Night Rose, page 20
Even if it meant surrounding herself with people who were not as familiar with the politeness and expectations of Ardorists.
It would be enough.
It had to be.
Chapter 19
The morning after Simeon had briefed her on the competition, Briatta retreated to the Belrose library upon returning from her job at Sour Soup, asking Preida to bring her breakfast there rather than joining her family. Her head was pounding from the wine that she’d drunk with her siblings the night before, and the idea of facing Owena made her queasy.
A week at her job had given Briatta a greater appreciation for how hard the lower class worked just to live, but it hadn’t pushed her in the direction that Owena had likely wanted it to. Rather than gaining respect for the people she toiled alongside and recognizing them as her equals, Briatta only felt more desperate to succeed in the Ackmanlee to find a way into the life that she wanted.
Shaking her head and resolving to return to the matter later, Briatta spread the Weilers’ mock case file across the study table. With only one cycle to accomplish the mission, she didn’t have time to dwell on anything but this—not if she wanted to win.
Case files were something she’d studied her entire life with the Night Roses, but this was particularly vague and nondescript. Briatta grudgingly supposed the Weilers wanted to see what the competitors would do with the small amount of information. She’d have to approach this as if she were building a case from the ground up, not as though there was already substantial material prepared.
She knew that a young Elfean named Tallor had last been seen a few weeks ago at a bar near Parkette Street called Allemor House with his friends, which they regularly attended in the evenings.
Friends. That was a potentially essential piece of information, and it had to have been included intentionally, given how little there was otherwise. Perhaps the Weilers had planted witnesses she could find and interview. Though, it was also possible that they would plant that information to try and lead competitors in the wrong direction.
She pulled a blank sheet of paper towards her and started taking notes.
Briatta knew of Allemor House. She’d visited several times on observation runs for targets that the Night Roses had neutralized, though she’d never once been there recreationally. It seemed she still did not have a reason to visit Allemor House for anything other than work.
With the mention of Allemor House, there was also a note about reports of missing medicine, food, liquor, and water supplies from sporadic points throughout Montclair. A map had been included, with each location circled in red, and Briatta consulted it before adding a few points to the list she’d begun. The connection between the cases had been confirmed—Simeon had told her as much—and they appeared to be supply runs. If one were running an organized crime group, they would need all the things that had been stolen.
There wasn’t much else in the file, though profiles of Tallor and a few of his friends were also tucked alongside small sketches.
Briatta finished the dregs of the tea that Preida had brought, then packed a book and a notepad into a bag, checking to ensure she had all her daggers before tucking the case file safely away in her room. She wore her casual combat clothes to blend in.
Thankfully, no one seemed to be home when Briatta left the library, and she slipped out without running into either of her siblings or her aunt.
That was one small blessing.
When Briatta reached Allemor House, it was quiet and appeared to be closed, which was expected because it was early in the bioday, and the bar was best known for its evening atmosphere. Briatta moved to the rear entrance, pulling her lockpick set from her trouser pocket. The lock didn’t take long to work open, clicking softly in response to Briatta’s gentle ministrations. She tucked her picks back into her pants and opened the door, slipping inside.
Briatta swept the premises, checking every surface for possible hints and finding nothing obvious. She hadn’t expected to find anything, because it would have been three weeks since Tallor had last been seen here, but she needed to ensure she had done her job thoroughly.
Double-checking that she hadn’t left any evidence of her own, Briatta exited the building the same way she’d entered, locking the door behind her with her picks. She would return later to observe the servers and patrons, but her job here was done for now.
Briatta had memorized the locations where a theft had occurred, and she worked her way through Montclair, attending to each one. She questioned the Elfeans working in the stores, inquiring about the missing goods.
The people Briatta interviewed seemed ignorant of the reports and had no idea what she was talking about in regard to their stolen goods, and Briatta grew frustrated as the day wore on. If the Weilers expected her to build and crack a case against this imaginary group, why hadn’t they planted more information for the contestants to find?
“What am I missing?” Briatta muttered as she left one of the marked locations after another fruitless discussion. She’d only made it to three so far, and it was already nearing the time when she should return to Allemor House.
Briatta could practically hear Owena’s cool analysis of the situation in her left ear as she walked, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder.
They’re probably testing the contestants’ persistence, so it’s likely only a few of these workers have been prepared, her aunt would say.
Shuddering at the thought of Owena’s voice living in her head, Briatta tried to convince herself it was her own subconscious giving voice to the idea, because it made the most sense that it would come from Owena. And damned if imaginary-Owena wasn’t right. If Briatta were the one trying to find a candidate to work on a complex case—which, based on the lack of information thus far, she was now sure was the reason for this entire competition—she would want to find someone who would work out all the evidence they could. No matter what issues they ran into.
Briatta sighed. One more stop, then.
Unsurprisingly, the last visit of the day was just as unsuccessful as the first three, and Briatta left the building as soon as it was clear that the young man working the store had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Her stomach rumbled, and she glanced at her timepiece. She would get food at Allemor House.
As she walked back towards Parkette Street, Briatta’s thoughts strayed to Owena. Her aunt had never shut her out like this before, and she couldn’t help feeling irritated because it seemed like an extreme reaction. Sure, Briatta had drunk a little too much and had said some stupid things, but she was doing her best to make up for it.
If anything were to happen to her family, Briatta would go to the ends of Carceron for them. She would probably die for them. Probably.
Perhaps that was her one redeeming quality. Adjusting to change was difficult, but once she was there, Briatta would back up her friends and family with all the training she’d ever received and then some. Maybe she would even use her Ardor and expose herself if it meant her loved ones were safe.
It was just that even when Briatta had her friends’ backs, she’d rarely done anything that hadn’t also benefited herself in some way. Maybe that was why Owena had forced her to get a job, and why Neven had chosen the list that he had; none of them benefited Briatta outside the meager pay she received.
And of all the options, she’d chosen what she’d perceived to be the easiest one.
Briatta stalked down the sidewalk, exhaling sharply with the realization that she barely reaped anything for the work she did each morning milking the cows and goats and collecting the eggs. It was also a nuisance to rise so early every day and get to Sour Soup in time to take care of everything.
But it was a little rewarding.
Briatta found that she liked how Leah beamed whenever Briatta brought in the fruits of her labor and handed them over. It made her feel proud to see someone so grateful for the yield of such a physical task.
Every day, Leah told her what she’d be making with the ingredients that Briatta harvested and how many people it would feed, and Briatta had to admit that it was…nice.
Not that she would tell Owena or even Neven that yet. This tentative, fragile peace she was beginning to feel about her new life…that was hers. She wanted to keep it safe and tucked away for a little longer. Then, when she could face Owena and Neven knowing that she meant every word of her apologies, because they deserved nothing less, she would settle comfortably into this new version of herself.
Founders, it had only been a week. She really couldn’t change that much in a week.
Briatta shook her head and returned to the task at hand. She’d mentally crossed out the locations on the map where people blatantly hadn’t known anything and would physically write them out on a separate piece of paper when she returned home, in addition to listing the ones that she wanted to visit the next day.
Allemor House came into view then, and it was just opening for business. A few employees were setting up umbrellas that would protect people from the Polar Sun until the biodome darkened, and some Elfeans were already in line for an early evening drink or meal.
Briatta chose a seat outside and set her bag beside it. A few moments later, a server approached.
“How can I help you?” she asked, pulling out a notepad and looking at Briatta expectantly.
Briatta ordered cider and a meat stew, her stomach rumbling. The woman left, and Briatta noted no one from Tallor’s staged friend group had arrived yet, as the case file had explicitly said evenings. But perhaps she could learn something else by being here early. Like the case file, Briatta had memorized the faces of each of Tallor’s friends, and she mentally flipped through them, reciting the facts for each one as she observed the restaurant.
When she finished with that, she picked up the menu and searched for the list of suppliers to see if there were any connections between the restaurant and the thefts. There were a few, and she mentally made notes of that.
Briatta’s cider arrived, and she took a sip. It was dry and semi-sweet—exactly how she liked it—flavored lightly with some of the dark berries that had been altered to survive more efficiently within the biodomes. They were supposedly more honey-flavored than they had been originally, and it lent a lovely accent to the crisp golden apples that Elfeans treasured.
Someone approached her table, and Briatta, noticing the movement in her peripheral vision, slipped the images of the friends back into her bag and looked up. Neven pulled a chair out and sat down, and Briatta felt a flicker of annoyance at his presence.
“Neven,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Neven lifted a brow and leaned back in his chair. “I’m here for the first meeting of your new art club.”
Momentarily taken aback, Briatta’s jaw slackened as she stared at him. And then, it clicked. Neven somehow knew she’d been accepted into the Ackmanlee. Even without knowing the competition involved a case file, he would have known she would immediately stake out any locations involved. And, as they’d done a hundred times before for Night Rose missions, he had just given them a reason to come back to this place without raising suspicion by announcing a fictional art club. The tension of his arrival abruptly shifted to irritation, and Briatta made a mental note to beat up whoever had tipped Neven off when she returned home.
“I don’t need help.” Briatta lifted her cider, taking a drink to avoid saying anything more.
“I know,” Neven replied. “But I thought you might want some company while you’re out studying for your art. Some say I’m inspiring.”
He pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil, glanced around the room, and began to draw.
Briatta fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d gone many places on her own when working a case, and Neven had never seemed to care very much about being separated. But that was when he’d been doing his own part to help. As Briatta looked around Allemor House, she noted that there weren’t any other single patrons in the vicinity.
“Fine,” she relented. “But just this once. I want to do this on my own.”
Something like frustration passed over Neven’s face, but he nodded without protest. The waitress returned with Briatta’s food, and Neven eyed her stew before ordering a second bowl along with an ale.
As Briatta dug in, a young woman with long, smooth black hair entered the outdoor seating area with a cute leather satchel slung over her shoulder. As she moved, it was evident she was well muscled, and as she adjusted her bag, her arm flexed with the movement. She had slanted dark eyes similar to Simeon’s and a pale, clear complexion. Pausing just inside the front door, she turned her head to take stock of her surroundings.
Another contestant?
Briatta watched as she took a seat near the bar. Like Briatta, she soon had food and a drink, but no one joined her. Glancing at Neven to see if he’d noticed, Briatta chewed thoughtfully.
“How’s your job going?” Neven asked, a detailed sketch of the restaurant’s interior taking shape on his paper. “Leah says you’ve been doing well.”
Sighing, Briatta set her spoon down and leaned back in her seat. “It’s…not what I expected. But it’s growing on me.”
Neven tilted his head in silent question.
“I guess I didn’t fully understand how difficult Ardorists make life for the Ardorless,” Briatta said slowly.
Neven’s gaze remained steady, the tip of his pencil hovering over the sketchbook, but his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. “They want Ardorless folk to suffer for making their jobs maintaining the biodomes harder.”
It made more sense than Briatta cared to admit. Because she still hadn’t fully adjusted to the idea of being an Ardorless member of society in the eyes of the Ardorists she’d been raised around, a terribly uncomfortable feeling swelled within her.
“I think…that’s what Owena wanted me to understand,” Briatta admitted after a long silence. Neven’s food arrived, and he pulled it toward himself after tucking the sketchbook safely back inside his satchel, sipping his beer before looking down at his plate with a troubled expression.
“It might seem harsh, how she’s treating you,” Neven began eventually. “But I think she is trying to save you from the difficulties of realizing it later. When she wouldn’t be able to help you anymore.”
Briatta’s heart clenched because it was so evident when Neven put it that way, a wave of tremendous relief washing over her. Owena had never been one to manage her charges with such rigidity; she’d cared for them far too much as her sister’s children. Perhaps she had even given them more than she should have.
While Briatta still struggled to accept she was worth more than the Ardorists dictated, she felt a little less disgust with herself knowing that at least this, she could acknowledge.
Toying with her food, Briatta bitterly thought that if she’d been born to be such a bad person, why was she cursed with the knowledge that everything she said and did was wrong? At least the Founders could have allowed her to be terrible in ignorance. Then she wouldn’t be constantly weighed down by this crushing guilt.
At that moment, a young man pushed his way into Allemor House. He carried his case file out in the open, and she straightened in her seat, watching as he tracked down a young bartender and pulled out the picture of Tallor.
“Do you know this person?” the young man asked.
The woman squinted at the image when understanding and something else—perhaps excitement—flashed in her eyes before she schooled herself. She, and likely other staff as well, had been prepared for this.
Well, of course, they had. The Weilers would have wanted to judge the performance of the contestants.
“He’s a regular.” The woman nodded solemnly. “Haven’t seen him in a few weeks, though.”
“When does he typically come in?” the man asked, tucking the picture away.
“Every first and third day of the week, always with the same group of people.”
Shit. It was the second day of the week. At least this would not be a late night.
“Is there anyone here now?” the man pressed.
“Sorry, but no. If you come back tomorrow, I can point them out to you,” the woman offered.
The man nodded curtly and left, vanishing through the door as quickly as he’d appeared.
Neven was listening with his head cocked, his interest piqued. Briatta turned back to him, sighing as she downed her cider. Then, she reached for her bag. She may as well play the part of being a member of an art club.
“Not what you hoped for?” Neven asked wryly, a corner of his mouth tilting up.
Briatta narrowed her eyes at him and didn’t say anything. He shrugged and stuffed another bite of food into his mouth.
Someone else approached their table then, and Briatta twisted to see the young woman with raven black hair. Briatta looked up at her, unsmiling and chin high, waiting for the new woman to speak first.
“You’re competing,” the woman said. It wasn’t a question.
Briatta studied the woman’s clothes. They were well suited for combat, and there were definitely spots where weapons could be hidden.
“You are, too,” she said at last, returning her gaze to the lady’s pitch-dark eyes.
“I think that it may be in our best interest to work together.” The woman’s head tilted as she looked down at Briatta, waiting quietly for a response.
Briatta immediately stiffened. She loathed the idea of sharing the win and had already dismissed the thought of a team the moment Simeon had said that it was possible.
But another thought had occurred to her, one that she’d ignored at the time. Maybe working in a team was part of the test. They wouldn’t have encouraged it if they hadn’t wanted to see how contestants functioned in a group setting, especially when Simeon had specifically said there would be a penalty for betraying a team member. Briatta took a deliberate breath, exhaling slowly before nodding.
