They stopped walking just before the mansion’s outer gate, where the Lerran Estate joined to the street of Sheld. Erril’s hands were free, and he was not sweating as much as he had been in Lerran’s cell; there was a warm breeze out, but it was a mild day. Lerran was wearing a dark grey tunic, with his green eye brooch clearly visible. “I take it for granted that you know…”
“I won’t be leaving town,” Erril finished.
Lerran smirked. “And I’ll be watching.”
Erril bowed nervously, and the guards let him leave. Antha would have someone tailing him already, thankfully. She herself should be by the mansion shortly—Lerran had planned a meeting with his inner circle. He turned away and started walking back toward the manor.
“Sir,” called one of the guards, and Lerran turned around again. A messenger in a white tunic, with dark blue trousers and a large knife at his waist was standing in the open ward door. “It’s a letter for you, sir.”
Lerran grabbed the folded parchment from them and marched back toward his house. As he crossed the yard, he looked at the seal, but it was just plain wax.
He clambered up the steps and into the large lobby inside the front door. It was a quick walk up the wide flight of stairs to the second floor where Eseveer worked in the hallway. She was filling out a payment form, from the looks of it. Remembering financials, he wondered how the Starath venture was going—he had dispatched a ship to buy from their corrupt blacksmith there. They had not lined up any buyer, but Lerran wanted to keep that man’s business, so he would distribute the weapons to his own fighters, if need be.
Once he was safely back in his office, he broke the seal on the letter and opened it. Havard’s signature was at the bottom.
“Lerran, you mustn’t be so accusatory,” he read, dryly. “Of course I had nothing to do with the Sheld Massacre—you caught and questioned the culprit yourself! As for your other question: Gharo was a crooked old man who would have caused countless problems for this entire area. You will focus on merit and efficiency and you will build us up. I did not care for your Father’s leadership, and that is all there is to it. I hope you and I can find alliances and deals with one another for many years to come, as we both rule our respective cities in comfort. Havard.”
He tossed the letter down on his desk. “In fewer words, ‘I didn’t do anything’…”
Eseveer stuck her head in the door. “Antha’s here,” she said. “Should I get the others?”
“Please do,” Lerran said. He sat down and poured a mug of rum from the bottle in his desk drawer. “And Paksis too!” he called, on a whim.
They trickled in slowly. First Antha, then Yarua and Gadra, next Isar, then Tass—she came around Lerran’s desk and kissed him gently. She was later followed by Eseveer and Paksis. Once they had all gathered, and servants had brought in arm chairs for them, Lerran began his meeting.
“I called you all here to discuss some recent developments,” Lerran said. “Things have been changing very fast, as I’m sure we’d all agree.”
A few nods went around the room. “I’m Captain of the City Guard now,” Antha said flatly.
“My biggest finding is that our dear father was planning on selling Lo Mallago,” Lerran said. “It was never a politic play for him. It was an economic one.”
“Wait, ‘selling’ it?” asked Gadra, pausing mid-step. She had already stood up to pour herself some liquor from Lerran’s office stand, and a few others had indicated they would take some too. “I was just there. It’s a city, not a box of cheese. Who was he going to sell it to?”
“Noress-That-Was,” Lerran said.
“The banks could afford it,” pointed out Eseveer. “And the Matriarchs must still have enough loyal men to defend it. For a time.”
“They’d need to turn more of a profit from it than we did, if they are planning on sinking in that much wealth,” Gadra said. “All Gharo did, ultimately, was pay mercenaries to kill some people and then put someone loyal in charge.”
“It’s a huge return,” Lerran agreed. “And, I’ll begrudgingly say of my father, it was a solid plan.”
“I won’t,” Yarua said. “Nothing Father ever did was worth a second thought.”
Lerran took a drink from his cup and set it down on his desk quietly. “I have to make a decision now. To pursue the deal or not to. Unlike Gharo, I trust my Family. What do you think I should do?”
Antha shrugged. “We’re a crime family, not a government or an empire. Sell the damn city. Make money. It’s what we do.” She took a drink of her rye, and continued eying Paksis as she had been the whole time. Paksis didn’t seem interested in saying anything at all, but Antha had likely heard stories of the other woman’s prowess in combat.
“Our treasuries are fine,” Eseveer said, with a small smile. “But they aren’t boundless. We could always use more coin.”
“Put Gharo in the ground,” Yarua said. “Then you can be sure it’s your idea, not his.” They were still hunting for Lerran’s predecessor, and everyone under Lerran’s control had orders to kill on sight. He had not been seen since his escape from the estate.
“But you’d support the selling of the city?”
Yarua nodded. “Curses, why not?”
It was Gadra who had asked that. She was frowning. “We have one city, whether we want it or not. Sheld is ours now, completely ours. A second city might be a good idea.”
They fell silent for a few moments. Gadra had been the only one to suggest any other plan than selling Lo Mallago. Lerran took a sip of his rum, and looked at his wife. “Tass?” he asked.
“A girl likes gifts,” she said, with a wink. “I’d take the sovereign, not the slums.”
Lerran looked at Gadra, who had reclaimed her seat after serving them all drinks. “You’re the one who’s been there, sister, and you’re the only one who wants to keep it. Why should we?”
His sister considered his question for a few moments. “I did go to Lo Mallago,” she said. “And I saw how they adore the Rebel King. If he tells a random man on the street to do something, the man does it without question. We control Sheld, but not like that. Not to that degree. Imagine what we could use that kind of power for.”
“They’re rebels,” Lerran said. “The Rebel King knows what kind of power he has, Gadra. The day will come that they will rebel against us too. We’ll make a fortune off them, and then that won’t be our problem.”
Gadra sighed, but nodded reluctantly. “That’s fair,” she admitted.
“Are we done?” Antha asked.
“We are,” Lerran said, “But you stay.”
Antha blinked, then sat down with an annoyed sigh. “Have fun, sisters. Have a good day Paksis and Isar. I’ll twiddle my thumbs some more.” She smirked, finding more humour in what she had said.
The others laughed and started to go; Tassina and Lerran kissed again before she left too.
When it was just Antha and he together, Lerran took another drink of his rum. “Why do you always have to say something so salty? Every time…”
“Well, I am your sister, aren’t I?” she asked, chuckling. “Would you expect any less attitude?”
“You didn’t get that from Father,” Lerran said.
She laughed again. “What? I don’t recall our mother having much attitude.”
“Antha,” Lerran said. “I’ve got something to tell you.” She took a drink, nervously, and he did too. Outside, a dog was barking. He wasn’t even sure how he was going to say it, so he opened his locked drawer and slid their mother’s letter across his desk. “It’s best if you just read this.”
She picked it up, tentatively, and flipped her short brown hair back before she started reading so the bangs weren’t in the way. She held her breath, abruptly, and her eyes widened. By the time she finished reading, her face had started to flush. She put down the letter a moment later. “I’m not Gharo’s daughter,” she said, quietly. “I’m only your half-sister.”
Lerran nodded.
“This isn’t my Family then, not completely. It’s just been another of Gharo’s wretched lies,” Antha muttered. She took another drink, a longer one, and gasped when she was done. “I’m not one of you, never have been. Just a woman with a good sword arm.”
“No, you are my sister,” Lerran said. “Even if it’s not biological, you are my sister. We grew up together, and this doesn’t change that. I just thought you would want to know.”
Antha closed her eyes. “Thanks for saying that. I’ll just need some time, I think.” She stood up and set her drink down.
“Do you want to keep the letter? It was written by our Mother,” Lerran said.
“She lied to us too,” Antha said, bitterly. “Burn it.”
Lerran sighed, but turned and tossed it on the embers of the nearby brazier. In a sombre silence, they watched their parent’s words turn into ashes, and then Antha marched away. Lerran took another swig of his rum.