Broken Blade Read Free

whole wide world could boast.
    “How much are you offering?” I asked.
    “Don’t you want to know the where and the what?” For the first time since she’d come through the door, my lady of the red dress looked knocked off her stride.
    “Not really, or at least not until I find out whether it’s worth hearing any secrets. Those always come with their own risks.”
    She pulled a small but full silk pouch from the depths of her bodice and dropped it on the table with a clank, tipping its mouth toward me. I picked it up and flicked it open. It was full of silver Zhani riels still warm from her skin and smelling faintly of lavender perfume. A thefty bit of cash, but not ridiculously so for the right job.
    I set the bag back on the table. “Is this the whole payoff in advance, or the first bit of a half-now, half-later sort of arrangement? Or is it simply by way of showing me what’s to be paid on proof of delivery?”
    “This is a third down, with the rest on proof of delivery.”
    “It’s dangerous, then?” I asked.
    It had to be if she was willing to go so high before the haggling had even opened. Danger worked just fine for me. The longer the odds, the better you got paid and the less you had to work. And if someone ghosted you along the way, well, then you got out of working entirely. Nobody expects anything of the dead.
    She shrugged at my question, then flipped her braid back over her shoulder when it fell forward. “It’s only dangerous if things go wrong.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you object to all killing or just when it’s the point of a job?”
    “I try to avoid ghosting anyone when I can avoid it, but I’m no renunciate.” My shadow moved again, and so, perforce, did I, leaning back this time, though mercifully without knocking anything over.
    Dammit Triss, stop dancing around! It wasn’t a big move, but even half an inch was half an inch too much. Too many people wanted to see my head nailed up over the traitor’s gate or sent off to the Son of Heaven in a jar of rice wine. To distract from my little shadow two-step, I gestured for the woman to take the other seat.
    “I’d offer you a drink, but . . .” I sadly flicked the empty bottle—Kyle’s fifteen-year, the rather expensive Aveni whiskey I favored when I could afford it. It rang emptily and rocked, giving off a tantalizing little whiff of peat and honey. “So unless you’re buying the round you’ll just have to settle for going dry while you tell me what you want done, Lady . . . ?”
    I gave her the courtesy title that might belong to a duchess’s first maid in hopes of getting her to give up more information. She ignored the bait and shook her head impatiently.
    “Call me Maylien.” But she did not yet sit. “You will take my commission then?” She smiled a smug little smile.
    That made me want to turn her down flat. Unfortunately, sending her away would leave my purse even flatter. If I wanted to keep drinking the good stuff, I had to work. And I wanted to keep drinking the good stuff. It was one of the few things left in my life that gave me any pleasure.
    “Let’s just say that I’m open to the idea,” I said. “The fee looks adequate for some things, less so for others.”
    “I can’t tell you more without some surety . . . of silence at the very least.”
    I raised an eyebrow at her. “If you’ve learned enough of my reputation to find me here, you’ve learned enough to know I don’t discuss my clients. Not even my offers.”
    “May I presume that constitutes your word?”
    “If you want to; though why you’d accept the oath of a jack of the shadow trades, I don’t know.”
    She smiled like a woman holding a secret. “Most jacks I would not, but I’ve reason to believe I can trust yours. Have you ever heard of the Baroness Marchon?”
    It took an effort not to start at that name, though perhaps a wasted one, since my shadow jerked a good inch on his own. I had, of course, heard of the Marchon, but I