It made for a pleasant morning, those hours with his brother. All the better that neither of them had to dress for their respective roles in the kingdom. Joren wore plain trousers and a dull gray shirt, while Muir usually wouldn’t be seen without his clan’s gray and purple tartan.
“Thank you for coming out here with me today.”
Muir glanced down at their lines, concern cleaving a deep ridge between his brows. “No need to thank me for spending a morning with you, even if I am at a disadvantage here.” He sighed. “Would be easier if you’d let me do this the proper way.”
“And spoil the fun?” Joren chuckled and raised his mug to his lips. The spiced wine went down smooth and filled his belly with warmth. Rapunzel had made it herself before sending the two men off that morning. “Someone has to teach you the only true method of catching a fish.”
“Blighted waste of time is what it is. Waiting for a string to go taut when I see three of the buggers in the distance now, just waiting to be plucked from the water with a claw.”
“This requires skill, brother. Actual skill and—”
“I will toss your wee arse overboard like a stone, Joren, and let the reaper have what’s due to him.”
Joren held up both hands, clumsily sloshing mulled wine over the rim of his mug. “I’m joking!”
But he laughed, and gods, it felt good to find amusement in anything related to the sea again, the early weeks following their arrival akin to riding a turbulent storm on the Viridian, the ship tossing and bobbing beneath miles of bleak gray clouds. With Coral as his life preserver, he’d finally broken through to the other side, to a world of sunny skies.
After the storm, there had been friends and family to welcome him home.
“What’s on your mind?” Muir’s question intruded on his thoughts.
“Hm?”
“Lost you for a moment there, lad. You stared off and didn’t hear a word I said.” Then the redhead grinned. “Thinking of your lady, are you?”
“No,” he blurted, “I—”
“Lie worse than your sister. You both always shout your denial before launching into a bullshit excuse.”
Joren felt the heat rush to his cheeks. “You can go eat a cock.”
“Ah, and that’s how I know you’re both truly brother and sister. She told me that too, when I pointed that out to her. Now, back to the subject at hand.”
“Yes. Godsdammit. I was thinking of Coral. When am I not thinking of her?”
“When you’re thinking of our countrymen in Ridaeron,” Muir answered, voice soft. He curved one hand over Joren’s shoulder. “That’s when. Being with Coral grants you peace.”
“It does,” he confessed, sighing. “I bet she’d love this. The girl can spear a bloody shark from ten meters. A tuna from thrice as far. Did you know that?”
Muir smiled. “No, but I do now.”
They drank some more and donned oil cloaks as a frigid rain pelted the water and stirred the fish, driving the creatures to activity. While Joren huddled around a warming stone in the cabin, Muir gutted one of their smaller catches and cooked it on a traveler’s griddle kept for such occasions.
“I hope your cooking skills are better than your fishing,” Joren teased, scooping up a serving for himself.
“Eat your damn fish.”
Joren grinned and stuffed his face, swallowing more wine with it until warm fuzziness coursed through him and floated through his head, making every thought about Coral practically glow.
He’d have to bring her out on the water and show her the pretty Eisland coastline, though he knew it wouldn’t compare to her tropical paradise. But there were still pretty sights to see near Eisland, and he thought if they traveled north, he could show her the aurora.
“You’re daydreaming about your bonnie lass again. You smile like a goof the moment she’s on your mind.”
“I am,” he confessed. “Can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Brave one, she is. So small, but evidently strong enough to fight off a grown man.”
“She’s rather muscled, isn’t she? Still feminine, but impressive in her own right. I find it attractive.”
Muir grinned. “Head over heels for her now, you are, lad. I suppose you’ll be proposing marriage soon?”
Joren’s little bubble burst. “No,” he said, a little too harshly, only to pause and add, “Maybe. Gods, why do I even try to lie to you, yes. Yes, all right? I…have my grandmother’s ring. But according to James, Neverlanders don’t wear rings on their fingers. They interfere with work and fishing.”
“Listen, lad, if you know she’s the one for you, and don’t believe you’ll regret it, have the ring set in another trinket. Ah, a choker, perhaps. They fancy those, I’ve noticed.” As Muir described it, an image formed in Joren’s mind of pink coral and bone with his grandmother’s frost diamond in the center, and knew without a doubt, nothing would suit Coral better.
“Yes.”
“Congratulations. Just to warn you, Rapunzel is already anxiously counting the days until she can call Coral sister.”
Joren grunted. “Anyway, are you ready to catch a real fish?”
“Aren’t the ones on ice real fish, or are they some variety of gilled imposter?”
“Oh no,” Joren said, gleeful. “I’m talking fish that weigh as much as you or I, perhaps as great as both of us combined. This day, my brother, you’ll get to meet the true beauties of the deeper water that never come to the surface to meet your claws.”
* * *
By the time Joren steered the sailboat into the harbor and dropped anchor, he and Muir were both bloody and smelling of fish, salt water, and spilled wine. They’d spent the latter part of the afternoon fishing for the enormous deepwater goliath razorbacks that never swam higher than fifty feet below the surface.
While delicious when grilled, they had power and stamina, the fish running with the bait and bending reinforced rods toward the water until the combined efforts of both men fought their finned foes from the sea and onto the deck.
“Have I won you over to deep-sea fishing?”
Muir had scales and blood on his shirt, a grin on his face, and his red hair was in disarray against his perspiring cheeks after it came unbound during one of their battles. “Consider me won. I never imagined it could be as exciting as plucking one from the surface with my talons.”
“I’ll never lie to you, brother.”
The usual pair of dockhands awaited them at the pier when they stepped off the boat, both strapping youths perched on a pair of heavy wooden crates, puffing cheap pipeweed Joren wouldn’t touch if the farmer paid him to try it.
“Good evenin’, Your Highness!” one greeted. “Fish were biting?”
“Quite generously, Frederick. You both look as if you’ve had a long day.”
The boy smiled and set down his pipe. “No longer than usual, Your Highness. We’re prepared to unload your haul, if you’d like.”
“Yes, please.” Joren glanced over a shoulder at the open hatch leading to the frosty chillbox. “There’s a trio of goliath razorbacks down there in the hold. I’d like you both to take one.”
Their eyes bulged as if Joren had offered them the moon.
“A goliath? You’re giving one to us?” Daniel asked, voice cracking.
“One to each of you. Do with them what you will.” A single goliath could feed a family of six for weeks and the sweet, firm meat fetched a high price at the markets.
“Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you,” Frederick said before both boys rushed to their tasks. Joren chuckled and turned to Muir.
“Too much?”
“No, that was kind of you. We have fish aplenty for our needs, better the excess go to those who need it. Rapunzel would have done the same. You two share the same generous spirit.”
“Sometimes I wonder where it comes from, given our parents.”
Muir nodded, his lips pursed and brow pinched in thought. “Rapunzel said your father was kinder in her
youth. The man I met, the one who locked her away, was merely a puppet in Gothel’s game.”
“True.” And even now, years later, he still blamed himself for not seeing the insidious darkness taking root in his home. Rapunzel never held it against him, but he knew the truth—he had failed his sister when she needed him most.
No wonder the gods had cursed him.
Captain Olivier met them at the end of the pier, standing tall with both hands behind his back. The royal guard snapped into a salute when they reached him.
“Your Majesty. Your Highness,” he greeted them.
“Jules, what a surprise to see you here,” Muir said in greeting. “I’m guessing you didn’t come to see our catch.”
“Not this time, Your Majesty. We have some new developments regarding the man who attacked Margaux and Lady Coral Shell.”
Joren eagerly stepped forward, forgetting everything related to fishing. “Have you found the bastard?”
“No,” Jules replied. “But we’ve made another discovery, and you won’t like it.”
Blast. “Well. Get on with it then.”
“A young woman was found with her throat slit last night in an alley off Red Lantern Lane.”
“My guess is that you’re here because you think he did it?”
“I do. But that’s not the brunt of the news. Captain Moreau and I dug into the records of the recent unsolved cases and noticed there’s a pattern. There are five other unsolved crimes against women, each one a few weeks or so apart. Never in the same place. At the docks the first time, once in Merriment Row, and last night, as I said, not far from the House of the Pink Petals.”
Joren’s brows shot up. “Gods. So you’re saying we’ve got a serial killer on the loose with a taste for young ladies, and no one put this together until now?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Someone needs to lose their job,” he muttered. “This changes everything. At Rapunzel’s request, I didn’t go into the streets to find him myself, but I can’t wait any longer.”
Jules grinned. “I’d hoped you would say that.”
“Then there’s no time like the present. A good thing I don’t need a sword to defend myself.” Joren turned to his brother-in-law. “Will you join us or take word to the palace?”
The griffin puffed up, drawing his spine straight. Joren had no trouble envisioning his bestial form, ruffled chest feathers and all.
“How kingly would I be if I sent other men in my place?”
“Exactly what I’d hoped you’d say. Now then, where you do recommend we start, Captain?”
“If I may,” Muir interjected, rolling his shoulders. “I could certainly be of help if I had his scent. Up for a flight to the scene of the crime?”
“It’ll have been contaminated by now,” Jules warned. “Trampled by pedestrians, strays, and gods know what else once the corpse was removed.”
“Blast. That puts us back to square one.” Margaux’s description of their criminal was nothing special, the fellow a typical bland-faced ruffian in a dark winter coat and top hat. As those were in style during the winter, every man of middle-class or higher upbringing owned one, even Joren.
“The victim, then,” Muir suggested. “As Margaux described it, the fiend held her against a wall with the knife to her throat. Let’s assume for a moment that he treats each of his victims the same way, intimidating and trapping them before the murder. His scent will be on her clothes.”
Jules canted his head. “That may actually work. It’s more than we had. After her family identified her corpse at the station, they took her body to the Chapel of Crystal Starlight.”
Joren had never considered himself to be particularly devout, and the same could be said of his sister until recent years, when a gift from the gods themselves helped restore peace to the kingdom. In the event of his demise, if he didn’t perish at sea, Rapunzel had instructions for his memorial to be held at Triton’s temple, and to bury him among all the others who had served a life on the sea. He didn’t want to be entombed in the royal crypt.
They walked to the temple district, both humans too proud to ride upon the king’s back despite Muir’s kind invitation. The temple district covered the hillside, spread along a winding road lined with ornamental hedges and lovingly tended flowerbeds during the tail-end of spring and warm summer months. The Chapel of Crystal Starlight occupied the highest lot. Its white marble spires stretched toward the heavens, all three capped in black domes with a depiction of the stars in the night sky painted in silver.
Joren always thought the temple was the prettiest in the city, though he seldom visited. On the rare occasion he ever attended a temple service, he visited Triton’s shrine on the coast, the only temple outside the district.
“Perhaps I should go in and ask,” Jules offered. “I’m familiar with Priestess Sivella.”
Muir gestured for him to take the lead. “By all means.”
Inside, the temple was as beautiful and simple as the exterior, everything bedecked in shades of white, palest blue, black, and silver. An enormous westward-facing window provided a view of the mountains and empty sky. Joren remembered watching the sunset with his father the first time he’d visited as a child. King Harold had loved the sky goddess and been most devout to Siel.
Jules moved ahead and approached a white-clad priestess across the room. After a few moments, she crossed over to Muir and Joren, then bowed deeply.
“Your Majesty, Your Highness, you humble us with your presence today.” She straightened again and smoothed her silvering hair back from her face. “It was such a tragedy, what happened to Giselle. What may I do to help?”
“We think she may have the killer’s scent on her. If so, I believe I can track him,” Muir said.
The priestess’s eyes widened in alarm. Even Joren inwardly winced at the awkward phrasing. Muir had come a long way in mastering their language but sometimes his native Ocland turns of phrase came across wrong.
“You wish to smell the body? Your Majesty, I understand the need to find her killer, but it would be blasphemy to allow such a violation.”
Muir raised both hands, palms out, a faint flush rose in his cheeks. “Forgive me, I wasn’t clear. I have no desire to offend the poor young woman, or the sky goddess. The clothes she arrived in will suit my needs. I’m assuming you’ve removed them.”
“We have, yes. I was about to send them to the furnace to be destroyed.”
“Let us take them,” Muir said.
“Of course, Your Majesty. Anything to help find the one who did this.”
Short of letting him sniff a dead girl. That was taking things too far, apparently.
A few minutes passed as she went to fetch their evidence. She returned with a covered basket, which she passed to the captain.
“Thank you, priestess.” Muir bowed. “I will send word once we resolve the matter.”
Jules led the way from the temple to a side alley. Once they were alone, he set the basket on the road and pulled off the cover. An unremarkable wool dress and a silken shawl lay within, each neatly folded despite their spoiled condition. Joren wondered if that had been done before their arrival or because of it.
“Will this be enough?”
“Only one way to find out.” Muir took the dress in one hand and sniffed the sleeves. His nose wrinkled. “Smells of stale ale and opium. Bacon. The killer must be a real winner.”
“How do you know it isn’t the woman?” Joren asked.
“Because the scent is lighter, not imbued into the fabric. She smelled of vanilla, wildflowers, and female musk. The rest is layered overtop.”
“Fascinating,” Jules said.
Muir dragged in another breath. “I also smell oak ashes. Quite a bit of ashes. And something else…a sharp odor.” On his next breath, his eyes lit. “Lye and…notes of jasmine. Samaharan desert rose.”
“You got all of that from a few smells? Bless that bloody animal nose of yours, Your Majesty,” Jules said, laughing. �
��Do you suppose you can track him now?”
“We don’t need to track him,” Joren said. “I know exactly where our villain is hiding.”
“Oh?” Jules raised a brow.
“The Rosy Maiden’s Soap Boutique.”
* * *
Neither man asked Joren how he knew so much about the soap company, but he could feel their gazes boring into the back of his skull. The truth wasn’t nearly as scintillating as they likely hoped. He enjoyed a few luxuries, like scented soaps, and the Rosy Maiden happened to be his preferred store. Midnight Garden, a unique blend of rare desert rose and jasmine, happened to be their signature scent. No one else in the city imported the expensive petals.
“How do we want to do this?” Jules asked. “A soap doesn’t exactly point to a killer.”
“Hopefully Rosalyn will recognize the man we describe and can point us in the right direction.”
Muir grinned, a teasing glint in his eyes. “First name basis with the proprietress?”
“I happen to be a loyal customer,” Joren shot back, scowling, much to the amusement of his companions.
“No wonder your hair always looks so glossy,” Muir teased.
Dead men. He was walking with dead men. That is, until he returned home and had to explain to his sister why her husband was a pile of ash. Then he would be the dead man.
Sighing, Joren shut out their companionable humor at his expense and led the way inside the shop. The open front room had tables covered with neatly stacked bars in multiple scents. Cabinets against the wall stored colored glass bottles with matching lotions and oils.
Joren led the way to the counter at the back through the small shopping crowd. Rosalyn greeted him with her usual smile and dipped into a curtsy, then a second, far deeper one when she took notice of the king.
“You honor me. Is there something I can help you find today? A gift for the queen?” She canted her head and cast Joren a flirtatious smile. “Your usual order?”
“Not today, Rosy. I’m afraid we’re here on a matter of some urgency.”
Her cheerful demeanor faded, confusion knitting her brows together. “I’m not certain I understand. I sell soaps, Your Majesty. How can I be of help to you and the royal guard?”
Sea Witch and the Magician Page 14
