Page 2 of The Thief's Mark

His back stiffened. Try as he might, he always struggled not to feel like a young boy again in her presence. “High Judge. High Scholar.” He greeted them each with a polite bob of his head. “How may I assist you?”

The High Scholar’s thin face broke into a broad grin below her keen eyes. “Septima here was just telling me about you, but I’d love to hear from you directly. We didn’t get much of a chance to speak when you arrived.”

That was because Griff had beelined straight for his seat as swiftly as propriety had allowed. Of course, that was before the overly talkative High Chancellor had claimed the seat beside him.

“I’m afraid I’m not all that interesting,” Griff told the High Scholar. His gaze briefly flicked to the High Judge’s stern face as he wondered what she’d been saying about him. “But I’m happy to answer your questions.”

“Not that interesting?” the High Scholar chuckled. “I find that difficult to believe. Your recent blackmail case is quite the talk of the town. To think that those merchants had been getting away with their scheme for nearly five years. Then, you came along and saw right through it. I must admit, I’m intrigued by this peculiar talent of yours. Is it true that you can tell when someone is lying?”

Griff had grown used to answering such questions, and he smiled politely. “Sometimes. But a person’s aura is a fickle thing. Everyone’s is unique, with some aspects that rarely change and some that are constantly in flux. A certain hue or quality in one person’s aura might mean something entirely different in another’s. Reading auras helps me intuit information, but more often than not, it’s good old-fashioned detective work that solves a case.”

That had certainly been true of this last one. It would have been so convenient if his aura-sight had let him unravel the mystery at a glance. Yet it had taken weeks of stakeouts, piecing together gathered snippets of overheard conversations with recovered documents, to identify and ensnare all the main culprits.

“I see.” The High Scholar peered at his face, leaning in close enough that he felt a twinge of discomfort. “And if I’m not mistaken, those glasses you’re wearing are of Vantoric design. I’ve never seen their like before. Did you find them here in Derimay?”

It had only been a decade since the artificers of Vantor split from their sister island Astralyn in order to pursue more open trade with Sanjarka. While Vantoric relics remained rare, a handful of skilled artificers had set up shop here in the city.

A familiar regret twinged Griff’s chest as he thought of one in particular. “I did.”

High Scholar Vesalain made a contemplative sound. “From what I can see of the craftsmanship, it looks like exquisite work. Would you mind introducing me to the artificer who made them for you? I’d love to commission my own piece.”

“I can ask. But she’s no longer here in the city. She returned to Vantor four years ago.”

The High Scholar tsked, shaking her head. “Such a shame! I can’t imagine someone capable of such marvelous creations struggling for want of customers. If she encountered any issues, I’d be happy to work with her to resolve them.”

Griff’s chest constricted further. “That’s very generous of you, High Scholar. But that won’t be necessary. It wasn’t Derimay that drove her away. She used to be my wife and decided to leave after we separated.”

High Scholar Vesalain blinked, appearing taken aback. Though whether it was from his words or the matter-of-fact way he said them, he couldn’t tell. “Ah. I…see. Well, that is truly a shame.”

Griff jerked a tight nod. “We’re still in contact, though. I can pass along your information to her if you like.”

“Yes, please do.”

“How is poor Amelie doing?” High Judge Septima said, speaking for the first time since he’d arrived. Her disapproving gaze locked on Griff, making him feel like a naughty schoolboy. “I always liked her…as did your mother. She had quite the head on her shoulders.”

Griff didn’t quite manage to suppress his wince at the mention of his mother. “Amelie is fine. From what I hear, her business is booming back in Vantor.”

“Itshouldbe booming here,” the High Judge replied. “Such a shame what happened between the two of you. I always thought you two made the perfect couple.” Her eyes narrowed on the silver badge he wore pinned to his worn leather trench coat. “But I suppose things change.”

“They do,” he said a touch more brusquely than he’d intended. Usually, he didn’t let such obvious jabs get under his skin. He’d heard far worse in his line of work. He chalked the slip up to his already-frayed nerves from being the center of attention here.

High Judge Septima made a low sound in her throat that sounded like a cross between a growl and a huff. “I know it’s not my place to speak on such matters, but perhaps she would consider returning if things were different.” Her disapproving gaze roved to his belt, lingering on the Vantoric pistol and pair of pacifier cuffs he kept there. “It’s been years since your mother died. Isn’t it finally time for you to put away such reckless pursuits and return to your proper career?”

His jaw tightened. “My mother didn’tdie. She was murdered. And thisismy career. It’s how I help people.”

High Judge Septima scoffed. “I’m sure you do. But you could do so much more good as a magister. You had a rare gift for the law, Griffin. And we both know that, had the Light been kinder, your mother would hold this prestigious office today instead of me. Why throw away such a legacy?”

“Because it’s not mine! It never was!”

The people around them quieted at his outburst, studiously looking every way except toward them. High Judge Septima glared at him. He met her glare with one of his own.

High Scholar Vesalain, who’d been wise enough to stay out of the argument, glanced between them, then awkwardly cleared her throat. “You know, Inspector, there will be a gala next week to celebrate our alliance with Vantor. I’ll make sure an invitation is extended to you. After all your hard work, you’ve earned the chance to relax. And who knows?” She winked. “Perhaps you’ll find a lovely new lady to catch your fancy.”

Griff seriously doubted it. And even if he did meet an enticing man or woman, he’d warn them to run the other direction as fast as they could. If he’d learned anything from the disaster his and Amelie’s marriage had become, it’s that he wasn’t cut out for love. He had his cases—that was enough.

“That is most generous of you,” he said carefully. He was still searching for a way to graciously decline when furious shouts broke over the general din of conversation.

His hand jerked to the butt of his revolver as he scanned the small crowd for the source of the commotion. It didn’t take long to spot High Commander Pern and High Merchant Teodoro. A small space had cleared around the two red-faced men, who appeared on the verge of devolving into a fist fight.