When the door swung open Hasna gave a start. She was quite possibly one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on. Yet she wanted his life, and he wanted hers. Not a way to forge anything other than a good friendship. They'd stayed up until dawn two nights ago playing a game of square stones. The sort of game on which money was won and lost, but the ale and the company was more important. She'd asked him if Trone held any interest. He politely declined. The city of his youth was not one he recalled fondly. And the lies he'd told to cover up such a connection were as varied as they were essential.
Hasna seemed angry that he was so devoted.
She didn't understand the sort of man, and the sort of friend, that Conlan Agrippa was. When a fellow waded into a band of six thieves with only his sword and that chilling laugh - which grew louder every time he struck one of them, until all of them had tried to limp away in terror - you knew his worth as surely as his own mother did.
To his credit, Conlan only spoke of it when Vargis raised the point.
"A fine job with the barracks," Vargis said from the doorway.
When Vera looked up, it was as close to sullen as her face probably got. He hooked one foot over the other, leaned against the frame with his shoulder, affecting a sort of careless pose. Whatever he'd been expecting of her - perhaps some too-muscular mirror of the mannish sister whom Vera had scarred with all the viciousness of a rabid dog - those thoughts were quickly dispelled. Vargis did not think she was dangerous, precisely, but it was a short walk between not wanting your child around and not wanting them alive. He didn't pretend to understand all the inner workings of the Houses, but he knew enough to know when you were putting your neck on the line for no reason. Suddenly he had to ask himself if they were babysitters or protectors. She might have bruised a couple of thugs. The sort of men her siblings would send... well, they reminded Vargis of himself.
"You clean as well as you fight," he went on casually. "I've a pair of debtors you could quarrel with, if you're not busy."
"You would recruit a child to settle your gambling debts," Hasna's voice was sharp, but the sharpness was for Conlan - the affectionate turn of her lip was for him.
"I find that Trone doesn't suit," and he immediately broke his pose to offer her a sweeping bow, one leg extended forward, in the old way. "Besides, Vera has only Conlan to talk with, she'll think the Riders are nothing but traveling bards and wastrels."