Erin Evans - Lesser Evils

“May I help you?” he said, in a tone of voice that made it clear he did not expect to do any such thing. Brin narrowed his eyes.

“I’m here to see about the Broken Marble safehold,” he said. “Do be quick about it.” The guard’s brows went up, but he opened the doors, took Havilar’s weapon, and escorted the two of them down a long, dimly lit corridor, ringing with the phantom sounds of a flute and a lyre. The guard held one of the half-dozen doors lining the hall, and waved them in.

Within, a half-elf woman wearing an emerald lens over one eye waited. “Sit, please,” she said, and she pulled out a tray of sand. “In or out?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Do you wish to put coin in,” she asked, “or take it out?”

“Oh. Out, I suppose.”

“Your mark, then.”

Brin took up the stylus and traced the runes as Constancia had ordered. The coinlender pulled out an enormous codex and started flipping through the pages. “Broken Marble?” she said. “Rhiiman.”

Brin frowned. “I’m sorry?”

The woman looked at him through the emerald lens. “Rhiiman,” she said, enunciating.

It was the name of the man who had founded the Crownsilver family, a younger brother of the first king of Cormyr, if he was remembering right, who married a daughter of the Silver line-whose name was escaping him … Constancia would box your ears, he thought.

“Oh,” he said. “Made the right choice.”

The woman dipped her head to consider the codex once more. “Welcome, goodsir. The account is equivalent to two hundred eighty thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four Waterdhavian dragons.” She looked up. “If you’d like to withdraw the full amount, I’m afraid you’ll have to accept trade bars and give us a day to collect them.”

Brin very deliberately closed his mouth. “No, no, that’s all right.” He was glad for the chair she’d offered him. “May I ask if anyone else is accessing the coin? I’d … I’d hate to take funds some cousin was relying on.” Or to find out Helindra was keeping a close eye on the account’s activities.

The coinlender’s eyes flicked over his head to where Havilar stood, before returning to consider him carefully. He passed whatever threshold she’d decided on for frauds and thieves, but by her tight expression, only just.

“The last business with the account was … three tendays ago. A withdrawal of one hundred dragons. Before that it’s only been maintenance, so far as my records stand.”

“You have that much coin just sitting ?” Havilar hissed at him after he’d withdrawn a small sum, enough to cover a room of his own, board, and a little extra. “What does your family do ?”

“Meddle,” Brin said, frowning at the bag of coins. “And it’s not my coin. It’s theirs. I’ve certainly never seen that kind of coin.”

It would be enough, he thought. Enough to buy passage to any city in Faerun. Enough to buy a new name, a new life. Enough to get far, far ahead of the Crownsilvers before they did something rash.

The temptation of the coin on the ledger was bad enough. But there, too, was the reminder that the Crownsilvers commanded vast resources. The coin in the bank was a pittance-a forgettable amount, likely, comparable to funds in cities like Athkatla and Baldur’s Gate and Westgate, where a family member might need easy access to coin. It was nothing compared to what Helindra commanded in Cormyr.

And no vault could contain all the Crownsilvers’ connections.

“Is that why you didn’t say?” Havilar said as they crossed the market. It was late and the stallkeepers were closing up. “About being His Grace and … what are you, anyway? A prince? A king? A … nentyarch ?”

“Nentyarch?”

Havilar shrugged, her eyes on the cobbles. “It’s some sort of frozen war prince,” she said. “Read it in a book.” She looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Brin sighed. “It’s complicated, and it would get far, far more complicated if I put any stock in it. Look, I didn’t tell you-but I didn’t tell anyone . I don’t want to be a prince or a king or a nentyarch.” He smiled at her. “I told you a lot more than anyone else. I told you about Constancia and Helindra.”

She nodded absently. “I would have understood.”

“I hardly understand it.” He opened the door to the inn. “I would have to draw charts.”

She didn’t laugh. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” he said. “Sorry. Let me buy you evenfeast. You and Farideh.”

They’d no more than reached the top of the stairs when Farideh stepped out of the air, forcing them both to leap back. Flushed and furious-looking and seething that strange, wispy shadowstuff that stung his eyes like burning brimstone-it was a stark reminder that Havilar wasn’t really the scary one. Usually, Brin amended.

“Hells, but you look terrible,” Havilar said. “What are you doing, jumping around corridors?”

“I’ve met Brother Tam’s new apprentice,” Farideh said sharply. “That fellow from the taproom.”

“The tall, good-looking one?” Havilar asked.

Brin had to admit it was a bit like being hit in the stomach by the shaft of her glaive. “When did you meet him?” he asked.

“The first day we were here.” Havilar smirked at her sister. “Did you get him to loosen up?”

Farideh shot her twin a dark look. “No. Though if you’d like to knock his jaw free to help him with that, I’d thank you for it. He’s very skilled at needling my last nerve.”

“Who isn’t?” Havilar said. “We’ve just been to see about Brin’s sudden fortune.”

“Not sudden,” Brin said. “It’s not mine, either.”

“Oh, just be pleased,” Havilar said, nudging him with her elbow. “Even if you let it all sit in that vault, you’ve got piles of sudden fortune. Anyway, now we’re going to have a drink and some food. Do you want to come?”

Farideh drew a long breath, the tendrils of smoke retreating. “No,” she said. “I’d rather just sleep.”

“Come on,” Havilar cajoled. “It will cheer you up.”

“And then I’ll see that henish and I’ll be unbearable for another day,” Farideh said too lightly. “No.” Her tail started flicking against the wooden floor. “Come up soon.”

“When we do,” Havilar said with a wave of her hand.

“What were you doing with Tam and his apprentice?” Brin asked.

Farideh shook her head. “There’s an artifact for sale. A page from a book of some kind and a piece of a door or something. I was helping them do the translation.” She hesitated. “It’s a Netherese language.”

A feeling like icy water poured down Brin’s back and drove every thought about his own petty problems out of his head. Constancia’s warnings about encroaching Shadovar armies echoed after them.

“Ye gods,” he said. “Where’s Tam?”

Farideh shook her head. “He ran off-but he didn’t say where to. He took his chain.”

“Well, that’s good,” Brin said with forced cheer. “He’s likely taking care of things.”

“There were guards around the treasure,” Farideh said. “Sharp-eyed ones.”

“He’s pretty sharp himself,” Havilar said. “And I thought silverstars could”-she waved a hand in the air-“you know, go all invisible and things?”

Farideh stared at her sister. “Where in the world did you hear that?”

“Everyone knows that. Why else would you worship the moon goddess?”

Brin took a deep breath- slain down to a soul -and calmed himself. Tam knew better than any of them what Netheril might do, and he was taking care of things. What was one moldy old page anyhow? “Did he have a guess as to what sort of book it was from?”