By the time we trudged back toward the parking area, my arms were sore, my coat smelled like six different peppers, and I was ninety percent sure there was star-anise dust in my hair.
Leora was waiting beside the car, looking annoyingly unrumpled.
Of course she was.
She had a neat stack of papers under one arm and the faint odor of fish diplomacy clinging to her like a second aura. Judging by the satisfied curve of her mouth, she'd just finished negotiating three contracts, two trade routes, and the fishmonger's retirement plan.
"Well?" she asked as we approached.
I shifted the bag of spices higher on my shoulder. "We didn't get robbed, cursed, or overcharged," I said. "And your void-salt is purer than my soul."
Seraphine snorted very softly. "She's competent," she said. "Annoyingly so."
Coming from her, that was practically a glowing review.
Leora's eyes crinkled, just a little. "Good. I'd hate to have to replace her. The paperwork is dreadful."
