Page 2 of The Rebel's Prize

He raised an eyebrow and glanced quickly at the other men at the table. "Is that so? Well, Madame, if it's business you want to discuss, then perhaps you'd better follow me to my...office."

Chloe forced herself not to check her hand when he called her "Madame." The band of rubies Lucien had given her on their wedding day hung from a chain around her neck, well hidden by her clothes. It was worth far too much for the kind of woman she was pretending to be to own and would be a tempting target for thieves. Plus another key to her identity. So, to a casual observer, her marital status was anyone's guess. And it was more polite to call a woman on her own "madame" than "mamsille." Mamsille, in certain environments—like cheap dockside inns—might indicate a certain presumption of...availability.

Not that she really had much idea whether she was still married. She'd left Lucien behind and had no idea if she would be able to fix things between them should she get the chance. Or what that might mean if she did. She did know the absence of both the bond they'd shared and the man himself nagged at her like a missing limb.

Don't think about Lucien.

She had to deal with Samuel. Find Deandra. Without that, the state of her marriage would be something of a moot point because she likely wouldn't return to Lumia.

"Very well," she agreed.

Samuel slid out from behind the table and put his hand on her elbow. "This way." He hustled her across the room and out a side door before she had a chance to say much more. Then it was up a rickety-looking flight of wooden stairs and down a hallway.

"Where—" she started to ask, but he shook his head.

"Not until we're inside."

They reached a door at the end of the hallway, and he produced a brass key from his jacket pocket. After one last glance around the clearly deserted hall, he unlocked the door and then tugged her through it before locking it firmly behind them.

He leaned against it, arms folded. "All right," he said. "Care to explain exactly what in the salt-cursed depths of hell you're doing here, love?"

She took a breath, scanning the room carefully. A simple wooden desk, two equally plain chairs on either side of it. A fireplace, already lit, with a small rug pocked with scorch marks in front of it. A lantern hung above the desk, and two more bracketed the fireplace. Not much else, barring some loose sheets of paper, an ink bottle, and blotter on the table. The shutters were closed, so she couldn't get her bearings as to where exactly in the building they were. Perhaps it was, as he'd said, the room where he did business. So business she would do.

She squared her shoulders. "Looking for you."

His brown eyes narrowed. "That part I understand. The part I don't understand iswhy. Last I heard, you had departed...er, the place I saw you last. I assumed you'd be happily back home with your family where you belong."

It was her turn to narrow her eyes. "You were keeping track of me?" If so, how much did he know? Had he heard about her marriage?

"I keep track of the news from Anglion. Queen Sophia has made that particular line of my work dry up. Though it does make the legitimate side easier. But I'm guessing that's not what you're interested in. Not when you're supposed to be safely home in Lumia, not roaming through a dockside inn in Jinkara looking for me. So let me ask again, love. Why are you here?"

"I'm traveling up to Partha. I need to do so incognito. I can't go by sea. I thought perhaps you might have more connections than just your ship and could help me find passage in a caravan traveling that way."

His expression turned steely. "I remember you having a cast-iron stomach, so I can only think of one good reason why a water mage doesn't want to travel by water." He glanced over her shoulder. "Am I to take it that if I upset you, I might find myself addressing an angry sanctii?"

She stared at him a moment. There was more silver in his hair and beard now, and the lines beside his eyes, testament of his years of wind and weather at sea, were deeper than she remembered. But he was still handsome. Still the man who'd helped her get over some of the worst of her grief in Anglion. Still, she hoped, a friend. And still too clever for his own good. One didn't survive as long as he did smuggling people and other goods around the empire without being clever. She could lie to him, but if he found her out, he might refuse to help her.

"Yes."

"That's fast work. You can only have been home a few months."

"Nearly five," she said. "And I had time to make up for."

"Just as well that you're not asking to go back to Anglion, then. A sanctii would make that difficult."

"I'm aware," she said dryly. "Are you going to stand guard at the door the entire time, or can we sit down while we talk like civilized people?"

"I'm not that civilized, love," he said. But he stepped away from the door. "Your sanctii can guard the door as well as I can." He reached into his pocket again and pulled out an old gold coin on a chain. "And this will make sure no one can hear us."

"A scriptii?" She leaned closer, fascinated despite herself. "With an aural ward?"

He nodded and moved past her to the table, placing the scriptii on the wooden surface. A faint chime rang through the air. Presumably that meant it was active. He'd told her once that he had a small talent for illusion, though she'd never seen him use it. She imagined it had come in handy in his line of work.

But better not to think too much on illusioners. That would only make her think of the one she'd left behind in Lumia.

Samuel took one of the chairs and drew it back. "Have a seat."

She settled herself, loosening the buttons that held her cloak closed. "As I said, I'm looking to travel to Partha."

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