“You returned sooner than I suspected. Did you fail, girl?” She started wobbling toward her, face painted as if she were ready to perform on the stage. A dribble of smoke-colored sweat trickled down her cheek.
“I did not fail,” Hettie replied coldly. “There is a new assignment from Kiranrao.”
“Ahh, you failed then. Pretty thing. He will forgive you your blunder. You are too pretty to be cast aside. Too young. Only one ring in your ear? Poor lass. Would that we could trade places.” She parted her honey-dyed hair and revealed six gleaming rings in her own ear. “What I would not give to be useful again. Useful and young.”
Hettie stared at her with contempt. She had been a beauty once. Now it was a husk, an illusion. “You are useful to Kiranrao, which is why he bids me seek your help. I need information, Mondargiss.”
A wicked smile played on the older woman’s lips. “Of course you do, child. What do you seek?”
“There was an explosion in the Paracelsus Tower recently. The tower of Tyrus Paracelsus. You know of it?”
Mondargiss slowly closed the gap between them, shuffling forward lamely. Her eyes were dark and cunning. “We felt it explode. It shook the entire city. Windows shattered. Glass on the floor. My little doves were so upset by it. I knew Kiranrao would wish to know of it. I sent my swiftest little one.”
There was a flapping of wings and then a dove flew in from the window, landing in a dovecote above.
“Cim!” she shrieked, but the young man was already moving, climbing up a rickety ladder until he reached the dovecote. He fussed with the bird a bit and then brought down a tiny slip, which he handed to Mondargiss.
The woman craned her neck and studied the small scrawlings. She chuckled gleefully. “An ill wind from the east. An ill wind from the west. An ill wind from the north. My, what a storm that will brew. Yes, my darling, what is it that you need?” She reached forward and flicked some of Hettie’s hair teasingly.
“Tyrus left something behind, likely in the rubble. It is a sturdy leather bag with three unfinished stones. Not cut gems, but likely polished. It would not have been destroyed.”
Mondargiss shook her head knowingly. “Little stones, you stay. Little uncut gems. There were weapons found. Spirit-touched blades. Arrowheads survived, but the shafts did not. They are selling for many ducats and being stolen away to Havenrook for bidding. But you know that I cannot go near the Paracelsus Towers, my dear. Not myself.”
Hettie bridled with impatience, but kept her temper. The woman’s eyes were always cruel. “Surely I did not believe you were scavenging the rubble, Mondargiss.”
“Not even when I was younger. Any number of boys would have gladly searched the rubble at my command. But they will search for me again. Cim! See to it. If someone has captured the stones, bring them to me, or bring me word of who has them.”
The young man rose from the dilapidated couch and shrugged. Hettie stopped him before he passed her.
“How long will it take you?” she asked him softly.
His eyes gleamed. “Dunno,” he said with a shrug.
“Thank you, Cim,” she said, flashing him a quicksilver smile. His face remained impassive as he went to the door and unbolted it. He disappeared into the street beyond.
“You think you are so clever,” Mondargiss said with a sneer. “He is impervious to any woman. I could name him the king of stone. He feels nothing. He cares for nothing. For no one.”
Hettie felt her eyes tighten, but she managed to keep herself aloof. “What is Kiranrao training him for then? A Kishion?”
Mondargiss smiled wickedly. “I will not betray his secrets. You know that. I was his favorite once. You are so young. So pretty, but you are Romani. We understand each other, girl. Someday, you will be like me. You will ache at the thought of being useful again.” Her free hand tightened into a fist and crushed against her heart. “I was a singer once. I graced the stage, and I sang for princes and dukes and the wealthiest of Kenatos. My voice could transfix a man. I had many admirers back then. As do you, child, as do you. I did not want flowers. I asked for birds, birds of every kind. Someday, sooner than you wish, you will find that age has left you bereft of usefulness. And then maybe you will tend my menagerie and wait for scraps of paper!”
She started, head cocked, listening. Her face contorted with rage. “She is sobbing again! I hate it! I loathe the sound of it. I can hear her in the upper floor, next door. I will give you a thousand ducats, child. Go there and kill her. Stop her from weeping. Oh, how it torments me. A thousand ducats to kill her. Cim won’t do it. He says no one lives next door anymore. He is just too lazy. Too lazy. A thousand ducats. Will you do it?”