Chapter 11

The Silent Quill was an underground tavern where deals were brokered in hushed tones and discretion was paramount. Hidden in a narrow back alley, a faded sign depicting a feather dripping with ink—or maybe blood—hung above an unassuming wooden door. It was in a particularly unsavory part of town, and I'd already checked and rechecked my knives several times. The hinges creaked as I tugged the heavy door open and found a short flight of stone steps lit by flickering torchlight.

A hobgoblin bouncer sat on a stool next to a second door at the bottom, his keen, yellow eyes watching my every step. He sat up straighter while I descended and reached a hand into his pocket.

When my foot was on the bottom step, I paused and said, "Ink runs deep."

It seemed like a silly password to me, and I hoped my information was correct. I hadn't been here in a long time, so my firsthand knowledge was outdated, and I'd been forced to ask a street contact. Bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet, I tensed as the bouncer slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket.

His fingers reappeared, clutching a toothpick that he shoved between his pointed teeth with a grunt. I released my breath and let my shoulders relax. The hobgoblin pushed the door open and the smoky aroma of burning wood and tobacco, mixed with the faint scent of aged whiskey, wafted out. He waved me inside and began energetically excavating in his mouth with the toothpick.

Feigning indifference, I entered the tavern and heard the door click shut behind me. The low ceiling and rough stone walls gave the space a claustrophobic feeling that the handful of candle sconces did little to alleviate. A gnome with a patch over one eye stood behind the bar, wiping a shot glass with a rag. He glanced up as I walked in, but when I shook my head, returned to his cleaning.

Widely spaced tables dotted the center of the room where lesser fae, humans, and shifters sat in small groups muttering and plotting. Individual booths lined two walls. All were in shadow, but some had curtains drawn for additional privacy. I glanced at the tables, rapidly assessing the most dangerous patrons, but my destination was the most secluded booth at the back of the tavern. Halder had a permanent table at the Silent Quill, and no one was foolish enough to sit there in his absence.

I strode across the room to an alcove carved into the stone wall and screened by a velvet curtain. Eyes tracked my progress, and the skin between my shoulder blades tingled with awareness. The curtain was open, and a lone candle burned on the table in the recess, leaving any occupants in shadow. When I was close enough, I was relieved to see that only one person sat inside. I did not fancy standing around waiting for Halder's clients to finish their business. People who hired assassins tended to be a twitchy lot, and I had no desire to be a witness to their transactions.

As I slipped into the empty seat, I felt a magical ward that dampened sound drop around the booth. I was extremely sensitive to protective magic spells and could feel their presence when others could not. I thought it might be tied to my shifter abilities since rats were highly aware of their surroundings, but I didn't know any others like me, so I had no one to ask.

"Remy," a rough voice rasped. "What a surprise."

Halder leaned forward so that his angular features were illuminated in the flickering flame of the candle. Olive skin, deep green eyes flecked with gold, high cheekbones—other than some silver threading his raven-black hair, he looked much the same as he had when he left the guild a dozen years ago. I doubted I'd age anywhere near as well and wondered if there was a distant hint of fae in his pedigree.

"Hello, Halder. It's good to see you."

"Is it?" He lifted a brow. "You knew where to find me." He gestured around the room. "You could have come anytime."

I squirmed a little and looked down at my hands, clasped loosely on the table. Twelve years later and the man could still make me feel like a child. But I was no longer that street urchin desperate to survive. I lifted my eyes and met his gaze evenly.

"Things got busy; life moved on. You know how it is." I kept my tone light and let a smile play across my lips.

"Indeed." He studied me for a moment. "I suppose you were working toward master status."

Despite my best effort to remain expressionless, he must have seen something in my face, because he cocked his head to one side. "You are a master, are you not?" he asked.

"Not yet."

Halder leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "You were an excellent thief, even as a boy, and your skills at information gathering are unparalleled. You should have been made a master years ago." He frowned. "Did my outside hobbies taint your reputation?"

I wasn't sure poison qualified as a hobby, but I just shrugged. "No one's ever said as much. They blame it on my unwillingness to take on management responsibilities."

Halder let out a whoop of laughter. "I call bullshit. When did accounting become a required skill for breaking and entering?" Then he sobered. "What exactly are they pushing you to do?"

"Lead a team. Work a desk. Train an apprentice." I shuddered at the thought.

He nodded and sighed. "They're afraid you'll go rogue working alone. They want to tie you more tightly to them."

I rubbed my temples and gritted my teeth, wishing I'd picked up a drink when I came in. To be tied down was the worst fate I could imagine, and I wasn't even good at these sorts of tasks. Look at the cock-up I was making with Ziola. But this wasn't the time to fret about the guild's plans for my future. If half of what the masters had said about the Eye of Oris's power was true, there were much bigger problems to worry about.

I waved away his comment and said, "I don't want to think about that now. I'm trying to find an object that recently arrived in Sageport."

Halder's brows lifted. "That's a bit vague. Why come to me?"

"Because my usual network of pickpockets, urchins, art fences, jewelry brokers, and streetwalkers isn't likely to know much about something like this. I can't get in to steal something when I don't know where to start."

"You know I'm no longer in the business of collecting information."

"But your clientele moves in the circles where this will probably surface."

"And what do you know of my clients?" Halder leaned forward. The candlelight glinted in his eyes as the paternal veneer melted from his face, revealing the cold killer underneath.

"Only that they are wealthy and powerful—magically and politically." I held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, even as I mentally prepared to grab my knives.

He sat back with his genial mask firmly restored, and I lowered my hands to the table. Damn. I didn't remember Halder being so menacing when I was young.

"What is this item that only certain well-placed members of society will know about?"

I sucked in a deep breath before replying. On the trek across the city, I had thought about how much to tell Halder about the Eye. Stealing magical artifacts no longer interested him and he was more inclined to protect his clients' secrets than sell information. But something this powerful would tempt even the most civic-minded individual and no one in our line of work could be considered philanthropic.

Unfortunately, I couldn't think of any way to avoid telling him what I was looking for. "The item in question is a dangerous magical artifact that could cause untold harm in the wrong hands."

Halder crossed his arms and sneered. "And the guild is the right hands?"

I gave him a lopsided grin. "No. But that's better than giving the Fae Council more power."

Halder snorted and said, "Are you sure?"

"At least the guild isn't fighting for power."

"You're too old and too street smart to be that na?ve."

That gave me pause. I was so busy staying out of guild politics and doing my own thing that I had never looked too hard at what went on behind the scenes. I frowned at Halder. Was I being na?ve?

"Never mind," he said and beckoned for me to continue.

"We think it recently arrived in the port, but don't know where it was taken after the ship docked. I'll get the ship's manifest, but that won't tell me much more than her last port of call. I somehow doubt there'll be a convenient entry listing a buyer."

Halder rubbed his chin with a vacant expression for several seconds. "I might know something, but I can't be sure it's relevant." His gaze sharpened on me. "What will you give me in return?"

I gave him my best smile. "My boyish charm isn't enough?"

"No." He shook his head. "That didn't work even when you were twelve."

"How about for old times' sake?"

Halder rolled his eyes. "Try again."

"I could put in a good word for you with some of the street ladies."

He didn't even dignify that comment with a response.

I sighed and grew serious. Even though I'd known it was unlikely, I had hoped Halder would be willing to help me. I had little to offer a man like him. "I don't think I can afford your fees," I finally said.

"I doubt it. But the guild can."

"Oh, that would go over well." I gave a sardonic laugh. "I can just see Lorget and Alford's faces when I tell them I'm paying you."

"They would be sure you'd already gone rogue," he conceded.

"What do you want?" I asked, spreading my hands.

He studied me closely, then said, "A favor. To be collected at a future date."

I sat stock still. A favor could mean anything and could be dangerous. Hells, it unquestionably would be dangerous, but I couldn't think of any alternatives. I sucked in a deep breath. "I won't kill anyone or betray a friend."

After a few heartbeats, he said, "Very well." He lifted his so-far untouched mug to his lips and took a long swallow. "There is an auction in two weeks for an item so valuable that bidders are trying to thin the competition permanently."

I sat back and scratched absently at my cheek. "That might fit. From what I'm told, this item is immensely powerful. Enough that someone could want to kill off rivals."

"I won't tell you who my client is, but the target is a Fae Council member."

Groaning, I ran a hand down my face. "So, the Council is definitely trying to get it. I had kind of hoped that was wrong."

Halder looked at me over the rim of his mug and shook his head. "Powerful magic. Fae Council. What did I say about being na?ve?"

"Yeah, I know. Did your client mention where the auction will be?"

Halder placed his mug on the rough surface of the table. "No. But there are only a few auction houses that could handle something like this. The security will be tight as a virgin on her wedding night."

I blinked at him. Then the ramifications sank in, and I groaned again. Reaching across the table, I grabbed Halder's mug and downed the contents in one gulp. And sputtered, nearly gagging. "What in all the hells was that?" I gasped.

"Buttermilk. My ulcer is acting up."

Halder's laughter followed me all the way to the door.