Redwing Read Online Free PDF Page B

sleep.”
    â€œDid it work?”
    A wan smile. “Made me sick, mostly.”
    Oh, this boy was such an easy target, it was almost impossible to resist teasing him. But there was a story to be told, and unlike Rowan, who had shared his history with painful reluctance, Samik was eager to tell it. He had come to realize that confiding in Missus Broadbeam was a mistake. She knew things about him that might help Jago’s men, in the unlikely event that they traced him to her. But it wasn’t natural to keep everything to yourself, day after day. Luckily, Rowan was on the move himself. They would never find him to question.
    â€œOn the day I left home,” Samik began, “I was wakened at an ungodly hour when my little brother landed on my head.” He put on a shrill, high-pitched voice in imitation: “ ‘Samik, wake up! Samik, wake up! Samik, wake—’ ” Samik paused, noticing Rowan’s confusion. “Samik is me,” he explained. “Aydin is my maternal grandfather’s name. I borrowed it for this…journey.”
    Rowan nodded, and Samik continued. “I was about to smother him with my pillow when he said, ‘Father wants you in the cellar as soon as you’re ready,’ and I remembered what day it was.
    â€œMy father, Ziv, is a wine merchant. Not the biggest, but the most exclusive. We supply wines to Emperor Nazir himself.” It was a great honor to supply the emperor, and Samik was proud of his father’s achievement. But Rowan’s sour look suggested he was not just unimpressed but even annoyed. Samik couldn’t imagine why Rowan would begrudge his family this success. He wondered if all Backenders were this prickly, or if Rowan’s countrymen found him difficult too. With a mental shake, he brought himself back to his story.
    â€œNot all of my father’s customers are, let’s say, loyal supporters of the empire.” And some, he thought to himself, are nearly as powerful and far more dangerous than the emperor himself…
    THE WARLORD JAGO, who ruled over the inner badlands south of the River Hanajim, was arriving this day to place his annual order. The household was in an uproar—Jago was an important and difficult customer, a lavish spender notorious for his vicious temper. Samik had been up late with his father the night before, ensuring the cellar was in perfect order while Ziv reviewed his selection and order of offerings and double-checked that each bottle and glass was spotless. Samik’s mother and his Aunt Kir, who lived with them, had driven their staff into a frenzy of housecleaning and cooking and shopping, for while the warlord rarely left Ziv’s office on his visits, there must be a range of delicacies available to sample with the wines, and there was always the possibility he would decide to stay on for a meal, which would then have to be produced instantly. It was no exaggeration to say an underdone piece of trout could ruin the whole deal with this man.
    Before Jago’s arrival, Samik’s eight-year-old brother, Merik, was shooed off in the care of a young maid named Elida so he wouldn’t be underfoot. “Two birds with one stone,” said his mother triumphantly as she sent them out the door.
    â€œWhat’s that, my dear?” Ziv was only half listening, preoccupied with the business to come.
    â€œYou probably didn’t notice the way Jago stared at Elida last year—but I did. The poor girl felt like a suckling pig about to be eaten,” said Samik’s mother. “Just as well she’ll be out of sight today.”
    The meeting went off without a hitch. Samik served while the two men talked, sniffed and tasted. He knew the routine in his sleep, but most customers were unlikely to care about a sloppy pour or a misplaced napkin. He was nervous, feeling it in the tightness of his stomach and the tremor in his fingers. But he managed not to fumble or spill