Nostrus pressed his lips together and nodded. He turned toward Master Foltham, walked forward, and seated himself in one of the chairs facing the desk. Posture rigid, he grasped the arms of the chair, which only renewed the pain in his right hand. Tension claimed every centimeter of his body.
“Ease yourself, Nostrus.”
“With respect, Master Foltham, I find my current level of stress justified.”
Master Foltham hummed thoughtfully, swelling the excess flesh beneath his chin. “Forwhat reason?”
Nostrus only barely maintained a neutral facial expression. “The azhera, sir.”
“Ah. He’s certainly disrupted things, hasn’t he?”
“I failed you, sir,” Nostrus said through his teeth. Hisqal, the intricate markings on his skin, heated in shame. “You have graciously allowed me to continue my service, but the fact of my failure remains.”
Master Foltham leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his prodigious gut. “Your father was my loyal protector for many years. You’ve filled that same role for”—he glanced at the ceiling, his thick lower lip jutting outward—“has it really been eighteen years? Longer than even your father, now. And you’ve been in my house much longer than that.”
Nostrus nodded; he could trust himself with no other response. He’d accepted his current position upon his father’s death, had accepted it as his purpose, his duty, and if he allowed himself to reflect upon the shame he’d brought upon his father’s once-proud name…
“One mistake in all that time is hardly worthy of harsh reprimand. Your loyalty is worth far more than that,” said Master Foltham.
Not when a single mistake on my part could mean the end of your life, sir.
Nostrus gave no voice to that thought. He knew Master Foltham understood that truth, though he sometimes seemed oblivious to reality. Perhaps, in time, the master’s forgiveness would be enough.
Despite the dryness of his lips, Nostrus did not allow himself to lick them. “I will not make another mistake, sir. Which is why I must reiterate my objection to hosting the xendur here. He’s a flesh peddler, sir. A criminal, just like the azhera.”
Master Foltham laughed again, further expanding histhroat flesh. “Gau’cil has been my procurer for years, young Nostrus. The money he makes from me is too great a sum for him to forfeit through betrayal.”
Nostrus held his master’s gaze and said, “Similar thinking led to the incident with the azhera, Master Foltham.”
Lifting a hand, Master Foltham absently ran a finger along one of his thick tusks. “The meeting with Gau’cil will happen here, Nostrus. But if it puts you at ease, you may make the security arrangements with any resources or precautions you deem necessary.”
Suppressing a surprised smile, Nostrus nodded. This was more than he’d expected, and though he understood the risks of pushing Master Foltham further, he found himself emboldened by the success. “There’s also the problem of the azhera, sir.”
Master Foltham grunted. “He and I have an…understanding. He won’t cause any more trouble, Nostrus.”
“He has insulted you and your house, Master Foltham,” Nostrus said, leaning forward. The tension in his limbs was that quickly run through with a furious energy. “He stole your most prized possession.”
Features hardening, Master Foltham stared at Nostrus while absently tapping his tusk. Murgen Foltham was a being of deep intellect and keen business sense, and Nostrus knew him well enough to understand that Foltham was at his most competent—and most dangerous—while wearing this cold, calculating expression.
“I accepted his offer,” Master Foltham finally said, but there was a hint of question in his tone.
“Under duress, sir.”
Master Foltham released another grunt, following it with another thoughtful hum. “An offer made in bad faith. Always makes for unfair business.”
“Now he’s holding it over your head. Using what youshared with him as leverage to keep you from reneging on a deal that was never valid to begin with.”
“This azhera…he’s plagued your thoughts for some time now, hasn’t he?”
Nostrus nodded; lying would gain him nothing in this case. “He has, sir. I cannot stomach the insult he’s done you.”
Nor the insult he’s done me…
“Yes, yes…he’s been on my mind, too, if I’m to be honest. I had hoped to simply put this matter behind me and be done with it, but…”
“Great individuals like you, sir, need not take such slights in stride. Scum like the azhera would view your pragmatism as weakness and seek to take advantage again.”
Nostrils flaring with a heavy breath, Master Foltham dropped a hand to his desk. He drummed his fingers in a quick rhythm—an impatient rhythm. “I had hoped to avoid the problems that might arise should he decide to share the sensitive information to which I made him privy. It wouldn’t cause any issues I can’t make go away, of course, but it would all be an unwelcome waste of my time and resources.”