Hook, Line, and Sinker
The test Loomdrax had devised could only ever work in my favor.
First, I had known he was coming—and I knew this house inside and out, too. It was known to stand empty. I had spent the past several days here, and not once in all that time had a single visitor come calling the way one had today. So when a knock sounded at the door of a house everyone believed vacant, on the very day Loomdrax was due to arrive, the odds were far better that it was deliberate than that it was chance.
Second, the clothes. The old man's attire was far too fine. This neighborhood sat only two blocks from the shopping district, but it was where the poor made their homes. In a kingdom whose living quarters were divided strictly along lines of wealth, you could search this district in vain for a single person dressed in a quality suit—which was precisely why I had changed into a plain dress before coming. And yet, utterly out of keeping with its surroundings, the old man's outfit was the height of luxury.
Third, the eyes. An old man's eyes, they say, are steeped in the wisdom of a lifetime, which is why their color runs deep and dark—or, to put it unkindly, clouded. But the eyes of the old man who had come to see me were bright with life and sparkling clear.
And last of all, he had handed me the decisive clue himself: his name. Anaid—the name he'd given—was my own name, Diana, spelled backward.
Loomdrax is a master of disguise.
With that crowning piece added to the rest, the conclusion assembled itself: the old man was Loomdrax.
"There are some brats who couldn't swallow a thing even if you spoon-fed it to them."
Having heard my explanation, Loomdrax studied me with an air of grudging admiration. He had peeled away everything that could be peeled, yet his face remained crisscrossed with wrinkles. That vigorous voice set against a face full of creases made for a strange dissonance.
"Will you be keeping the disguise on?"
"No."
"The washroom is right over there—!"
I had assumed the disguise was a matter of makeup, which was why Jenice had so helpfully pointed the way—when Loomdrax suddenly seized his own face and tore at it.
"Aaaah!"
Jenice let out a strangled shriek. In the same breath, the old man's face began slowly peeling away from Loomdrax's. For one astonishing moment there were two Loomdrax faces: the old man's, clutched in his hand, and beneath it, the real one.
I knew masks that sat on top of a face. But a mask that was attached?
"That's impressive."
In more ways than one. The admiration slipped out of me unbidden. His skill at crafting the thing was astonishing enough—and as it happened, so was Loomdrax himself. Bright silver hair, a finely drawn nose, porcelain-pale skin. It was a face that caught the eye and refused to let go.
"That face is real, I take it?"
"Yeah, this one's real. More to the point, I'd like to meet the person who hired me to get them out of Bulta Prison."
Loomdrax glanced around, checking whether anyone else besides Jenice and me was in the room. I snapped my fingers crisply in front of him, and his gaze locked onto me.
"That would be me."
I pointed at myself with one finger, ever so helpfully—leaving no conceivable room for misunderstanding. Loomdrax's brow knotted.
"You're the one who got me out of Bulta Prison?"
Plain disbelief. He had marveled at my cleverness for this entire conversation—so why couldn't he make the leap to thinking I was the one who'd sprung him?
"Yes. I'm Diana Viola Ehrenberg, and I'm the one who got you out of Bulta Prison."
"Ha? A kid? A kid who barely reaches my waist?"
I let him grumble on to himself and produced the contract. When I set it down with a decisive thump, the muttering stopped mid-word.
"Whoa! That's a Dragon's Vow!"
Loomdrax's eyes went wide as saucers.
"First time seeing one?"
"Huh? No, of course not! Mind if I take a closer look, though?"
His lying was first-rate, too—carrying on like a man seeing one for the very first time.
"Go right ahead. It's not as if it will wear out."
Loomdrax drew the Vow toward himself as though handling a priceless treasure.
In terms of sheer value, treasure was exactly what it was.
I left Loomdrax to examine the Dragon's Vow to his heart's content. His eyes narrowed to slits, and at the sight of that look brimming with curiosity, I knew I had chosen my bait well.
The Dragon's Vow. A rare magical item crafted in ancient times and steeped in the Dragon's Curse. A contract sealed through it could not be unilaterally broken by either party without the other's consent, nor could its terms be trampled with impunity. Try it, and the Dragon's Curse would wither your heart to dust.
Royals used the Dragon's Vow to bind exceptional talent to their side—an item so precious that its price was simply whatever anyone dared to name. In truth, no amount of money could buy one; of all the ancient magical artifacts, only a handful survived. That I had obtained a Dragon's Vow at all was nothing short of miraculous luck.
To think this was sitting in my mother's vault. How on earth had Mother come by such a thing? And why had she locked it away? She could have given it to Father, or sold it.
No answer would come of wondering, so I turned my gaze on Loomdrax instead.
"It's the real deal?"
"Does it look like a fake to you? Shall I tear it and find out?"
Loomdrax's eyes nearly popped from his head. From the moment he had first laid eyes on the Dragon's Vow, his judgment had weighted toward genuine. Paper steeped in magic gives off a faintly different scent depending on how long it has existed, and old magical paper carries the smell of an ancient tree wet with dawn dew in a deep forest. Loomdrax had certainly caught that scent the moment the Vow was brought out. But doubting until the very last possible instant was how a swindler stayed alive—that was the only reason he had asked.
"If you can't bring yourself to believe it, I'll tear it for you."
Loomdrax's eyes went perfectly round.
"Hey—don't you dare!"
He waved both hands in frantic refusal.
There were two ways to verify the authenticity of a Dragon's Vow. The first was for one of the contracting parties to unilaterally break the agreement and see whether the curse activated. The second was to tear the Vow itself. Tear a genuine Dragon's Vow, and a dragon's apparition would appear and loose its breath. An apparition, yes—but so terrifyingly lifelike that those who had witnessed one were said to have wet themselves in sheer fright.
"Do not tear it. Ever."
Shaking his head, Loomdrax meekly laid the paper back on the table.
Come on strong, and he tucked his tail between his legs.
Loomdrax folded his arms across his chest. Only after crossing his legs as well did he ask, "Going so far as to use a Dragon's Vow—what exactly is this job of yours?"
Loomdrax no longer doubted who I was. Thank goodness for that; I was spared the tedium of proving myself piece by piece.
"Become my person."
"What? Haha—what did you say?"
Loomdrax burst into hollow laughter. Then he ruffled my hair into a wreck, rose from his seat, put the old man's mask back on, and scooped up the wig he'd tossed aside. I made no move to stop him. I simply watched. I had expected roughly this reaction. Chyo, Cassion, even Rebert—none of them had believed me at first, and I hadn't expected Loomdrax to be any different.
"Kid, if all you'd asked was for me to help find trustworthy people to stand behind you, I'd have done it without writing up a single contract. The trouble you took to spring me earned you that much. But become your person? I don't become anyone's person."
Loomdrax apparently knew the Ehrenberg family inside and out—he had spoken of my guardian after hearing nothing from me but my name. He was well-versed in the gossip that circulated, and he had a gift for spinning that gossip into plausible theories.
Now I want him even more.
I wanted him. Loomdrax, I wanted him. I needed people skilled at playing by the rules, yes—but sometimes I needed someone willing to play the exceptions. I would walk the straight path myself, which was exactly why I so desperately needed someone to work the crooked ones in my stead. Loomdrax was perfect for it. Which was precisely why I had to have him.
"Then I take back what I said about becoming my person."
A flicker of surprise passed through Loomdrax's eyes. He hadn't expected me to let go so easily—not when he knew better than anyone how much effort had gone into breaking him out of Bulta Prison.
"I told you I'm leaving."
And yet, when it came to actually walking out, Loomdrax hesitated. I knew he would.
I flashed him a sly grin. "By all means, go. Just one little errand with me first. You do want to see the kingdom's holy relic, don't you?"
Loomdrax smoothed back his silver hair with the hand that wasn't gripping the wig. It almost looked as though he were tidying his hair in order to put the wig back on.
"Do you even know what the kingdom's holy relic is, saying that?"
"A tree."
The reason I could negotiate with Loomdrax with such confidence was simple: I knew a great deal more than he imagined.
Loomdrax's hand froze in midair. As if time had stopped for him alone, he didn't so much as blink while Jenice poured tea into my cup and I took a sip.
"A tree—that holy relic. To be precise, a sword shaped like a tree."
Loomdrax passed a dry hand over his face, once, twice, again. The wig dropped from his fingers to the floor at his feet.
"What exactly are you?"
Loomdrax's gaze had gone grave. Had he finally decided to take me seriously? Or had I just made an enemy?
"Hmm... someone who knows the royal family in rather fine detail? And someone who is about to become very close to them."
The corner of Loomdrax's mouth twitched. The signal that he'd taken my bait. When a fish bites, you have to pull with all your strength to land the big one.
"Keep helping me from now on, and I'll grant you the privilege of coming and going from the royal palace as you please."
For Loomdrax, it was an offer too sweet to refuse. I didn't know why, but he wanted the holy relic—and to get it, he would have to enter the palace. Frequently, at that. For a swindler like him to set foot in the palace, he'd have to forge an identity and charm his way past the palace insiders, a whole tedious procession of steps. But if I married Cassion and guaranteed his forged identity, he could come and go without a shred of suspicion.
He came back and sat down in his chair.
"So what's the job, client? Let's hear it. Hearing you out is the price of the Dragon's Vow."
I set my teacup down. Jenice, sensing that an important conversation was about to begin, quietly withdrew.
"That's a rip-off. Put the Dragon's Vow down."
"Airtight, aren't you? Not a crack for a single drop to slip through."
"I'm not a cracked gourd, you see."
With that parting shot, I plucked the Dragon's Vow out of Loomdrax's fingers.
"The job I have for you is..."
I explained, calm and measured. Loomdrax listened without blinking once. His mouth slowly fell open, then shut again.
"Buy you a bank? Then buy one yourself. Anyone who can spring me from Bulta Prison can buy a bank without breaking a sweat."
Believe me, I wanted to.
"But I can't afford to be exposed."