“That man,” Syndrian said, grimacing. “His name’s Drustan, and he’s a living devil. He thrives on chaos. He’s a thug, not a blood relative to the Otleiches, but he’s trusted by them and maintains close ties. He gets his hands dirty so they don’t have to. He would have happily killed every last person in the place, even if that meant never finding the counterfeiter.”
“How? Surely the crowd wouldn’t have allowed him to just…” I couldn’t picture it. After what I’d seen happen to the cheater and the men who’d fought in Knuckles & Bones, I could not abide the thought that just dozens, possibly more, people would have been senselessly killed. All because one person brought in counterfeit silver.
“It’s perfect, really,” Syndrian said, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “A tournament is the perfect place to move fake coins into circulation. Lots of money changing hands. Denominations as small as a quarter penny. Someone wanting to get rid of their counterfeit silver could play a few hands, win some, lose some, and in the process replace the fake silver in their purse with the real thing. Everyone in that tavern was so focused on cheaters playing the games—who would think to question the authenticity of the coins?”
“How did that Drustan man know the coins were fake?” I leaned back against the settee, wondering what my parents were doing. My father should have been home by now. My mother would be telling him that she’d released Biko and Idony from their positions. I had no idea how she would explain my absence, but I assumed I would find out soon enough.
Antonia wheeled in a cart covered with snacks and drinks. “Please, eat your fill. Those children are spoiled rotten. I always have plenty of biscuits on hand. Nothing makes a crying little one happier than something sweet.”
“Antonia, could I trouble you for some vinegar?” Syndrian poured a mug of fresh water and passed it to me.
I gave him a smile of thanks and drank, feeling immediately refreshed. “Should we talk about what happens next?” I asked sadly.
As thrilled as I was that I’d succeeded in extinguishing the fires at the tavern, what no one was saying yet was that we’d failed. Our plan, our well-crafted plan, had not had enough time to come to fruition.
If Biko had been able to participate in some of the backgammon games, if he could have built a small purse of winnings, we’d planned to be the last two backgammon players in the tournament. One of us would have been eligible for the major prize. And even if we didn’t win it, two backgammon players as skilled as us could’ve won enough money to confront my father with the truth.
It was a dangerous strategy. We’d planned to confront my father for so many things he’d done over the years.
We realized last night that Biko’s birth father never formally filed adoption papers. Idony confirmed that she’d not listed a father in the records since her marriage to Cyprian hadn’t taken place until after Biko’s birth. My father, by hiring them as crofters, had promised Cyprian and Idony lifelong work and security—as long as they maintained the secret of Biko’s paternity. But now that my mother had relieved Idony and Biko of their duties, she’d terminated any agreement that Idony had been coerced into.
Odile had gone to the midwife, Molle Noll, and obtained her sworn testimony—certified by the scrivener, Odile’s sister—that my father had forged documents with the shire-reeve when Biko was born. He was the one on behalf of the unmarried mother to put the man who Idony would someday marry as the child’s father—even though that was untrue. I don’t know if my father assumed that the midwife’s records would never see the light of day, but the discrepancy in taxes would be enough to trigger an inquiry. If Biko was the son of Lord Lombard, even if everyone pretended otherwise, my father had intentionally defrauded the crown of taxes—every year of Biko’s life. The debt he would owe and the penalties would be substantial. Not enough to put a dent in the family treasury, but the truth would be costly, no matter the coin owed.
It made me sick to think that my father had swindled his own son out of his birthright. Biko, as the eldest Lombard, should have been entitled to take over the manor and management of the estate once my father retired or moved. Not me. Biko should have been graced with some sort of lifelong security—and while I didn’t support him being given a job and a paltry income while I was provided with every luxury—Idony had accepted that bargain to ensure her freedom from my father and a marriage she didn’t want. She’d made a beautiful life for them, given the circumstances.
And we’d had such a brilliant plan to bring it all down. To confront my father with the facts. We had intended to use the money from the tournament to hire a legal expert to demand an investigation into the birth records and taxes paid. We expected Dennes Lombard to be named as the father of Biko Ravenni in the official realm documents. Biko would then be entitled to settle his rights on his own behalf—not living with the compromises his mother had made while pregnant and without options so many years ago.
I’d had one aim in exposing Lord Lombard as a fraud with the shire-reeve and the crown—after, of course, restoring to Biko what was rightfully his. His name. Our family bond. Everything else he’d long been denied. But selfishly, I wanted something too: my release from the obligation of marrying an Otleich.
Once confronted, my father and mother could retire to the small village near the crown using the ill-gotten riches from their years working with the Otleiches, or they could stay in place and continue their lives. I would not have cared what they chose to do.
But they had to set me free.
As long as I was free and Biko was given what was rightfully his, we would have found a way forward. Living openly and freely. But now, with little more money than we’d started with, I was certain that our threats against my father wouldn’t amount to much.
Without the funds to mount a legal battle, we could shake the door of the shire-reeve, but what if he too was in my father’s pockets? We had the truth on our side. But the truth felt like a disappointing weapon. I supposed I could have kept the coins that my mother had given me. But somehow, using their money against them made me feel dirty. As dirty as an Otleich. If I’d won a purse on my own, I’d have had no hesitation to pursue my plan. Perhaps I’d need to swallow down my pride, my values, and behave as my parents would—using what power I had, regardless of how I came into possession of it.
“Here you go, love.” Antonia returned with a mug of vinegar. “I hope you don’t plan to drink that.” She made a face, but Syndrian just shook his head and thanked her.
“Here, I’ll show you. Can you give me one of your coins? Any will do.”
I emptied the coins from my pouch and spread them on the butler’s cart. “Help yourself,” I said.
Syndrian grabbed a coin and dropped it in the vinegar. “It takes quite a bit of time, but watch. Pure silver will tarnish in vinegar. Counterfeit coins have a much lower silver content. They may tarnish, but not nearly as fast. This coin should be pure silver. It will look dirty within just a few minutes.”
“Pali, where did you get all that money?” Idony asked, wrinkling her nose. “That looks like so much more than we counted up last night.”
I nodded. “I was able to get my savings from my room before leaving home this morning.”
“You were?” Syndrian turned to me, the crinkles around the corners of his eyes showing his concern. “Did you see your mother? What happened?”
I sighed. “I did see her.” I looked from Biko to Idony. “Lady Lombard was concerned she acted rashly in letting you go. But she did not see how she could right that wrong and save face. She was very concerned how my father would react.” I started sorting the bright, shiny silver coins. “She gave me some coins from the family treasury,” I added. “Maybe she wanted to make amends. I believe—if such an emotion is possible for her—that she truly felt bad for what she’d done.”
“Your mother gave you money?” Biko asked, his eyes narrowed. “Does anyone else find that surprising?” He got up from the settee and peered into the mug of vinegar. He slapped Syndrian hard on the shoulder. “Get another one. By the gods, get another coin!”
“What is it?” I asked.
Syndrian held out a hand. “Pali, can you pick out another coin from your family’s treasury? Not one that was part of your savings. One of the coins your mother gave you this morning.”