Free The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson

called to her across the span of the drive team. “The coastal dukes built their power on cavalry. They respect a good rider. My friend Duke Heingyl conducts all his business on the hunt.”
    She ducked to eye him beneath the horse’s belly. “You must be an expert, then.”
    He patted the horse’s flank and grinned boyishly. “Talented enough to teach. If you can find a minute for leisure, that is! Cairdine Farrier speaks so highly of your dedication. Please, Your Excellence, your carriage. You’ll need time to change before the dinner.”
    She watched him mount his own charger, feigning interest in his technique, trying to play for time so she could study Cairdine Farrier’s byplay with Xate Yawa. But Farrier’s chatter only seemed to bore the Jurispotence. If she feared or respected Farrier, she could hide it well.
    Cattlson knew who Cairdine Farrier really was. But the Jurispotence, Falcrest’s spymaster and judge in Aurdwynn, didn’t . Because of her blood? Or did Falcrest share Baru’s suspicions—that their Jurispotence might have her own agenda?
    Xate Yawa vanished into her carriage. It closed around her like a gauntlet.
    Baru let her doorman help her up into her own ride. She found Muire Lo waiting—“Your Excellence,” he said, head bowed—but took a minute to latch the door and check the passenger cabin for vents before she spoke.
    â€œI’m going to make a list of questions. You’re going to start answering them while I waste my time at this gala they’ve set up. Do you have something to write on?”
    â€œI have an excellent memory,” he offered. The stagecoach jerked into motion beneath them.
    â€œThat makes it seem like I have something to hide, Muire Lo, and if you’re keeping watch over me for someone else—which I assume you must be—I want to assure them I am not a woman given to intrigue.” She had already begun to cluck (just like her mother) at his hurt, had already prepared some reassuring blandishment, when she saw that his only response was a sage nod. She sat back in the seat and decided that her secretary had to be more competent and more dangerous than she’d assumed.
    â€œYour office is in the Governor’s House.” Muire Lo splayed a sheaf of marble-cream paper. “The letters that described a separate office for the Imperial Accountant are out of date. All Imperial functions have been centralized in one location. For efficiency, I’m told.”
    Baru crooked a brow and waited for him to speak past the double-talk.
    â€œI have heard suggestions that there may have been a problem of security at the previous office.”
    â€œWell,” she said, “put that down as the first question I want answered.” It would have been the first anyway, the most pressing threat: precisely what happened to the last Imperial Accountant?
    â€œI sense some urgency?”
    She would need to bring him a little ways into her confidence. “I have become concerned,” she said, rearranging the chained purse, “that we are surrounded by conspiracy.”
    â€œBut we’ve only met Imperial functionaries, Your Excellence.”
    She laughed at that. “If you wanted to seed conspiracy, where else would you be?”
    Hooves clattered outside. Baru drew back the curtains, expecting to see Governor Cattlson showing off for her, or a Masquerade armsman moving past. But the charger pacing the carriage was stark white, the color of snow on volcanic stone, cantering alongside at a spear’s reach. The woman riding wore a leather tabard, shoulders mailed in stark ornamental iron. Baru marked the spurs, the towering charger, the minimalist display of wealth, and guessed she must be minor nobility—some feudal landlord?
    The rider stood in her stirrups, displaying the casual strength of good health and a rich diet, and turned to meet Baru’s gaze. Impressions