580 - Thorn Of Emberlain Epub
“Five hundred and eighty pages,” Locke said, tapping the treaty. “That’s what this peace costs. Five hundred and eighty pages of lies, exceptions, and secret clauses. The nobles call it the Accord of Golden Threads. I call it a receipt for a murder yet to happen.”
“Page 580,” Locke murmured, flipping to the final sheet of the false treaty. There, in microscopic script, was the truth: Should the Thorn present himself to the Crown’s justice, all debts of House Lamora shall be considered void, and the city of Emberlain ceded to mercantile rule under the Magisters’ Guild.
Locke set the treaty down. They were in a rented attic above a tannery in Emberlain’s River District. Below, the city groaned—not with the polished rot of Camorr, but with something rawer. Emberlain was a wound that refused to scar. The civil war had clawed through it twice in five years, and now the crown’s peacekeepers marched past every hour, their boots striking cobblestones like hammer blows on a coffin.
“A better peace?”
Jean folded his arms. He’d grown a beard since the mess in Lashain—said it made him look less like a killer. It didn’t. “And our part?”
“What face?”
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“We steal the receipt. Then we forge a better one.”
An original piece in the style of Scott Lynch’s Gentleman Bastard sequence
“The one where you look like a priest calculating how much to charge for a miracle.” “Five hundred and eighty pages,” Locke said, tapping
“They’re offering to sell the whole city,” Jean said slowly, “just to get you in a noose.”
Not literally—not yet. But he held the parchment to the lantern light, watching the wax seals gleam like drops of blood, and felt the familiar itch behind his ribs. The one that said: this is a trap, and you’re going to walk into it smiling.
The ink on the treaty was still wet when Locke Lamora decided to burn it. The nobles call it the Accord of Golden Threads