City of Dragons

Hest’s mind was racing. Despite his acuity as a Trader, he’d never considered the matter in that light. He’d been too infuriated over the humiliation that Alise and Sedric had heaped on him. One-fifteenth of a newly discovered Elderling city, under his control to exploit? The thought took his breath away, even as another idea soured his belly and made his heart hammer. He obviously had a piece of information his father did not. When he’d heard that Alise had apparently abandoned him and run off with Sedric, he suspected the first part was true and that the second part was gossip. Nonetheless, he had entrusted her to Sedric’s management. That his paramour “secretary” had not shepherded his wife back home to him was both Sedric’s failure and his insult to Hest.

Hest had sent a messenger bird of his own, one that announced he would not be responsible for any debts they incurred on their expedition and that he would not allow his credit to be used to advance them any funds. Did that mean he had severed Sedric as an employee? Could Sedric then claim a share of the city in his own right?

A few moments ago, he had not even considered that he might have a claim to Kelsingra. Now to think that it might be only half as large as it could have been, due to a moment of temper on his part, made him blanch. His father would be furious with him. But only if he found out about it. If he got to Sedric first, he was sure he could bring him back to heel and restore him to his previously doting status. He had been infatuated with Hest since he was a youngster. An assurance that Hest would not turn him out was probably all that was needed to have him dangling after him again.

As for Alise . . . well, a marriage contract was, first and foremost, a contract. What she “felt” about the situation mattered not at all. She was bound by her word and signature as a Bingtown Trader’s daughter. He would hold her to it. That was all. She could come willingly, and he’d put her back in his home, with her scrolls and books and papers. Or she could fight him and come back to find herself little better than a servant. He’d done her a great social favor by marrying her. Her family would have to be fools not to urge her to return to her proper place. And that would be the lever he could use against her: if she fought him at all, he could threaten her family’s dignity and fortune. Then she would do as she was bid.

“Are you listening?” his father demanded abruptly.

“Of course I am!” Hest lied indignantly.

“Well, then, which ship and which departure date do you prefer? News of this new city has increased interest in the Rain Wilds to a fever pitch. Everyone with a cousin in Trehaug or Cassarick will be trying to book passage, to see if there is a way to make some money from this. If you want a berth on one of the ships going up the river, you’d best buy your passage today.”

“Have your man do it for me, would you? With Sedric off gallivanting, I’m afraid I’ve had to do all my own secretarial work—”

“Go to the docks. Book yourself a passage.” His father spoke in an adamant voice tinged with all the disgust of a man who did things for himself and found it inconceivable that his son would delegate those tasks to underlings.

Hest kept his expression bland. Once, years ago, he’d tried to explain to his father that he was a man of some importance in Bingtown, a Trader with a substantial fortune and ships of his own and that men like that did not go tramping off to arrange their own travel or choose their own ham from some merchant’s smoking rack. The argument that followed had been long and tedious as his father had asserted that that was how he had risen to importance and he would not consign the details of his life to someone else. Hest was braced for just such a lecture again when his mother made her entrance into his father’s study.

His mother never just walked into a room. Sealia Finbok entered like a ship in full sail. Her luxuriant black hair was pinned up and topped with a flower arrangement that Hest privately thought more suitable to a table than a woman’s head. She had always been buxom, and age had only increased her abundance. She wore, as she almost always did, a garment modeled on an old-fashioned robe in their Trader’s color, a rich purple. He suspected that she thought it reminded everyone she might encounter of their status. Also it was less confining than a more modern gown would have been. The simplicity of her attire was negated by the costly fabric she had chosen for it. She advanced, arms already gaping wide to engulf him.

“My poor dear boy! How can he expect you to manage anything when your heart must be aching so! Who would have thought it of Alise? She seemed such a mouse of a woman, so content to simply stay in her own home. I am convinced that when the full tale is told, there will be much more to the story. No woman in her right mind would ever forsake you! What other man could compare to you! And Sedric has been your friend for so long; however could he betray you so? My dear, dear boy! No. Something has befallen them in that foul place, some sort of dark Rain Wild magic.”