White Heart of Justice by Jill Archer Read Free Book Online Page A

like to meet with you before you accept his offer so that he can outline the project particulars, the workforce challenges, the
rogare
threat, and discuss other matters that may affect your desire to accept his offer.
    Please let us know if you would be interested in speaking with the patron demon of Rockthorn Gorge about a fourth semester residency with us. I look forward to hearing from you.
    Nephemiah Zeffre
Foreman
    Luck below! The patron demon of Rockthorn Gorge’s foreman sounded as if he were auditioning for a radio commercial for NBSE—New Babylon Steam & Electric. I certainly didn’t begrudge those residents who didn’t yet have electricity their right and desire to have it, but the cynical side of me was highly suspicious of the outpost lord’s motives. Reading between the lines (and knowing that Rockthorn Gorge had been a place of historic unrest), it sounded to me like this demon lord had bitten off more than he could chew with his pointy teeth or massive jaw and now he was worried about losing not just his investment, but the shirt off his back and his demon-marked skin as well.
    I had to admit, though, that despite the lack of salary, honor, or accommodations, the Rockthorn Gorge offer was more appealing than the New Babylon gaol one—but not by much.
Of course
I didn’t want to accept a residency where torture was part of the job description, but the Rockthorn Gorge residency was in . . . well,
Rockthorn Gorge
. A bolder, brasher, more savage place I could scarcely imagine. And helping a demon lord recoup his ill-invested savings didn’t sound like a very good “pro bono” matter to take on to me. Surely there was a more direct way to help Halja’s magicless masses. Like picking a few of them to watch over as they sailed the river on vessels like the
Alliance
.

Chapter 4
    B y Monday, all of the snow demons had melted. The weekend had been unseasonably warm and the only evidence of Friday night’s frivolity was a black spot where the bonfire had been. (Rafe and I didn’t win, nor were we expelled for our provocative entry. Ionys’ carver won, perhaps in part because by the time the festival ended the pile of empty cider and wine cups in front of his masterpiece had grown into a mountain.) All the tents had been taken down, the booths and kiosks dismantled, Saturday hangovers nursed, and Sunday studies attended to. I felt sufficiently prepared for a new week.
    The cases we were studying in Artifice class were all bailiff and bounty hunter cases: how to protect artifacts entrusted to us by a demon client; how to recover said artifacts if they were stolen; how to track down reluctant witnesses and “encourage” them to testify; how to collect tithes, sacrifices, and offerings; when to accept collateral against future payments; how to remit holdings to an absent demon lord, etc., etc.,
ad infinitum
. At least the bailiff and bounty hunter cases were less grisly than the execution and murder cases had been.
    *   *   *
    W hat’s got you so full of light, O Dark One?”
    Gordianus “Gordy” Sphalerite was one of the other MITs in Artifice with me—and my new tablemate now that Ari wasn’t a student here anymore. Upper-year students took classes with both second and third years at St. Luck’s. Gordy would be graduating at the end of this year. His signature felt like snakeskin. During class he would send out wispy tendrils that would wrap around unsuspecting students and start constricting. I don’t even think he meant to do it. Fact was, Gordy’s attention often wandered, and with it, so did his magic control. So I was left to divide my own classroom focus between Glashia’s lectures and fencing with Gordy’s wayward serpentine signature. I beamed a smile at him, pinched one of his tendrils that was trying to climb up my leg, and slipped into my seat.
    â€œI missed you over the