The Tyrant's Law(88)

So Cithrin and Isadau carved the wealth of the bank into smaller pieces. A private crate sent in a caravan through the Free Cities that purported to hold bolts of cotton actually contained silks. A message box sealed with lead and wax sent by courier carried gems and jewelry. An earthenware statue sent as a gift to Pyk Usterhall, notary of the Medean bank in Porte Oliva, was hollow and filled with coin. Technically, it was smuggling, since they only paid the tax on what the goods appeared to be and not what they were. Cithrin’s conscience didn’t bother her on the point. If the governors of the five cities couldn’t assure the safety of her bank, they had already broken their end of the contract. Besides which, every other business and family with ties outside Elassae was doing the same.

Roach—Halvill, dammit—and Maha married in the private chapel at the compound amid great revelry. The priest was the same she had seen on her very first Tenthday, and he used his skills as a cunning man to make his voice sound grand and resonant. She caught Yardem rolling his eyes and shared his amusement. But when the guard and the pregnant girl sipped from the wide silver wedding cup and swore to make the journey of this life in company, Cithrin found herself inexplicably weeping.

They were slated to leave the next day on a ship bound for Cabral with enough of the bank’s capital that, if they stole it and ran, they’d be able to set up a very pleasant life together in Far Syramys. But they wouldn’t. Halvill would put it on a cart and trek back to Porte Oliva, just the way he’d promised. Halvill and Maha had forged a new family, it was true, but they both had other ties. Halvill to the bank, Maha to her family and, because of that, the bank.

Before that, Isadau had arranged a party that would fill the compound for a day and a night. It was a bit more extravagant a celebration than the union   of a minor bank guard to a girl with an occupied belly warranted, but Suddapal was in need of reasons to celebrate. And so was Isadau.

Cithrin wore a dress of pale blue with highlights of cream and a ribbon in her hair. The colors went well with the paleness of her skin and hair inherited from her mother. For jewelry, she chose a thin silver chain necklace. More would have been ostentatious. She knew, looking into her mirror, that she looked too young. Magistra Cithrin bel Sarcour was supposed to be almost a decade older than she actually was, and she knew what Master Kit and Cary would have said. Darken the lines under her eyes, deepen the folds that ran between nose and cheek. Stand with her weight lower in her hips. Tonight, though, she decided to let herself be younger. They all knew her already. Opinions were set. And it was a relief to step out of herself, if only for a moment.

It was also uncommon for the employees of the bank to take part in the celebrations as if they were equals, but Halvill’s family had insisted that Yardem and Enen sit among them, and so when Cithrin stepped out of her room, Yardem stood before her in the long formal robe of a Tralgu priest. Red tiles as big as her thumbnail marked the collar and ran down the left side. If he had still been an acting priest, they would have been on the right. She only knew that because he’d told her. The air was warm with high summer and the smell of fresh bread and basil mixed with the strumming of guitars. Cithrin doubted there would be much sleep in Isadau’s compound that night.

“You look handsome, Yardem,” she said. “You can cut quite a figure when you put your mind to it.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Yardem said. “Wanted to speak with you before the revels began, though.”

Cithrin glanced back toward her room in query. Is this a private conversation? Yardem nodded, and they went back inside. Yardem sat on the end of her bed, his elbows resting on his knees. She leaned against the door. She could have taken the chair, but she didn’t want to disarrange the drape of her dress.

“All respect, ma’am, but I think it’s time we considered leaving Suddapal.”

“Is there word from Inenetai? Did the Anteans break the siege?”

“Not so far as I know,” Yardem said. “But there’s other news. Karol Dannien’s taken contract to man the walls at Kiaria. They’ll be boarding up his school at the week’s end and going north. I don’t think there’s any question that the war’s coming here, and if he’s going, it means it’s likely to be here soon.”

“And better if we weren’t here to greet it,” Cithrin said.

“Hear it’s lovely in Porte Oliva this time of year,” Yardem said grimly.

Outside her window, glass shattered and someone laughed. She crossed her arms.

“You know I can’t go,” she said. “Komme Medean was clear about the terms. A year’s what he called for. It hasn’t been half that. If I walk away now, I’ll have broken my contract with him.”