Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [156]
And Leorin.
Cauvin paused with his oil-dripping boots in his hands. Damn the Torch to Hecath’s coldest hell, but Cauvin had had doubt about Leorin when she reappeared in his life and, no froggin’ thanks to the Torch, he had them again. He had the means to extinguish those suspicions forever—if he were willing to believe a S’danzo seeress or tempt her into answering his questions with the Torch’s second wooden box.
He pondered his dilemma through an uneventful breakfast, then, confident that he was clever enough to outwit a froggin’ S’danzo, followed Grabar into the work shed.
“Has Mioklas paid what he owes us?” he asked, laying the groundwork for another day away from the stoneyard.
Grabar shook his head. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him—and the wife would have said if he’d sent someone else to pay.”
“I’m off, then. I’ll be back with what he owes us by sunset.” Cauvin tried to hold Grabar’s narrow-eyed stare, but his foster father knew him too well, and he looked away first.
“Your back’s up; you’re looking for a fight again. Father Ils knows why—”
“Because Tobus won’t pay us a padpol if Mioklas doesn’t settle up.
“Tobus has already left ten of his soldats for earnest and showed me the others. He wants those houses, Cauvin; he’ll pay. Lord Mioklas pays slow, the whole city knows that; but he’s good for his debts over time. Settle yourself. I’ll tell you when—and if—it’s time to knock on his high door.”
“It’s time. He said autumn, and it’s froggin’ autumn. He froggin’ owes us.” Cauvin made a fist and held it between his face and Grabar’s. “I’m not asking for anything that’s not already ours, anything that he doesn’t froggin’ already have in his froggin’ chamber.”
“You’re looking for a fight.”
“I’m not,” Cauvin insisted. “I ask. He pays. No fights. Froggin’ simple.” He met his foster father’s eyes.
“What’s come over you these last few days, Cauvin?” Grabar asked, conceding defeat without admitting it. “You’re not yourself. Are you in trouble? Of your own or someone else’s?”
Cauvin couldn’t answer that. “I’m not looking for a fight, Grabar. I swear to you. I’ve got things to do—not trouble. Tell Mina not to cook supper for me; I’ll eat at the Unicorn.”
“The Unicorn! Where are you getting the money to eat at the Unicorn?” Grabar demanded. “What kind of trouble are you tangled in?”
But Cauvin was already headed out the gate. He walked fast until he was past the emptiness where Enas Yorl’s home had stood, then headed for the Stairs. Every few steps, he glanced back, cursing Grabar, yet hoping to see him.
Tangled is right, he thought, pounding through the Tween. I’m so tangled. I’m going to bribe a S‘danzo to learn if I can trust the woman I love. I’ve got a man who should be dead working sorcery on me and a froggin’ gods-be-damned assassin telling me how to fight and dress—
“Whoa! Cauvin, where’re you headed so fast?”
An unfamiliar voice hailed Cauvin from behind. Spinning, he saw an older, careworn woman coming toward him with her arms wide-open. Cauvin needed a moment before he recognized dead Jess’s mother. He hadn’t spoken to her since Jess threw himself in the froggin’ harbor. For Jess’s memory, she had to wrap her arms around him and tell him how good it was to see him, never mind that there were tears leaking from her eyes; and Cauvin had to endure the embrace, even return it. He’d patted her shoulder and was wondering if meeting her counted as a good omen or a bad one when flickering movement snagged his attention. He turned quickly, but not quickly enough, and was left with only the sense that he’d seen something black disappear into a shop, or an alley, or thin air itself.
If it had been Soldt, then