The Dragon Keeper (Rain Wild Chronicles #1)

The Dragon Keeper (Rain Wild Chronicles #1) Page 44

The Chalcedean was regarding him closely. “Surely I am not the only one who has noticed this? I imagine that many of your fellow Traders envy your newfound efficiency, and doubtless they have importuned you to know the secret of your new hull design. For if you have modified a ship as old as yours, one that, I am told, is among the oldest of the Trading vessels built from the marvelous dragon wood, then surely they will wish to do the same with theirs.”

Leftrin hoped he had not gone pale. He abruptly doubted that Genrod was the source of all this information. The carver might have bragged of working on Tarman, but Genrod was Trader through and through. He would not have spoken openly of Tarman’s pedigree as the eldest liveship. This trader had more than one source of gossip. He tried to bait a name out of him. “Traders respect one another’s secrets” was all he said.

“Do they? Then they are like no other traders I have ever known. Every trader I know is always eager to discover whatever advantage his fellow has. Gold is sometimes offered for such secrets. And when gold does not buy the desired item, well, I have heard tales of violence done.”

“Neither gold nor violence will buy what you seek from me.” Sinad shook his head. “You mistake me. I will not go into whether it was gold or violence, but I will tell you that the exchange has already been made, and all that I need to know about you and your ship, I know. Let us speak plainly. The High Duke of Chalced is not a young man. With every year, nay, with almost every week, that passes some new ailment frets him. Some of the most experienced and respected healers in all of Chalced have attempted to treat him. Many have died for their failures. So, perhaps, it is expediency that now makes so many of them say that his only hope for improved health and long life will come from medicines made from dragon parts. They are so apologetic to him that they do not have the required ingredients. They promise him that as soon as the required ingredients are procured, they will concoct the elixirs that will restore his youth, beauty, and vigor.” The merchant sighed. He turned his gaze to the cabin’s small window and stared off into the distance. “And thus, his anger and frustration passes over his healers and settles instead on the trading families of Chalced. Why, he demands, can they not procure what he needs? Are they traitors? Do they desire his death? At first, he offered us gold for our efforts. And when gold did not suffice, he turned to that always effective coin: blood.” His gaze came back to Leftrin. “Do you understand what I am telling you? Do you understand that no matter how much you may despise Chalcedeans, they, too, love their families? Cherish their elderly parents and tender young sons? Understand, my friend, that I will do whatever I must to protect my family.”

Desperation vied with cold ruthlessness in the Chalcedean’s eyes. This was a dangerous man. He had come, empty-handed, to Leftrin’s vessel, but the Rain Wild Trader now perceived he had not come without weapons. Leftrin cleared his throat and said, “We will now set a reasonable price for the grain, and then I think our trading will be done.”

Sinad smiled at him. “The price of my grain, trading partner, is my passage up the river and that you speak well of me to your fellows. If you cannot procure what I need, then you will see that I am introduced to those who can.

“And in return, I will give you my grain and my silence about your secrets. Now what could be a better trade than that?”

BREAKFAST HAD BEEN delicious and perfectly prepared. The generous remains of a meal intended for three still graced the whiteclothed table. The serving dishes were covered now in what would be a vain attempt to keep the food at serving temperature. Alise sat alone at the table. Her dishes had already been efficiently and swiftly cleared away. She lifted the teapot and poured herself another cup of tea and waited.

She felt like a spider crouched at the edge of her web, waiting for the fly to blunder into her trap. She never lingered over meals. Hest knew that. She suspected it was why he was so frequently late to the table when he was home. She hoped that if she sat here long enough, he’d come in to eat and she’d finally have the chance to confront him.

He deliberately avoided her these days, not just at the table but anywhere that they might be alone. She did not agonize about it. She was glad enough to be left to eat in peace, and even gladder when he did not disturb her in her bed at night. Unfortunately, that had not been the case last night. Hest had stridden into her room in the small hours of the morning, shutting the door with a firm thump that had wakened her from a sound sleep. He’d smelled of strong tobacco and expensive wine. He’d taken off his robe, tossed it across the foot of the bed, and then clambered in beside her. In the dark room, she saw him only as a deeper shadow.