Page 129 of House of Marionne

“Okay, problem,” she said.

Yagrin’s heart hiccupped. “What?”

“My feet hurt. These heels, I—”

“Just blend in, please. I have to go handle a thing. The rules, remember.” He left her there swearing to himself he’d never do this again and somehow, after they left, he’d make it up to her.

Yagrin stepped into the elevator, and three of his peers joined him without a word, all Draguns who’d finished with him last Season. The one beside him crossed her arms.

“What’s wrong?” He pressed the hidden button to the lowest garage floor of the Q, the one only accessible by members.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, clearly lying.

“Whatever’s clouding your head, forget it,” he said. “We’re doing this clean tonight; smooth, no screwups, no escalations. Officium est honor quis.”

“Keep talking like that and people might believe you actually want to be here,” she said. The two beside her smirked. When the doors opened, Yagrin hustled out of there as fast as he could and followed a long hall to a glass-encased meeting room.

“Yagrin,” their leader for the night greeted him, his mask already on his face. “Surprised to see you.”

“Charlie.” He shrugged, confused.

Charlie’s glare hardened but he turned his attention to the others, and Yagrin was finally able to swallow.

“Bring it in,” Charlie said, and everyone huddled around him. “We’re here to exchange those packing crates”—he pointed at a plastic-wrapped tower of wooden shipping pallets in an adjoining room separated by a glass window—“for payment. Once the deal is done, if you sniff out any toushana among their men, have at it. But only maim as needed. That’s from Mother herself. Dragunhead gets no word of this one. Questions?”

His Housemate in the long dress flexed her fingers. “He never lets us have any fun.”

“Who’s the customer?” Yagrin asked.

Charlie sucked his teeth before answering. “Old man Manzure.”

Yagrin shifted on his feet. Manzure was a snake. “We have to maintain the upper hand.”

“No shit, Yagrin.” Charlie shrugged him off. “Let’s go.” He pounded his fists together and then to his chest.

“Aye,” Yagrin barked with the others, and where it usually rang hollow, tonight he meant it. He would be the monster, not for Mother, for Red. As he walked off, Charlie pulled him back by the hem of his coat.

“Just stay out of the way, all right? Before you mess something up.”

The lashing stung, but Yagrin rolled his shoulders and followed them into the room.

Inside, a petite fellow with a crown of white hair and a matching mask on his face sat, alone with a small briefcase on his lap. Yagrin’s stomach twisted. Manzure hadn’t brought a single bit of muscle to meet with a group of Draguns? Something was wrong. His peers all watched, impassive.

“It’s good to see you again, Charlie,” Manzure said. “How have you been?”

“We’re here to do pre-agreed business. Not to talk.” Charlie squared his shoulders. “Payment?” He held out his hand and Manzure’s tightened on the briefcase in his lap.

“You have grown so much, inches, I dare say,” Manzure said, now running his fingers across the length of his briefcase.

Charlie checked his watch. “You have three minutes to deliver on this deal or the offer to purchase is permanently rescinded.”

Yagrin clenched his fist.

“You know, obsession with youth is what drives most to madness in their old age.” Manzure crossed his arms. “But I don’t think that makes sense. You see, when you are young, your strength is in the way, your magic answers more quickly, you can zip around faster, flex your brawn. But when you are old”—he touched his temple, rimmed in receding hair—“your strength is in your wit. If you survive long enough, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Two minutes,” Charlie says.

“I have reconsidered the terms of the offer and have decided the price for the liquid kor is exorbitant. I will take the same quantity for half price.” He played with the locks on his briefcase, and Yagrin’s heart leapt.

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