Page 83 of Song of the Shadow Prince
Garrick nodded. “There’s little I don’t know about that happens in Elaria. I know the Ryders are going bankrupt… and you’re right.” He waved to the assembled chests. “This isn’t enough to make a dent in what they owe. It would be a waste to give it to Lord Zacharia.”
I sighed. “I’m glad you agree.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s right,” he countered shrewdly. “You might not be Lady Arya, but that’s the family Maeve serves. Not helping them is cruel. And erasing Maeve’s memories is even crueler.”
I lowered my head in shame. “She’s too emotional, Garrick. Sometimes we have to make hard choices for the greater good.”
He nodded. “Very well. Stay here.” He slowly went upstairs, the wood steps creaking with each footfall.
While Maeve sleptoff the memory wipe in an upstairs bedroom, Garrick and I spent the next few hours squirreling the money chests back into their hiding spots so Maeve wouldn’t stumble onto them. After removing a hefty sum for me and also Garrick as payment for services rendered, the warlock placed a cloaking spell over them so no one would find them.
My insides churned uneasily. Garrick was right. It was messed up to ask him to wipe her memory, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I knew in my bones that Maeve would mess up the plan, good intentioned or not. And I had to avoid that at all costs.
We finished cleaning up downstairs and I started to put on my cloak. Garrick looked up at me with a frown. “What are your plans now?”
“I need to go to the Southern District. There’s a carriage waiting for me outside.”
He furrowed his brows. “Aren’t you going to wait for Maeve? You shouldn’t travel alone. You don’t know your way around Elaria well enough and—”
“I won’t be alone.” I tied the cloak at my neck.
Garrick narrowed his eye. “Who are you going with?”
“Klaus,” I answered nonchalantly.
His eye widened. “By the immortals, my lady! You’re not summoning him, are you?”
I nodded. “I promised him I would.”
He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re trying to get yourself killed, my lady. If the emperor learns what you’ve done—”
“I’ll be fine,” I interrupted calmly. “Klaus will protect me.”
“Will he protect Arya’s family, too?” he shouted. “Because you’re putting them all at risk!”
I gulped. I hadn’t thought about them. It was foolish of me not to remember that my actions had consequences. Raising my chin, I blustered, “I’ll protect them.”
“How?” he scoffed. “You can hardly protect yourself!”
“I have my ways,” I said confidently. I always had a way of getting out of messes. I’d figure it out when the time came.
“When it comes to the emperor, my lady… you know I can’t help you,” Garrick murmured. “That’s a line I won’t cross.”
I wanted to ask what happened between the two of them. What did the emperor ask him to do that was so ghastly, Garrick rejected him and lost an eye for his dissent? But I kept quiet because I knew he wouldn’t tell me. We weren’t that close. Not yet, anyway.
“I understand,” I said. “I won’t put you in that position. Just protect the beach house.”
Garrick huffed but kept his arguments to himself, turning his back to me. Without another word, I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and darted out of the house to the waiting carriage.
The driver helped me up the short steps into the carriage and I settled on the upholstered bench. With a sharp snap of the reins, the carriage began to move.
“Where to, my lady?” the driver called out.
“The Broken Tankard.”
It waslate in the afternoon, the sun was setting, and everyone was getting off work and hitting up the tavern to relieve their stress for the day. The familiar raucous atmosphere of The Broken Tankard washed over me as I shouldered my way through the throng of patrons, my cloak’s hood pulled down low to hide my face. Spilled ale and the musk of labor-worn bodies mingled with the tang of smoke from a dozen pipes and cigars. Laughter and clinking glasses punctuated the lively conversations, a stark contrast to the dim lighting that barely reached the tavern's far corners.
The gambling corner of the tavern was particularly congested. A thick crowd surrounded the tables, where the air was thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of tobacco and sweat. Voices rose and fell in rapid succession—shouts of triumph mingling with groans of despair. The space was cramped, the air close; every inch I moved required negotiation, an apologetic smile, or a firm elbow. The corner was a cacophony of shouts amid the sharp rattle of dice on wooden surfaces.
