Page 26 of A Trade of Blood

“I, ah, believe she’s trying to appeaseallof them at the moment,” said Seriv. “Though she specifically attempts to appease the Daljen, of course. She has demanded testimonies, evidence, stories from all who knew her slain children. She seeks, I think, the sin that invited so much pain.”

The teapot began to burble discontentedly. I lifted the pot from the stove and poured Ana a cup.

“Trikao Armenta mentioned something of this,” I said quietly. “He made it sound as if many suspected that the Armentas had committed some crime and were now condemned by all gods and spirits for it.”

“And it sounds like Velona Armenta has listened to them!” sighed Ana. “Perhaps in her grief, she has come to believe it. Not a terriblytrustworthy source…but much like the Orbiis, she may be the only one we have.”

“She may not be easy to speak to,” said Seriv. “Velona Armenta is much aged by sorrow. She has locked herself up in the family seat of Aimafall and speaks to very few these days.”

Ana thought for a moment. “What about this Trikao Armenta, the fellow who stood before the jail’s doors? Could he be a useful ally in getting us an audience?”

“Trikao is Velona’s elder brother,” said Seriv. “He is a dutiful servant to the family, as you saw today, Kol—though he has no illusions about his house’s decline.”

Ana frowned. “He’s herelderbrother?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Then why didn’t he inherit the place as head of the family?”

“The Armentas keep to the old ways. Inheritance is settled by a competition—who can raise the grandest herd over a season. Trikao lost to his sister. Thus, he is legally disqualified from ever being the Armenta prime chief. Yet he remains devoted still.”

“Admirably barbaric, I suppose,” mused Ana. “A bit like that family of petty kings I read about the other day, where one would inherit the harem, and all the others would be castrated. Do you recall, Din?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said dully as I poured my own cup. “You read many passages aloud and seemed to find it terribly amusing.”

“So I did, for so it was!” She waved a hand. “I see no other way forward. Talk to this Trikao Armenta, boy. Try to arrange a meeting with Madam Armenta tomorrow. If he will not help, find someone who will! For if Velona Armenta is the chief expert in her children’s deaths, wemusthear all she learned—even if her investigation was born out of superstition. In the meantime, Princeps Seriv, send your people out to find the Orbiis. I want a knowledgeable eye on that dead girl’s body—for I suspect what festers within it isterriblyunique.”

Chapter 8

Seriv informed me that TrikaoArmenta would be found at a sotbar known as the Crooked Horn—another place much favored by the Armentas, he said. I started off for it, and despite my many worries, I could not help but find the town of Lacanthim charming: the orbed, fretvine shops and homes all sat piled up along the cobblestone lanes, with little streamers of smoke uncoiling from the rooftops as countless suppers were prepared. Great mai-lanterns hung from posts along the streets, and in the soft rain they gained a gauzy, shimmering halo of pale sapphire.

A Tala evening, a Tala rain. I had not seen such a thing in many months. I felt an urge to reach out, snatch up a raindrop, and taste it, as if reunited with some fragment of my very soul. I continuedon.

I found Trikao Armenta sitting alone at a small table in the corner of the inn known as the Crooked Horn, nursing a tiny thimble of wine. It would have been a comical sight, to see such a huge man sipping from such a small vessel, had it not been for his face: I had never seen a more somber creature than he, sitting with his head bent, his snowy beard brushing his collar. He brightened slightly when he saw me and tried to force a bit of wine upon me, but I abstained, claiming my duties. His brightness dimmed when I asked of the other deaths of the Armentas.

“Why?” he said. “What’s this to do with Castus?”

“We don’t know, sir,” I said. “We’ve no idea if it has anything todo with Castus. But I feel obliged to ask of them, as every person we speak to brings them up.”

He gazed at me for a long while. “You aren’t beginning to believe it—are you?”

“Believe…?”

“In the curse. In this mad foolishness.” He leaned forward, his chair creaking under his weight. “I tell you, my family has donenothingto invite this pain.”

“Sir—”

“We do not deserve what has happened to us! Nor do we deserve to have the custodi and the Iudex digging about in our tragedies, just like all the gossip-mongers of the canton attempt every day!”

“I don’t intend to cause pain, sir. But we still don’t understand the motivation for the murder. Castus appears to have been genuinely in love with Zansay. We only seek to understand him more.”

“You will find no understanding in it!” he snapped. “I don’t, and I was there! I…” His face grew ashen. “I still can’t comprehend it. I showered those children with gifts, from childhood to adults. I do not know why two of them sought relief from life itself, nor can I explain why fate took the third. I still feel a great emptiness they left behind in me.” He looked at me pleadingly. “Please do not go opening all the old wounds of my kin, Signum. We have suffered enough and shall surely suffer more.”

I paused to calculate how to proceed. I could tell him now, of course, that we did not think those deaths were the whims of ill fate, that someone had somehow engineered them, much as a drover might herd a cow into its paddock. But this, I knew, would have been unwise: Ana had ordered me to maintain secrecy for a reason.

I studied Trikao’s face, weary yet resilient. He certainly would not grant us an audience with his sister—not after I’d already raised his hackles. On to his son, then.

“I understand, sir,” I said. “May I still speak to your son, however?”