Citadels of Fire

by L.K. Hill

  Chapter 24

  On the day appointed for Taras and Nikolai to visit the old woman again, Taras dressed in a hurry, wanting to speak to the woman before reporting for duty. That he might have a solid lead about his mother's death put a spring in his step.

  As he finished dressing, a soft knock came at the door. Anatoly answered it as Taras donned his coat. Voices murmured on the other side. Then Anatoly shut the door.

  “A messenger from Lord Nikolai. He asks that you meet him as quickly as possible. He says you’ll know where.”

  “I’m on my way to meet him now. Nikolai knows I’m com—” Taras looked at his servant, his heart beating faster. “Why would Nikolai ask me to meet him when he must know I’m already on my way?”

  “As I said, my lord, he simply asks that you hurry.”

  Without another word, Taras gathered up his sword and strode from the room, not bothering with the final buttons on his coat. Something was wrong. Nikolai wouldn’t send such a message otherwise.

  Jogging through the corridors, dodging servants, clerks, and boyars alike, Taras made his way to the door leading to the servants’ quarters. Throwing open the large outer door, he hurried down the long, narrow corridor. Up ahead, Nikolai leaned out of the door to the old woman’s room. When he recognized Taras, he motioned with his arm for Taras to come faster.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Nikolai put a hand on Taras’s chest to stop him. “You’re not going to like this.”

  “What?”

  Nikolai sighed, looking tired. “The priest is here. We’ve sent for an undertaker.”

  Taras followed Nikolai into the room. He first thought someone had spilled water. Liquid covered the floor, reflecting the dancing fire with perfect clarity. It wasn’t water. No wonder the fire’s reflection looked so clear: a pool blood, not yet congealed. The old woman lay face-up in a large, oblong pool of it, legs stretched out and hands folded peacefully on her belly. The left side of her head showed a bloody mass of hair, gore, even a few small flecks of bone.

  A priest administered the Last Rites. He droned on in Latin as Taras swept his eyes around the room, trying to gather details.

  The bed had been stripped bare. The basket, which had held the woman’s knitting supplies, lay empty. The stool she’d sat on was missing.

  When the undertaker came, Nikolai and Taras left the room. The room simply was not large enough for four men.

  “Nikolai—”

  “Wait. Not here.”

  They walked in silence back to Nikolai’s rooms, where his manservant stoked the fire. Nikolai dismissed him.

  “She was murdered,” Taras said as soon as the man left.

  “What did you see?”

  “Everything was gone, as if she’d been robbed.”

  “And what do you think about that?”

  “I think horse manure is clearer. Why would anyone steal threadbare sheets and a stool when richer booty is not far away?”

  Nikolai nodded his approval. “Precisely. Someone wants to make it look like a theft. An explainable, random act of violence.”

  “You’re saying it’s not.”

  “Taras, this woman was about to give us the first real information we’ve found about your mother’s death. On the very morning she is to speak to us, she ends up dead?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Someone doesn’t want you finding answers.”

  Taras ran a hand through his hair, feeling light-headed. He walked to the open window. “I got this woman killed.”

  “We’ve not been left empty handed, Taras. She said her daughter worked at an estate nearby. I’ll wager Yehvah knows the name of the daughter. We can talk to her. I’ll see Yehvah this afternoon.”

  “I’m not sure we should do that.”

  Nikolai arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “Didn’t you hear me, Nikolai? I got this woman killed. She’s dead because she wanted to help me.” He let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling.

  Nikolai stayed quiet a long time. “It isn’t your fault, Taras.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You didn’t kill her. She helped us of her own free will. No one forced her.” He put a hand on Taras’s shoulder. “She claimed more winters than the two of us combined, Taras. We must simply take greater precautions when speaking with her daughter. If you give up now, she will have died in vain.”

  Taras turned to look at Nikolai in surprise.

  “I wasn’t considering giving up.” He sighed. “I didn’t realize before how much this would cost.”

  “And now that you do?”

  Taras swallowed, pushing the sadness away. He had soldiering to do. He would deal with his grief later.

  “You’ll speak to Yehvah?”

  “Of course.”