Page 28 of A Trade of Blood

“Yes,” I said slowly. “We are, sir. Though I have not seen my sister Fotia in some ti—”

“Five years,” she said. “And four months. A few weeks on top of that. I can’t do the math right now. I’ve not the mind for it.” She looked at me, and something bright shone in her glance—but it was neither love nor joy. “Again. What are you doing here, Din?”

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “I…it’s as Trikao said. I am here to investigate the death of the Burav girl.”

“You’rethe one who locked up Castus?You’rethe one who’s here to hang my friend?”

“I’m not here to hang him,” I said, nettled. “I am here to…”

I stopped.

Her friend, she’d just said. And what was it Trikao had told me earlier?

I was not intimate with Castus. My son and his betrothed were close with him, however. I can send for them to come to the city, now that there’s no danger.“Betrothed…” I said slowly.

I turned to look at my sister. I saw a flash of worry cross her face, only to be replaced by a very familiar look of defiance.

“You are…tomarry?” I said, agog. “Fotia—you’re betrothed to this man’sson?”

She stuck her chin out at me. “Yes,” she said. “I damned well am, Din.”

I felt myself coloring. “My little sister is going to marry…agentryman? Of theArmentas?”

There was a long, awkward silence. I had been carefully curating the family trees of these two houses throughout this investigation, but I’d never expected to add my own sister to one side.

Trikao cleared his throat. “I, ah, will give you both a moment.” He stood, bowed, began to walk away, then paused to step back quickly and pick up his tiny thimble of wine. “Pardon,” he whispered. Then he turned and leftus.

Fotia and I stared at each other. Then, emanating an air of the utmost hostility, she sat down in the chair opposite me, pushed her black hair back from her face, and smiled coldly. “So. What shall we talk about, brother?”

—

“How…” I stammered.“How are…”

“How are you doing today?” Fotia proposed. “Is that what you wish to ask me?”

“Wh-what?”

“Oh, quite well, Dinios. I am doing wonderfully on this fine evening. How goes the wet season for you? What other inane chatter shall we indulge in?” Her eyes went bright with anger. “How else are we to bridge over the yawning gap of—what is it now?—three years oftotal silence? Of no word, nothing whatsoever about your whereabouts, or your damned well-being?”

I felt my face grow flushed and hot. “It wasn’t total,” I said.

“No?”

“No! I sent money, and I know you all got it.”

“Oh,money,” said Fotia contemptuously. “Yes, very warm and intimate, that! By hell, I didn’t even know if you werealive,Din, did you know? I genuinely thought you might be dead, and what we were getting was just bereavement pay! And now here you are, alive and whole and swanning about in your fancy blue coat, chatting up people I know so well—but terribly surprised to see me!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What is?”

“Imperial bereavement pay is far higher than my monthly dispensations. If I’d been dead, you would have been granted lands and, depending on the circumstances of my death, entitlements.”

Fotia stared at me. I immediately sensed that this had been an extremely stupid answer.

She raised a hand and made a gesture. One of the tavern clerks came scurrying up. “A pot of sackwine, please,” she said, “and a large one. I shall need it to get through this conversation.”

“I have been,” I said, slowly sitting, “very much engaged with imperial work.”