“I’d say,” Gevuyn’s voice came through the kitchen door before the man himself appeared, dressed in the bare necessities, hair still wet from the shower, “I’d say it smells like salt bread.”
“And you’d be correct.” Yurtoril fetched the skewers from the firekeeper.
“Do I get one?” Gevuyn leaned over across the kitchen table, water from his hair dripping down onto the surface.
Yurtoril watched the puddle form for a moment and raised his eyebrows.
“What?” Gevuyn looked down. “Oh.”
“Never mind.” Yurtoril handed him a skewer. “Here. Figured you could use some, too.”
Gevuyn took the skewer and hastily pulled off a piece of salt bread. “And you’d be correct.”
They devoured their bread skewers in silence.
“I had a thought in the shower,” Gevuyn said, laying down the skewer on the table.
“About the director.”
“Didn’t you want to be done with that?”
Gevuyn furrowed his brows just a bit. So there was more.
Yurtoril sighed. “You know, after today’s farce, I wouldn’t mind being done with it myself.”
His partner’s look got probing. “Farce, huh.”
“So you thought so, too. Came to me late.” Gevuyn pointed down to his bare skewer. “How much more do we have?”
“Plenty. I put in the whole package; wasn’t thinking too straight.”
Gevuyn grinned at him. “All the better.”
It was uncomfortable in a different way. He returned the grin. The heaviness seemed lifted for now. Yurtoril got the remaining four bread skewers out of the firekeeper and laid them out on the cutting board. “We can still drop this if you want.”
Gevuyn’s hand halted on the way to the cutting board. “If I want? You mean… Don’t tell me.”
“You wanted to be done with it. The order is happy. There’s no need to pursue it further.”
His partner’s hand was still hovering above the board. Then he was hit by a beaming smile. “Well, we can have a little chat about it. Just to compare.”
“Just to compare,” Yurtoril agreed. “Living room?”
Gevuyn nodded swiftly, his wet hair falling into his face, and picked up the cutting board to carry it over.
Yurtoril held open the door. “Bit well-prepared, wasn’t she?”
Gevuyn balanced the board with the skewers out into the living room and sat it down on the usual book stack. “Have you ever seen an air dryer? I’ve only seen them in books in the academy.”
“Once, in the Eastern district. Shortly before they released me from training, in a practical mission. I accompanied a seasoned knight; was a smuggling case. The stuff we found was from before the war.”
“And the print on the ones today was…”
“Eastern, yeah.” Yurtoril sat down on the couch and reached for the salt bread.
Gevuyn wedged himself in between, blocking his access. “Could you read it?”
Yurtoril raised his eyebrows. But fine. “Same company, long since defunct.”
A snort. “You… Alright. Alright.” Gevuyn picked up a skewer but held it out of reach. “So would you say this was something that a grieving widow could pick up easily, in the…” He twirled the skewer around a few times. “In the twelve days since her husband died?”
Yurtoril smiled. “Even with her connections, it’s highly unlikely.”
Gevuyn returned the smile and finally handed him the bread skewer. “So…” He picked up one for himself.
“So the director being an ally to the order is also highly unlikely.”
Gevuyn laughed that raspy laugh of his. “Figured. And the water filtering systems… and the window cloths… All recent, right?”
“Plausible deniability but not likely.”
“She tried to tell us something, didn’t she? I wonder what.”
Yurtoril tore off a piece of bread. “Nothing we could have acted on in our current position.”
“Figured.” Gevuyn looked at him. “You could have said something.”
“I was trying to…” He paused. In fact… He inclined his head slightly. “I could have.”
Gevuyn’s posture relaxed. “Don’t worry. I could have…” He picked at his bread. “Paid attention right away. Shown more interest. Something.”
“I could have not made her shoot herself.”
His partner broke into laughter. “I couldn’t believe it when Suradin was so happy with our work.”
“We did what we were supposed to.” He mustered the other. “Theoretically, we could still go out now, secure something. In the study maybe. Before they clean it up.”
Gevuyn seemed to ponder it, then leaned over to rest his head on Yurtoril’s shoulder, drenching his shirt with his wet hair. It wasn’t so bad. “It’s comfortable here. And I’m wiped. There’ll be more directors.”
He smiled. “Of that we can be sure, yes.”
“Besides, I’m not going to pass on a gift like that.” Yurtoril could see the corner of his grin. “Not going after a case like that. Whatever got into you?”
“Is there a problem?”
“Not a one.”