The High Council would never accept a single word as evidence.
Lila could still gain information, though.
“Yes, I know, and I don’t care,” the voice said after a pause. “Plans change. I don’t want to hear that it’s short notice. I’ll pick them up tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.”
“That’s not a lunch order,” whispered Alex as they came to another red light.
“Clearly, mine is the most important,” the voice continued, “but I need the boy’s too. Finish them, and forget about the others. The girl is of little use, as is… Yes, I expect your work to be completed when I arrive in the morning. No excuses, Ms. Schreiber.”
A crash nearly blew out the speakers, Wilson’s palm computer smacking against the desk, if Lila had to guess.
Alex swallowed. “Do you think she was talking to—”
“Valandra Schreiber? It’s likely.”
“What does my mother need a forger for?”
Lila shrugged. “Valandra Schreiber is as good at creating fake documents as…”
“As your mother is at making money. I’m not sorry that I helped now. This is about more than revenge. More than Simon, too, by the sound of it.”
The pair drove down several streets before Alex spoke again. “Do you think she’s leaving? Mother said that the girl was of little use. You don’t think… Lila, the boy could be Patrick.”
“Could be.”
“But then why would she need to forge anything for Patrick? He’s not a slave. He could go anywhere at any time. You don’t think she’s talking about Simon, do you? That she’s moving him somewhere he could be free again, like Brazil or Burgundy?”
“It’s hard to know what she meant from such a short conversation.”
Alex’s thumb twitched. “You’re appeasing me again.”
“I’ve only had a moment to think about it.”
“You wouldn’t rat her out for that, would you? You’d let her take him away?”
Lila turned down another street, getting closer and closer to home and her security office. “I’d keep my mouth shut if she took him, or you, for that matter, so long as she took you somewhere nice. Some place tropical, with a nice beach, and lots of men who look like Johnny Beaulieu.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Alex gave a half-smile. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, though. Ms. Schreiber is from Burgundy. She specializes in Burgundy—”
“Zephyr?” interrupted the voice through the static. “You were right. She came by. Take care of it. I don’t care what you do, just do it right.”
Chapter 19
“Damn it, Lila, I said no.” Alex turned on her heel and scooted into the kitchen.
Chef eyed the slave as she snatched an apron from a peg near the door and slipped into the scullery. The music, an instrumental punk waltz from Burgundy, paused instantly. “Ms. Wilson is willingly doing the dishes?” Chef asked, gesturing with a knife laden with chunks of zucchini. “Have the gods gone completely bonkers?”
“Something like that.” Lila frowned, searching the countertops for cookies. “She’s just upset. Will you see that she eats lunch?”
Chef nodded. “I saved a plate for both of you. Cookies, too, so stop eyeballing my kitchen.”
“Yes, madam.” Lila bowed, far more deeply than an heir should bow to anyone, much less a workborn.
Chef chuckled and smacked her in the arm with her dishtowel. “Would you like to eat in the dining room? I’ll send Isabel to get it ready.”
“No, my bedroom. I have work to do.”
“Bedrooms and desks aren’t the place for eating. You work in there too much lately. You eat without focusing on your food.”