Gavin watched Lissie for a moment, comparing her activity to the rest of the layabouts.
At least someone is working, he thought.
Turning to Simmons, he said, “I have need of you. I need to be packed. I also need to know which room L’Marc is staying in tonight. I wish to call upon him.”
Simmons bowed his head and walked out of the kitchen, gesturing that Gavin follow. “Very good, Master. I shall show you.”
Gavin allowed Simmons to knock on L’Marc’s door and announce him.
“Allow me a moment to comport myself,” L’Marc said through the closed door.
Simmons bowed to Gavin, and excused himself. He promised to pack Gavin’s travel clothes.
“Do not forget my papers and books.” Gavin said to Simmons’ back.
The door opened a crack. “There is no need for further negotiation as there will be no further imports.” L’Marc’s monocle disappeared through the sliver of door and it clicked shut.
“I have come to speak with you to inquire if I may travel with you to Kalden.” Gavin had to resist trying the handle.
There was a sound of shuffling. The slamming of a trunk. The door opened. Gavin stepped in before it could close on him.
L’Marc’s eyes flew open and he took a step back. “Why do you have a bandage on your neck?”
“My sister disregarded the rules of engagement during our training. We are only supposed to mark arms and legs.” Gavin’s voice broke. “She cheated.”
“How do I know it’s not a rash? You would lie.” L’Marc took another step back, his legs hitting the bed. He sat down. “Unwrap it or leave. Please.”
Gavin unwrapped the linens and looked at them. There was very little blood. Not nearly as much blood as he had imagined for the itching.
L’Marc stood, breathing slow. “Looks like you cut yourself shaving.”
Gavin’s chin cocked and he looked in the mirror on the wall. “I assure you it was a wound earned in combat.” The line was red, thin, and long.
“Why do you want to come to the capital?” L’Marc put his hands behind his back and stood straight. His neck bent toward Gavin, peering at him.
“I must seek an audience with the king.” Gavin breathed in, and stood tall. His chest did not fill his shirt, he could feel it billowing.
L’Marc turned his back to him. “By how much was your mother attempting to raise our passage fees?”
It cannot matter now, Gavin thought.
“She told me to try for twenty percent.”
L’Marc laughed. It was a reedy sound, ending in a wheeze. “I needed that. She really thought you were going to be able to double the fees?”
Gavin thought back to the conversation with his mother. She had said she would accept twelve. But anything less than fifteen was to be considered a failure. He admitted, “She said she wanted fifteen, but that she would accept twelve.”
“Yes, she probably would have been able to get fifteen from Hopwhist, Plumm after another decanter. I would have been allowed twelve on the side, if I agreed to fifteen in front of them.” He turned back to face Gavin.
“What will you do now, with the Commerce Road closed?” Gavin asked.
“Ships on the Eible Sea. We lose every fifth shipment, but they haul so much more than caravans.” L’Marc polished his monocle. “Closed borders do not mean closed to everything. There will be other equipment. I will find out what is needed and procure it. War, disease, famine, it is not ruinous.”
Gavin marveled at the man. His clothing was immaculate. It was all black, but such a play of black. His suit jacket was absorbent of the candlelight, the finest brushed wool. His shirt had a shimmer, so it was not lost in the darkness. The pants were creased with a measured delicacy. The tie was one of intricate embroidery. His cape looked to be tailored by artisans. Gavin thought of them shaping the silk on a sculpture of L’Marc a thread at a time.
Gavin asked, “Will you let me travel with you in the morning?”
“There is nothing that keeps you bound to your home?” L’Marc asked.
Gavin thought about Cora at dinner, and of the sketches of her locked safely in the journal in his desk.
Her neck is too long. Her hair is always coming undone. She always shows too much lace. He felt his face flush at the thought, and tightened his jaw. Even her laugh is off-key.
“There is nothing more important to me than my people.”
“A lesson your father instilled in you I am certain. We will not be waiting. By sunrise I hope to be halfway out of Ariland.” L’Marc tilted his head back and screwed his monocle in, and tucked the chain on his lapel. “Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”