Page 25 of The Iron Dagger
Before he knew what he was doing, Gideon strode towards their table and sat heavily in the space across from her. With a thunk, he set the tankards down and slid one to Hara. The men glanced up at him.
“I see you’ve made some friends,” Gideon said stonily.
“Oh,” said one of the men, a clod with a thick neck. “Who are you?”
“Her escort. Charged with her safety,” he said, infusing his voice with the cold lordly tone that always shriveled lesser men into stutters. Sure enough, the two of them gathered up their tankards and slid from their seats, moving farther along the bench.
“Nice chatting with you, Mistress,” said the other one, giving Hara another warm, flirtatious smile and a wink.
She smiled back at them, which made Gideon’s mouth taste sour. As soon as they were out of earshot, he leaned forward.
“Are you a lackwit? You don’t just talk to any stranger who smiles at you. You have no idea what they could have wanted.”
“They wanted to know if the gangly knave I came with was my husband,” said Hara, taking up her tankard and giving it a tentative sip. “This is good.”
Gideon sipped his own ale. “You have to be careful on the road. We’re supposed to be traveling incognito. No more casual chats with suspicious men.”
Hara’s eyes slanted toward the men. “What about them is suspicious?”
“Everyone is suspicious.”
Her gaze flicked back to him, and he felt heat crawl up his neck. “Everyone except you?”
“Precisely.”
He didn’t like the small smile that lifted the corners of her mouth, but he didn’t have time to ask about it as a tavern wench placed two pies before them. They ate in silence, and Gideon noted that Hara’s pie crusts were flakier. To break the silence, Gideon fished a key out of his pocket and set it on the table. “Here’s the key to your room.”
Hara took it. “And here I thought we’d have to come up with some story about how we’re newlyweds so we’d have to share a room,” she said. “How much did all this cost?”
“Nevermind,” he said, taking up another forkful of pie. All this talk of husbands and newlyweds was making the heat creep further up his neck. “Why do you care?”
Hara shrugged. “It’s been a great long while since I’ve spent time among wealthy people. It may take some getting used to.”
“Wait until we get to the palace. You’ll see what all this warfare between Norwen and Lenwen has done for Montag’s coffers. Our stay tonight was paid for by gunpowder sales.”
Hara’s brow furrowed, and she took another sip of her ale. “Do you take pride in that? Where all your money comes from?”
“Of course. It takes a lot of work; traveling, meeting with slugwitted kings, making sure the mines are putting out a good yield.”
“But you’re responsible for thousands of lost lives.”
“No, I’m not. Blame the kings for that. Without wars, the weapons just sit there, as harmless as anything. They need soldiers to do the killing.”
Hara’s frown deepened. “If you stopped producing them, then it would be harder to kill people. Montag’s weaponry is notorious for its killing power.”
“If we didn’t sell it, someone else would. We’re just capitalizing by seeing the need and besting the competition,” he said. He took a sip of his ale, ready to defend this point all night if need be. She could tout her morals and her black-and-white view of the world, but he had been taught that chaos and strife was an opportunity for profit. It was one of the few good things that came from times of uncertainty, and he would not apologize for it.
“That’s an interesting way of looking at the world; evil will be in the world anyway, so might as well gain from it.”
“Judge all you like,” he said, irritation edging its way under his skin. “Montag isn’t to blame for the Steward’s decisions.” This was not precisely true; his father had definitely pulled political strings where the war between Norwen and Lenwen was concerned. It was good for business to keep the fires stoked.
“Montag isn’t a faceless thing. It’s people. It’s you,” she said, letting her fork clatter on her empty plate and standing. He began to stand as well, but she stayed him by holding up her hand. “I’ve had quite enough of your company today. Thank you for the meal and the room.”
Gideon took another drink, a curious mix of satisfaction and dismay pulsing through him. “Are you going up to your room alone now to sulk and whisper spells to cleanse yourself of my dirtying influence?”
“No,” she said, and his heart lurched as he saw her gaze slide to the two men he had chased off. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything she moved away from the bench, taking up her pack.
“Goodnight,” she said as she passed him.
