The Executioner's Right (The Executioner's Song Book 1) Read online

  “You haven’t said where you’ve been.”

  Not that Finn expected her to share too much with him. With everything he did trying to serve the crew, he hadn’t been around. He didn’t know what his sister was doing. Much like she didn’t really know what he had been doing, which he preferred.

  Lena let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I was working.”

  He started to laugh, but the irritated gleam in his sister’s eyes cut him off. “Where?”

  “Master Jorven took me in.”

  “Jorven? But he’s the—”

  “Butcher. I know what he is. And it took some convincing on my part to even get the job.”

  “You can’t even stand…” Finn shook his head, deciding against saying what had first come to mind. Besides, she had a job, and he knew jobs anywhere could be hard to come by, even in Brinder. He just hadn’t expected she’d need to work with the butcher. “What did you have to do for him?”

  She pulled a chair out and sank down into it. Finn realized just how tired she was.

  It reminded him of how tired their mother had looked in the year after their father had been put away. She’d taken on any and all work she could to keep food on the table, but even that hadn’t been enough. That was why Finn had started taking jobs. Small ones at first, but more and more had been necessary for him to get the coin needed to provide for his family, especially as the jobs his mother was able to do began to diminish as she started to grow increasingly tired. It wasn’t until later that they realized just how sick she’d gotten.

  “Why don’t you just take the coin I’ve brought? It’s more than enough to keep you fed.”

  “I’m sure it is. What happens when the Archers come and demand to know where we’ve gotten it? What happens when the coins you bring to us are marked in some way they can trace them back to what you’ve done?”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  She sighed again, shaking her head. “I don’t know how it works anymore. All I know is that you’re not here.” She rested her elbow on the table, and he thought she might fall asleep. “You could have taken that apprenticeship offered to you. Mother had it all lined up.”

  “I’m sure I could manage to learn what I need to be a knacker without an apprenticeship.”

  “You wouldn’t have the guild support if you did.”

  Finn hated the guilds. They were nearly as bad as the high-class merchants who sought to buy favor throughout the city, only they did it more discreetly. Control one means of progress toward an honorable profession—even those as questionably honorable as the knackers that cleaned out the strays in the city—and they thought they should control everything.

  “You can still spend the money I’ve brought,” he said. She shook her head. “Why not? At least tell me that.”

  Lena opened her eyes, and for a moment, a bright clarity shone within them. The fatigue that he’d seen from the moment she’d come into the house was gone, and now she looked at him with an expression of irritation.

  “I’ve kept the money.”

  “Really? I thought you were so concerned about how you could spend it and whether the Archers could track it. Which they can’t, by the way. If you’d have paid any attention to Father, you’d have known they don’t have any way of tracking the coin we bring in.”

  “I paid attention to Father. You should have too. Had he not done what he’d been doing, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Mother wouldn’t be the way she is. You wouldn’t have to join your gang or whatever you call it and risk your future. We could be a family.” She said the last softly, lowering her gaze.

  “I’m making my future, not risking it.”

  “There’s no way to honor by stealing, Finn.”

  He chuckled. “You chastise me about honor, but you’re hoarding all the coin I bring in? Had you told me, I would have placed the coin in your room. That way, it’d be easier for you to pile wherever you keep your hoard.” He pulled the basin off the stove and began to stack the dishes into it. The water was hot—almost too hot. He’d left it sitting on the stove for longer than he’d intended. “You’re like a dragon sitting over your precious gold, keeping it from others all while telling them the evils of greed.”

  “Stop.”

  She barely had any energy in her voice.

  “If you need more, you can have it.” He pulled the rest of the coins from his pocket as irritation flashed within him. What did these coins matter when it was a relatively simple thing for him to get more? Find a crowd, work his way through them, and take a few coins here and there. It was never that much, certainly not as much as he wished that he could get at one time, but a few coins spent just fine, regardless of what his sister might claim.

  Finn slammed the coins on the counter. Lena didn’t flinch.

  “How much more do you need to make your pile high enough? Would you like to sleep on it, or is there something more you want to hoard it for?”

  “It’s for Mother,” she whispered. “I’m saving it to pay for a physician.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Finn’s stomach sank.

  I’m an ass.

  Here he’d taunted her, and it wasn’t about her at all. Of course it wouldn’t be. Not Lena. She always cared. Sometimes too much. It was why he couldn’t believe she’d work for a butcher.

  “Why wouldn’t you just say that?” he asked, looking at his hands.

  “I didn’t think I needed to.”

  She dropped down to her knees and started to sweep the coins that he’d slammed onto the counter into a pile.

  Finn joined her trying to help, but she only swatted his hands away.

  “Let me help,” he said.

  “You’ve done enough.”

  “Listen. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were saving for a physician.”

  Lena sat back and rested her hands on her lap, twisting the fabric. “The apothecary can’t do much. Oh, they try. They’ve offered a few different compounds the last times, but nothing has made a difference.” She looked up at him. “I know you wanted to work with them—”

  “I never wanted that.”

  Lena held his gaze. “I know you, Finn Jagger, even if you want to pretend I don’t. I know what you really wanted were you to have the choice.”

  He swallowed, looking to where he’d slammed the coins down. Were he to have the choice. Finn wouldn’t be a thief; that much was true. He’d want to be honorable, but he didn’t know how he would have gone about it. There had never been a choice.

  “You could try a different apothecary,” Finn said.

  “I have. They’re all the same.”

  Guild, she didn’t add. Which meant their training would be similar.

  “How much do you need for a physician?”

  Finn couldn’t imagine how much it would cost but suspected it would be pricey. Not only were there few physicians within the city, but they would often require a certain amount before they’d even start attempting to heal.

  “More than my dragon’s hoard,” she said, getting to her feet. She made her way to the door and paused. “I don’t like what you’re doing, but I’m not throwing away the coins you’re bringing to us, either, if that’s what you think. What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

  She looked at him a moment longer before heading out of the kitchen, leaving Finn staring after her.

  He was the fool, not her. The fool who thought she was too good for his ill-gained money. His sister deserved better from him. Gods—his mother deserved better from him.

  There might be something that he could do. The King didn’t always pay that well, especially not at his position, but if Finn could take the right job, he might be able to help his mother. And Lena. She didn’t need to work at the butcher. That wasn’t the kind of job for someone like her. It might be honorable, but what was honor when it paid shit? His sister deserved better for everything she did. And Finn was going to get it for her.

  Getting to hi
s feet, he started scrubbing the dishes in the basin. Earn enough—or steal enough—to help their mother. That would help Lena. His family.

  Which was what he had to do. He owed her more than a few coins and clean dishes.

  Chapter Three

  The Wenderwolf tavern was situated at the edge of the Olin section of the city, far enough away from the stench in the outer sections that those who frequented it could almost imagine they were part of a different class, never mind what they had to trudge through to reach the tavern or the kind of people who frequented it. None of that mattered. All that did was the perception, along with the belief those who came had of themselves.

  The Wenderwolf had a charm of sorts, though mostly that came from the people who were there. His sister wouldn’t understand that. They might not be honorable in the way she preferred, but he’d found a different sort of honor.

  Taking a seat in a corner booth near the door, he looked across the table at Oscar, putting thoughts of the conversation he’d had with Lena out of his mind for now. The older man leaned back in his seat, sipping at his ale, barely looking up through half-open eyes.

  “You got away,” Oscar said.

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Not all of us need to go storming through the streets. Not that you would know anything about subtlety. I thought I’d been teaching you better than that.”

  “You have.”

  “Hmm.” Oscar took a long drink before setting the mug back down again. “How far did the Archer chase you through the city?”

  “I lost him in the alley.”

  “Liar.”

  “Fine. I lost him near the Blood Court. What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is between you almost getting caught and you getting away cleanly. How sure are you that he didn’t get a good look at you?”

  “I can run pretty fast when I need to.”

  “You ran?”

  Finn looked up as the tavern's proprietor, Annie, sauntered over, showing the kind of cleavage he would have preferred to have seen from Helda—though with Helda, there was the promise of something more. That made it intriguing. Annie was older and with streaks of gray in her chestnut hair, and had a slip of ribbon tying her hair back while trying to look like a younger woman.

  “To save his ass,” Oscar muttered.

  Annie grinned and reached over to pinch Oscar’s cheek. “Not quite as fine as young Finn’s ass over here, but yours will do.”

  “You’re old enough to be my mother,” Finn said.

  She grinned. “That don’t mean I don’t have my charms.” She leaned forward, and her grin widened. “Besides, it doesn’t seem to me you mind all that much. You look just as much as the older boys.”

  The door to the tavern came open, and Rock strode in. He was a good head taller than Finn, all muscle, and had his dark gray cloak slung over his shoulders, probably to cover the pair of knives he kept on him. Not that he needed anything other than his fists. He slipped into the seat across from Finn and grunted.

  “What are you all going on about?”

  “Annie was telling me about how her girls don’t like you much,” Finn said.

  “That’s not what they were telling me last night,” Rock said, grinning at Finn.

  “Which ones?” Annie asked as she sat upright.

  “I don’t keep track of names.”

  “Because you can’t think fast enough to make them up,” Finn said, laughing. “Gods, Rock, if you’re going to pick on Annie like that, you’ve got to pay attention to her girls.”

  “Can’t all be like you,” he said, laughing mostly to himself.

  Annie leaned back, looking over at Oscar. “What were you doing that drew the notice of the Archers? I thought you were one of the most skilled thieves in Verendal.”

  “Might be the most skilled now that Pegg caught the rope,” Finn said.

  “Pegg?” Oscar asked.

  Finn nodded. “That’s who they held the festival for today. Saw him when I wandered out past the Teller Gate.”

  “I saw him too,” Rock said. “Had to keep an eye on Shuffles.”

  Finn made a fist, and Rock laughed again.

  “You went all the way to the Stone?” Oscar asked.

  There was a hint of something more in the question. Irritation? Disappointment?

  “The crowd pushed, and I wanted to see what Pegg might do. Hanged him.”

  “Figures,” Annie muttered. “Can’t even give a man with a reputation like that a clean death.”

  “No death is clean,” Rock said.

  “Some are better than others,” Annie said. “I’d rather have the sword to my neck than the rope. At least with the sword, you don’t have time to think about your dying.” She ran a finger along her neck. “Take it clean if you’re going to take it at all.”

  “No one’s taking your head, Annie,” a deep voice said.

  Finn looked up to see the King standing behind her. He rested one hand on her back and leaned in, breathing in her ear as he whispered something softly to her that made her smile.

  “Can’t be so sure of that, Leon. Word gets out about the kind of business you have here, and you never know what the court decides.”

  The King shook his head as he took a seat, forcing Finn to move along the bench. Though even older than Oscar and with flowing silver hair, there remained something robust about him—and intimidating. He wasn’t as muscular as Rock, but he wasn’t as whip-thin as Oscar, either. “The court isn’t going to shut your business down. It would take too much work. Besides, most of them up there”—he made a motion with his head as if to indicate the center of the city—“or over in the churches spend more than their share of time in places like this tavern.”

  “Not quite like this.” Annie tugged on her blouse, shifting it to make her cleavage even more pronounced. “Were we to get men like that down here, we wouldn’t run into trouble like we do.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Oscar asked. The question seemed directed at Annie, but he looked at the King when he said it.

  “The kind of trouble the crew don’t need to worry about. I take care of everything so the rest of you don’t have to,” the King said. He turned to Annie. “How about you fetch some ales for the table?”

  “Why don’t you go off and fetch them yourself?”

  “Annie…”

  “Leon…”

  She was the only person Finn had ever heard call the King by his first name. Within the crew, most of them had their nicknames. Since he’d joined, he’d been given the name Shuffles by the King. Finn wanted something stronger. Rock or the Hand or the King all had stronger connotations. Then there was Wolf. He didn’t even need a nickname as it was his surname. He wanted something that meant he had skill, but a man didn’t get to choose his nickname.

  “Give us a moment. I need to talk to my boys.”

  “Boys? The Hand here is almost as old as you, and young Finn is damn near twenty. The way he leers at my girls tells me he’s far more man than boy. And look at Rock. That’s a man if I ever saw one.” She winked and leaned toward Rock, resting a hand on his arm.

  The King shot her a look dripping with annoyance, but it was a measure of the relationship he shared with Annie that he didn’t force her to leave. She was the only one Finn had seen who managed to push the King that way—and who the King didn’t push back against.

  “I’ll see what I can get for these boys. You’ll have to fend for yourself, Leon.” She pulled herself from behind the table at the booth and patted Oscar on the cheek, holding her gaze on the King while she did it.

  Oscar breathed out with a hint of amusement, though it didn’t show on his face. Finn had been around him enough to recognize the sound, though. Usually, it came at his expense. It was better that it come at the King’s.

  Annie sauntered off toward the kitchen, leaving them alone. The King watched her go for a moment before turning his attention back to Finn and Oscar.

  “What happen
ed today?” There was a tension in his voice that hadn’t been there even when talking to Annie. “Tell me you got it.”

  “I got it,” Oscar said.

  “Rock informs me there was an Archer?”

  Finn looked over to Rock. Other than Oscar, Finn was closest to Rock. When had he talked to the King?

  “There’s always an Archer, King. You know that. It’s not like we were out past the damned curfew, so they wouldn’t have any reason to pinch us,” Oscar said, leaning back and taking a drink from his mug of ale.

  “The curfew is a problem.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, setting it on the table. Finn realized it was a notice of curfew. It was unusual for the Archers to enforce anything like that. “Can’t say I care much for this.”

  Oscar looked over the top of the mug, glancing briefly at Finn, the corners of his eyes narrowing as if warning him. “We did what we always do. That’s why we have scouts.”

  “Don’t usually need them,” the King said.

  “Not usually, but this time we did. On a day like today, it was a damn good thing, too. If those Archers keep up the curfew, then we’ll need them even more.” Oscar took another drink, setting it down on the table. “Did you know it was Pegg?”

  The King’s face darkened for a moment, but then a shadow appeared over the table as Annie returned with mugs of ale, setting one down in front of each of them. When she got to Oscar, she noted his mug and how he kept his hands wrapped around it and shrugged, pulling the last one back for herself.

  “We need some time to talk,” the King said.

  “You can talk around me like you always do. You don’t always get to hear who the Poor Bastard is before they get dragged along the Blood Court with these sorts of things. Heard about Pegg, though.”

  It was always Poor Bastard, and never poor bastard. A title. The church had a different title for them—the Repentant—though Finn doubted many of them were too repentant by the time they were dragged to the gallows. Seeing Pegg today, he felt sure he wasn’t.

  “Something like Pegg is why we don’t want the attention of the Archers,” the King said.