Steelhands - Jaida Jones [50]
Then I began to feel the cold too keenly, while everything I’d seen earlier in the afternoon came flooding back to me and I forgot about Gaeth completely. I had so much to tell Laure, and even though she’d complain at first about how wrong it was to watch people when they didn’t know you from a hole in the wall, I knew it was a good enough story that she’d listen.
She would stop scolding me. Eventually.
BALFOUR
I hadn’t heard any further news from Ginette, and there was a strange aching in my wrists that was beginning to grow worse with each passing day. It troubled me, and not just for the obvious reasons of my own personal discomfort.
I’d never thought Ginette would be the sort to leave a job unfinished. Return visits to her home in the Crescents proved fruitless; speaking to her neighbors offered no clues as to her whereabouts. And, when I asked a few of my companions in the bastion if they’d heard anything about Margrave Ginette, I was met mostly with disinterest or vague rumors. Troius said he’d heard from a friend of his that she’d gone missing, and he was certain there’d be a replacement found soon enough to look after my hands if she didn’t show up.
That, however, wasn’t exactly what I was concerned about.
“You worry too much, Balfour,” Troius told me, clapping me on the back. “I know you’ve seen hard times, but they’re over now. Go out, get some fresh air, maybe see a healer for the way those wrists hurt? And things will be fine in no time. I’m sure it’s all meant to work out.”
I could agree with him about one thing, and that was the matter of getting some fresh air. Which was exactly what I was doing, sitting outside on the steps of the bastion, watching the passersby and making sure I didn’t stare too long at any one person, thus causing some personal offense.
The Arlemagne diplomats had put a momentary hold on our proceedings, and I’d learned—through Troius and other idle gossip—that it was because there was a royal marriage being arranged. Considering the preferences of their crown prince, which had become apparent to more people than he might’ve liked during his tenure in Volstov, I felt bad for both the bride and the groom in the arrangement. But it was hardly my place to worry about matters of state in a country that wasn’t even my own, one that I had never seen and probably would never have reason to visit.
The worries of others, though, proved a distraction from one’s own. Since I no longer had a ready-made diversion in the form of thirteen other men being as loud and as violent as possible with one another, I’d resorted to this: observing strangers and doing my best not to come up with little stories about who they were and where they were going in life.
There was clearing one’s mind, and there was abandoning sense entirely for a flight of fancy, and I could still tell the difference well enough.
I was currently following the movements of a young man in a gray coat and cap, walking distractedly back and forth in front of the Basquiat. His demeanor was a familiar one; I could have recognized it from anywhere since it was the same countrified awe I’d exhibited on my very first visit to Thremedon.
That, however, had been a very long time ago, and I soon lost sight of him. The area was a busy one, filled with magicians and diplomats and other nobility alike. This made it ideal for losing oneself in the passersby, all of whom looked more important than you, and busier, too. I knew I was playing right into the Arlemagne opinion of Volstovic diplomats, sitting outside instead of performing any duties within the bastion, but they had been the ones to call a halt to the talks. Diplomacy wasn’t like any other job, where if one project fell through you simply attempted to find another one with which to occupy yourself. I supposed I could have marched down the hall to where Margrave Josette and Lord Temur were conducting relations between the new Ke-Han emperor and the Esar’s representatives, but I hadn’t been briefed on the particulars, and if they had need