card. The front was decorated in swirling script in the most expensive of green inks. Far too ostentatious, but that was his father for you.
It took only a quiet word and a moment for a waiter to bring a pen and inkstand. In the space reserved for it, he wrote in a bold, flowing hand. Lord Brimeld, Lady Amana and retinue. The retinue was important. If Lady Laceflower was right, if Josie and Van Gast ran their scams together, he’d be there. In the palace, at the reception. The “trade advisor” she’d mentioned perhaps. Or possibly Haban’s niece would bring more information, a better way to catch him. Either way, Van Gast captured and displayed as a prize or scamming his way in, he would be just where Rillen needed him.
A sprinkle of sand to blot the ink and he handed the invitation over just as the big brute Skrymir came back.
“Hand this to the guards at the gate tomorrow night, and I shall await you eagerly.” For once, he was truly speaking what he felt.
Chapter Twelve
Holden sat and stared at Tallia in the brig. He’d tried everything he could think of to get her to talk, short of hurting her or possibly kissing it out of her. He didn’t like to think of either those two options. All she would say is “It’s not me.”
The afternoon wore on to evening, humid and dark in the hold, but Holden kept trying. Van was too itchy to try, too dependent on his little-magics, too full of purpose now he had his time to meet Josie. He’d all but forgotten about Tallia, thinking her safe if she was brigged, that they could let her go, dump her on one of the far delta islands when they set sail.
Holden couldn’t forget her. He couldn’t do anything about his thoughts either, not now he’d broken through Ilsa’s ice. All he could do was try to work out, in his own way, who was the danger to them. Guld was scrying, talking to other mages, seeing what he could discover. Van Gast had gone ashore, careful and quiet, for him, to see what was what, dig up what he could.
Someone knew something, somewhere.
Holden had chosen Tallia. Yet she would say nothing, only look at him with something like regret. Finally he got up to go, back to his quarters and a hope that Ilsa was still as she had been, that he could forget Tallia and the way she looked at him, her smile and how easy she was to be with. As he stood, the door above him opened and someone came down in the dark in a swish of skirts.
Gilda, all dolled up in finery fit for a lady.
“Yes?” Holden asked when she merely stood and glared at Tallia.
“A wonder you haven’t thrown her off the ship yet,” Gilda said.
“Why should I?”
“I saw her going into Van’s cabin. It was her that left that note.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before? And what do you know about a note, Gilda?”
She huffed at him and flicked her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head, as though he was simple. “All the crew are talking about it, about how it was a trap for Van Gast. When they told me, I knew it was her. I saw her going in. Didn’t I, Tallia?”
Tallia looked stricken, her hands twisting in her lap, her eyes wide with distress.
“Did you?” Holden asked. “Did you put a note in Van’s cabin?”
She blinked back tears and nodded. “But not—”
“See, I told you!” Gilda’s smug smile seemed branded on her face. “Her that’s trying to get Van killed.”
“All right, that’s enough. Thank you Gilda, you can go.”
Go she did, with a sneering swish of her skirt. The clump of her shoes sounded over the deck, changed pitch as she went down the gangplank. Leaving the ship, again. Probably off to find herself a tumble for the night. Damned racks. Never would do as they were told. Holden had begun to wonder just how Van Gast had managed any kind of order with his previous all-rack crew. Serve Gilda right if they sailed before she got back.
Holden looked back at Tallia. No jiggling, no bounce. Still as a millpond, with her hands jammed under her arms and her hair falling over her face. He crouched down in front of her and resisted the urge to reach out.