire.”
“Did you just turn down Miss MacArdle?” Jin asked with a whistle as the butler closed the doors behind himself. Flick didn’t like that he knew her.
“The voices and faces blur together when they all want the same thing,” Matteo said almost tiredly, but then he saw Arthie, and a grin curved his mouth. “Two visits in less than a day? Oh, darling, I knew you would miss me.”
“Sit down, Andoni,” Arthie said. “We have to talk.”
He looked at her through hooded emerald eyes, the slow drawl of his voice making Flick feel as if she was listening in on something she shouldn’t. “That tone gives me shivers.”
