nyctasia was well-known at the humble establishment of Vroehin the Moneychanger.
But she was known as an impertinent messenger-boy from the household of the Lord Heirond, an elderly, bedridden nobleman who had never laid eyes on her. He would have been most surprised to learn that large sums had been deposited in his name with one of the lesser-known banking houses on lower Market Street.
As they approached the entrance, Nyctasia held her shoulders straighter and put a jaunty swagger into her walk. Her grey eyes were bright with amusement as she surveyed the shop. It hadn’t changed. Thin, middle-aged Vroehin still bent over his table of measuring rods and scales, his young daughter perched on her tall stool behind the counter, ready to record the day’s transactions.
Nyctasia flashed them her cockiest grin. “Good luck to this house!” she said in a voice both louder and mellower than usual.
“Well, wait. Master Rastwin-we’ve not seen you here in some time. Mellis has been pining away for you.”
“Father!” chirped the girl, “I have not!”
“Why not?” Nyctasia demanded, drifting in the direction of the comely young bookkeeper. “Still hard-hearted as ever, and me dreaming of you by night and day?”
Vroehin snagged her by the belt and pulled her back. “Let’s hear your business, youngster.”
“My lord’s instructions are, you’re to pay this ruffian what she asks. Asye knows what she’s done to earn it. Cut someone’s throat, I shouldn’t wonder.” She winked at Mellis. “Nice company for a gentle lad like me!”
Corson gestured threateningly at her, “Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy, if you value that pretty face of yours!” She joined Vroehin at the counting table.
Nyctasia backed away, laughing insolently, and leaned over Mellis’s counter.
“Mellis wouldn’t let you touch me-she’d scratch your eyes out first, wouldn’t you, Song of my Heart?”
“Someone ought to give you a good beating, you pest. Maybe that would teach you some manners.” She surveyed Nyctasia critically. “And how did you lose your earrings? Gambling again?”
“Cards,” said Nyctasia promptly, “are my only weakness, aside from beautiful, cruel, passionate girls. But next time I’ll win, and buy you a gold locket, honeycomb.” She hoisted herself lightly up on the counter and tugged at one of Mellis’s yellow braids.
The girl tossed her head. “Oh, I’ve heard about you,”‘ she lied. “It’s not just for your insolence that Lord Heirond keeps you!”
“Well, and what’s the harm to you if I warm an old man’s bed for him now and then, you selfish wench? There’s plenty of me left for you.” She snatched the girl’s hand and kissed it. Mellis swatted her.
“Father!”
Without looking up from his counting, Vroehin snapped. “Get off of there!”
“Just as you say,” said Nyctasia, and leaped down on Mellis’s side of the counter.
Corson heard scuffling and Mellis giggling, “Behave!” She was torn between watching Nyctasia’s performance and watching the moneychanger count out her pay.
The money won.
“Quite the young rake,” she said, after Vroehin had collared Nyctasia and shown them both the door. They walked up Market Street. “What if that girl decides to marry you?”
Nyctasia smiled. “Oh, Mellis may flirt with a good-looking rascal, but she’s not fool enough to marry one. She’s engaged to a steady, hardworking apprentice at one of the best financial houses.” Her voice was warm with affection and respect. “That one’s sharp as a spur! Only fourteen, and she’s been keeping Vroehin’s accounts for two years.”
Corson walked on in moody silence. “Do you use magic to make them think you a boy?” she said at last.
“No need for that. I don’t make them think it, I let them think it. People see what they expect,” She threw back her head with a sudden boyish grin that made Corson want to cuff her. When she looked at Nyctasia now she could see the mocking youth who had been there all the time. She spat.
“No wonder everyone in Rhostshyl wants you dead!”
“Don’t be jealous, my sweeting,” Nyctasia said smugly, “why, the girl means nothing to me!” She dodged out of Corson’s reach, laughing, then suddenly resumed her usual stance and manner. They had come to the market square. “This is where we part company. You’ll get the rest of your money tonight.”
Corson stared at her, exasperated. This was like snatching at a gadfly. “I’m going this way,” she growled, pointing to the busy thoroughfare. “I’ll meet you tonight at The Crow’s Nest and take you to the docks. All I want is to see the last of you.”
Nyctasia bowed. “Until tonight, then. Don’t keep me waiting-I’ll be counting the moments till we meet!”