A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (the reading list .txt) 📕

was framed on either side by shoulder-high wooden partitions. On a busy afternoon, they would afford us some measure of privacy. There were other counters attended further down, but her adjacent counters were both empty. Today, we were as alone as I could have hoped.

I placed my writ book on the left side of the counter and the sheathed sword on the right. She folded her ledger closed and laid delicate hands on the book and sword and slid them slightly towards her, acknowledging receipt of the items. Every gesture held meaning at the House. The auditors listened closely and saw everything; formality would be observed in this bastion of Cyllian bureaucracy.

She opened my writ book and read aloud, “Faerin of Forhd.” She gestured toward my right arm with an open palm. I pulled up my sleeve in compliance, and she turned the book to align the page to the black symbol tattooed on my wrist. This was all for them; she knew me well. I wasn’t bothered by it. The old roots took particular umbrage, then again, what didn’t they grumble about? For me, it was just the way of things, possession of official identification was a requirement of any Ruk in the Empire, and they took that seriously within the walls of the House.

“I acknowledge these marks as paired,” she said in scripted reply to the auditors that sat in the dimly lit huddle of desks behind her.

“How may the Empire serve you today, citizen?”

I grinned at her, and she let slip a soft giggle.

“You made ten then?” she whispered, leaning close.

I grinned wider but made no move to respond.

“Ela said you took out a contract on some court iron when I was down at the camps? Sorry I missed it. I probably could have got you a better rate.” She wore a pitying frown, but it did little to mask the eagerness of her expression. “Well? Do I get any details? Truths, lies, stories of any kind? Thank you for asking, Lira; I did make my ten by defending a village from a ferocious Golmere horde. No, Lira, I didn’t make ten because Crylwin and I were up all night drinking shock, and I passed out right before pissing my pants. Anything, anything at all?”

Her copper eyes narrowed as she tapped her finger on my writ book.

“I made ten, Lira,” I replied. “I pulled a commission from Ellington two days ago; he just sealed down at Turns.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Johanus? I’m sure that’s a story to tell. Is it Turns tonight, then, or are you boys looking for an evening without adult supervision?”

I nodded, but to what I wasn’t sure. We did have plans to celebrate at Turns, but I only hoped she would be able to join.

“Is Decia coming?” she asked.

“I’m not sure; they were fighting last I heard.”

“Isn’t that always the case?”

I shrugged, gestured something incomprehensible, then contented myself to fall under her trance once more.

“Well?” Her tone snapped me back into reality.

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to invite me out for dinner and drinks to toast your stars, Faerin of Forhd, or will I need to find a date to crash your party?”

“Of… of course,” I stammered.

Her lips curled slightly. At times I considered that I was just a mouse to her, a curiosity, something to chase and toy with when things got boring. For now, I was content to play the mouse—I feared no cat.

With a flourish of my hand, I swept an imaginary hat from my head and brought it low, sweeping the ground while I bowed. “It shall be my honor to escort you, my lady fair, to an evening of extravagance at one of the finest establishments in all the province!”

Her eyes grew wide with panic. She gestured for me to stand. “Get up, you fool. They will see!”

“Let them, what are they going to say? I am a paying customer.”

Her jaw clenched and shoulders tensed as she listened for the auditors behind. When no one stood, I casually placed one of my purses on the counter in front of her, then drew on a perfectly smug look.

“You can wipe that look off your face,” she scolded. “Customer or not, an inquest won’t help either of us; you know I need this job.”

That part was only half true. She had coin, or her father did in any case, though he wasn’t exactly free-giving of it. He was the leader of the Northern Purity Council, but her sensibilities were about as Cyllian as mine. Needless to say, they didn’t agree on much. Outside of borrowing on his influence to secure the job at the House, she was practically on her own, though the sturdy roof over her head and steady food on the table slightly diminished that sentiment.

Most Cyllian women didn’t bother working at all; they navigated the pressures of society and tended to the needs of the house, be it their husband’s house, their father’s house, or some other male benefactor. If they did work, it was only to further the interest of their house as well as the Empire. The role of mother, wife, and daughter was vital for both familial and Imperial legacy. They nurtured the youth, educated them in their adolescence, and counseled them in their maturity. Outside of the Venticle, women held the unofficial role as keepers of tradition and the philosophical trust of the Empire. And as the Cyllian poet Elecar famously said, “No act of man, great or evil, was done without the influence of women.”

Rukish women were only slightly more liberal, but theirs was a compromise of necessity rather than some remarkable feat of feminine equality. They would keep the books for the business, run the inventory, make sure the shop was clean, or tend the counter. This was just a pragmatic response to rising taxes and the costs of Cyllian tennentships. A Rukish business simply couldn’t afford employees any more than a Rukish family could afford the price of butter.

Make no mistake;