As far as gang leaders I can call on are concerned, Vanison is out, but there are still half a dozen names I know. Men rummaging through the debris and gutters of Nuhav—men like Dimmon Plank, the Damned take his soul—who might find some usefulness out of this new product.
One gap-toothed brute with a missing eye and gross lice in his beard turns the vial upside down, inspects it, and frowns. “Not exactly like selling redcloud, is it?” Banooth grumbles.
I know him from Kep’s establishment, where I first met him with Garroway and we promptly got him ejected for fucking a woman in a booth where everyone could see. He was bad for business then, and I recognize he’s likely bad for business now. But I’m feeling desperate.
“Redcloud sells itself,” I quip, nodding. “This takes a little more effort, though the profits will be greater.”
I lean over the rickety table of a rundown brothel he frequents. I had no idea at the time he was a man of some importance in the underground arena. Luckily for him, Banooth is just a drug-runner, not a human trafficker. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation because he’d be facedown in a bog somewhere.
“Bigger profits? How you figure, Bitch-Queen?” he asks.
“When the dhampir and vampires in Olhav break their bonds and find some humanity in them, they’ll want something to remind them of said humanity. What better than redcloud and ale?”
Banooth scoffs. “You’re talkin’ thereallong con.”
“Not so much. I’ve seen it work in less than a day.” I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a lady of vision.” My hand reaches across the table to take the vial. “If you’re not a man of vision, I’ll—”
He snatches his hand back. “Jus’ hold on now. Let a man think, won’t you? Fuck me True.”
“The True are believers in the elixir.” I hide a smirk. His eye is glittering now. The other one is still a disgusting black hole.Get a fuckin’ glass one, you dolt. Or better yet, a patch.With the possibilities thrown at him, the seed casually planted, Banooth looks closer to acceptance.
He pouts. “Give me four. On consignment! I ain’t paying you for—”
“I’ll never ask for money from the Silverblood, Banooth.” I roll the vials to him across the table then raise my hands in surrender. “Anything you make from it, you’ll keep.”
“And yer sayin’ I just trickle this into any bloodsucker’s mug I see, any dhampir’s horn, and it’ll fix ‘em right up?”
I smile wide. “They’ll be drinking you out of house and home.”
He lets out, “Hmph. I could do with less of these paleskins frequenting our taverns. Ever since the higher ups on the Peaks lowered those gates, we’ve had too many damned Buvers down on the Floorboards. It’s disgraceful, I say.” He tucks the vials away in his dirtied coat.
“I couldn’t agree with you more, my friend.” My hands steeple on the table. “Let’s take our city back.’
In the late hours of the night, I return to the Firehold. I’m a bit drunk at this point, and my men aren’t happy to see it.
I clap my hands, dusting them off, and lift the sides of my coat to show empty pockets. “No Silverblood to speak of though,ehhh?” My grin is huge, and I have to slurp a bit of drool back into my mouth. “Can’t expect me to sit in taverns all evening and not have a wee drink.”
“As long as that’s all you did,” mumbles Lukain.
“How proud we are that you’ve debased yourself for the cause, little temptress,” Skar murmurs, rolling his eyes.
Behind him, I notice a congregation of people in the eating hall, speaking in hushed whispers. It’s too late for this many people to still be awake. “What’s going on over there?” I ask, bumbling forward a few steps.
Garroway wraps an arm around me, pulling me close so I don’t make a fool of myself. “We found a nice spot for the Gilded Ghosts to lay their people to rest. From the mine attack.”
My brow furrows. A bit too loudly, I say, “We have the bodies from the fight?”
Garro winces. “Erm, no. It’s symbolic, little honey badger.”
I scoff, tossing my hair back and wandering away. All the drink I’ve had makes me sound heartless, and I don’t feel bad about it.
“Let them have their ritual,” Lukain snaps. “If it makes them more likely to help us, I see no problem with it.”
“You’re also not the leader of the Grimsons anymore, Master. You have no say.” I flare my nostrils at him, challenging him for no good reason.
“They aren’t more likely to help us,” Vallan grunts. He stands stoically behind my other men. “The miners are due to return to work tomorrow. If they do, Liolen Sesk has vowed not to hunt them down for insubordination and flay them.”
“Howkindof him,” I muse, voice pinched.