Free The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) by Melissa McPhail Page B

offered. “She is of importance to him personally.”
    “ Oui ,” muttered Jean-Claude, shoving hands into his considerable pockets, “and you’d be?”
    “I am Lord Brantley,” said the man, puffing up with importance.
    Jean-Claude frowned. “Never heard of you.”
    “The Earl of Pent,” Lord Brantley clarified.
    “Never heard of Pent neither. Is it near L’Aubernay?”
    Lord Brantley looked affronted. “Assuredly not.”
    “Tregarion then?”
    “ No, it’s—”
    “Chalons-en-Les Trois?”
    “ No, it—”
    Jean-Claude scratched his head. “Jeune?”
    “In the Maker’s name, man, it’s in Dannym!”
    “Dannym,” Jean-Claude repeated as if the kingdom truly was a distant land and not Veneisea’s closest neighbor.
    “ I am from Dannym,” the earl reasoned, “the woman I seek is from Dannym, and my lord hails from Dannym. We’re all from Dannym.”
    “Pent is near Calgaryn then?” Jean-Claude asked, still pondering the mystery of Lord Brantley’s origins.
    “No—“
    “Acacia?”
    “Never mind where Pent is!” Lord Brantley snapped exasperatedly. “I’m looking for a woman—blonde, brown eyes, about yea tall,” and he motioned with his hand. “She was expected through here several nights ago.”
    Trell stiffened at the description, knowing the man described the girl lying unconscious in his bed. 
    “Hmm…” Jean-Claude meanwhile mused. “ Ah oui, had a storm three nights back, we did. Road’s washed out few miles to the south. Was the mademoiselle coming from the south?”
    “Possibly,” Lord Brantley returned. Trell could tell by his manner that he was wary of saying too much about her origins.
    “They’d be up from Rethynnea then,” Jean-Claude supplied, nodding sagaciously.
    Lord Brantley gave him an aggravated look. “I’m not certain of their exact point of departure.”
    “Oh. Xerses, you think?”
    “I just said, I don’t—”
    “Thessalonia? Cause that would bring them in by the east road, not the south road. Did the mademoiselle come from the south, do you know?”
    Lord Brantley looked nearly apoplectic. “Is there any other tavern in town?” he asked in desperation.
    “Just the one. Did you need a room?”
    The earl sort of stared at him. When he realized the question was actually genuine, he answered defeatedly, “No. I’m looking for a woman—blonde, about yea tall—”
    “What’d you say her name was?”
    “Her name isn’t important. What’s important for you to remember is that my lord will pay handsomely for news of her—any news at all.”
    “Who’d be your lord then? The Earl of Pent?”
    “No, you dimwitted fop! I am —oh, never mind!”  He spun on his heel and stalked across the square.     
    Jean-Claude shrugged as he watched the earl stomp away. He noticed Trell then and grinned at him by way of greeting before heading back inside his tavern. Trell returned his smile, but he was wary now of the Earl of Pent and troubled by what he should do.
    Trell had been of a mind to ask in town about the girl, thinking someone in her party might’ve been looking for her there, but Yara had been suspiciously adamant that they should say nothing of her until she woke and could speak for herself.
    As he went about his business then—or rather, Yara’s business—Trell caught sight of Lord Brantley several times throughout the afternoon, but he didn’t cross paths with him again until they bumped into each other as the earl was exiting the cobbler’s shop. 
    “You there,” he remarked to Trell in his accented Veneisean, “I’ve seen you about town today, haven’t I?”  Trell found something in the earl’s manner to be decidedly insulting, as if the man thought himself considerably higher in both station and quality of character than anyone he was likely to meet. “I’m looking for a woman. She might’ve passed through here a few nights ago. Someone might’ve seen her. You might’ve seen her?”
    Trell hugged his sack of