The Crown's Dog

by Elise Kova

  “You’re the sailor.”

  She nodded.

  “You saved me?”

  Another nod.

  She seemed utterly uninterested in speaking unless it was absolutely necessary. Her back was against a rock that jutted from the sand, an off-shoot from the cliff-side that towered and encapsulated their narrow beach. There were no sounds of late-night revelries, no echoes of town.

  “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” she confessed. “We got dumped out here after you fell off the ledge and I went in after you.”

  Jax sat as she spoke, expecting to find more pain in his body. He rested a hand on the side that had been stabbed, then on his thigh. There were holes in his clothing, but other than a faint scar, his flesh was mostly knitted.

  “How long was I out for?”

  “A few hours.”

  “How did you heal me?” A few hours didn’t account for this level of healing. He knew the woman was a Firebearer; if she were a Groundbreaker instead, he may have been able to explain the recovery speed.

  “Magic.”

  The coy response summoned his attention. One corner of her mouth curled up more than the other in a sort of thin, crooked smile. She had long hair, black and straight, a trademark Westerner. Her skin was tanned, not unlike his own, but a slightly different shade—a more amber hue.

  She laughed at his disbelieving look. “Fine, fine, I had a salve on me. So you’re doubly lucky I was here.”

  That he’d believe. “Why did you save me?” He was fairly certain he’d never met the woman before that day. And, if he had, it would have been back from his days in Norin, and that was a time far more likely to damn him to any Westerner than endear him.

  “Should I not have?” she asked, tilting her head back against the stone. The woman took a deep breath, and Jax couldn’t help but notice her generous curves.

  He shrugged, looking out over the inky ocean. He stared at the distant horizon, so dark it was nearly impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began. A gradient of blackness only interrupted by the scrap of land they sat upon and the stars above.

  “I know who you are.”

  Panic twisted in his throat as his head whipped back to her. But the woman hadn’t changed her position. She still sat at ease. Jax kept his mouth shut, waiting.

  “I know you are Jax Wendyll, the man they call the ‘Fallen Lord’ in Norin,” she started. “I know that, three years ago, you were tried for the murder of the Zowar family, including the young Lady Zower, to whom you were engaged.”

  He pressed his eyes closed. A buzzing noise rose up from the back of his neck, swirling between his ears.

  “I know you were conscripted to the crown for your seemingly heinous crime.”

  “My crime was heinous.” I am a monster, he wanted to say.

  “It seems it.”

  “What would you know?” he snapped. He would not have this woman—this girl—tell him his past as though she knew it like her own name. Whatever rumor she heard couldn’t have been credible. She was merely making good guesses. “Who are you anyway?”

  “Just a traveler.” He could almost feel her respectfully easing away from the subject that caused him so much torture. His records were supposed to be completely sealed, destroyed even. Ophain, the Lord of the West, had promised him it would be done.

  He snorted. “You’re not ‘just’ a traveler.”

  “Perhaps not ‘just’,” she conceded with a small grin. There really was something familiar about her dark eyes, her expressions, but he couldn’t place it. She was likely someone from the Academia of Arcane Arts, back when he still studied there. It would explain how she knew of his past. “But I have traveled from far away to investigate this Adela Lagmir impostor and her treasure.”

  “So you’ve heard of it, too?”

  She nodded. “They’ve been running a criminal ring for over a year in the coves farther south of here. Ships dock and unload cargo… some legal that they’re avoiding tariffs on, some not so much. The coves are all connected, as you know now. It’s a maze, but that’s how the real Adela gave the Emperor the slip about thirty-five years ago.”

  “Along with her treasure.” Jax now bitterly lamented the thing that had brought them out there in the first place.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” The woman hummed knowingly. “Just because you haven’t found the treasure doesn’t mean it’s not here.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Help me take out this pirate queen impostor, and I’ll tell you what I know about the treasure. I want to be the one to find it.”

  Jax ran his hands through his hair, teasing out the wild snags and tangles. He should’ve expected something like this. No one did anything for free.

  “Fortunate enough for me, that’s an easy deal to make.”

  She smiled in satisfaction.

  “I would’ve done it anyway.” Jax tried to rob the woman of some of her smugness.

  “I had a suspicion we were aligned when I saw you chasing after her.” She stood, dusting the sand off her clothes. “Your little investigation into the treasure and soirée with the prince helped fluster the ring into making a mistake that has led me right to them.”

  “And now you’re planning on going after her?” Jax assessed the woman a bit more carefully now that she was upright. She had feminine curves, but he wouldn’t describe her as delicate. The thickness of her thighs betrayed muscle, as did her sizeable calves. Her midsection was sturdy more than narrow, and her arms strained against her clothing. This was a woman who had trained for years, and it showed.

  “Will you help me?”

  He sighed and pulled himself to his feet as well. He had no interest in noble pursuits. “You’re lucky we happen to be aligned.”

  “I think you were the lucky one.” She smiled thinly.

  Jax placed a hand over his side, atop the tear in his clothing. She wasn’t wrong.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

  The woman waved away the notion, starting along the beach. “I scouted an entrance up here. It’s a bit of a climb, but if we fall heading for it, we’ll fall into the water.”

  “What’s your name?”

  She stopped, halfway turning to assess him. Her dark eyes caught the moonlight, revealing an expression that was almost sorrowful.

  “It’s not important.”

  He nearly felt betrayed. After she proved to know so much about him, she wanted to tell him nothing about herself? Jax wanted to probe further, but he didn’t. He would’ve been the same. He would be, with whatever secrets he could still keep from her.

  “I must have something to call you.”

  “I’ve gone by many names. You pick.” She began to walk again.

  What kind of a woman...?

  “Fine, I shall call you… Nox.”

  She chuckled, mostly to herself. “Very well, if that’s the name you choose.”

  Nox was the word for “night” in the language of old Mhashan. It seemed to fit her, the dark eyes and long black hair she was currently braiding and knotting to stay out of her way on the climb.

  “One more thing.”

  “What?” She stopped mid-reach for her first hand-hold.

  “You never told me why you saved me. If you were here to kill the Adela impostor and put an end to this criminal ring, why throw away the chance you had on saving me? Even if I could help, you had your quarry.”

  “Who said I threw away my chance?” she asked. “The woman we chased was not the leader.”

  “That’s still not answering my question.”

  “Because all men are worthy of saving.”

  He opened his mouth to object.

  “Even—no, especially you, Jax.”

  She had already scaled a good distance by the time his shock at the statement wore off enough for him to move. By then, it was too late for him to press the question further. So he did the only thing he could think to do: fol
low the woman back into the pirate’s stronghold.

  20. ERION

  ABAVEIL’S FATHER SAW them out. Neither Baldair nor Erion said anything for the entire walk down Ocean Street back to the cliffside staircase that led to the pine forest and the path into the manor. They were both focused on their own thoughts, processing the events of the past few days that had led them to this point.

  It wasn’t until they were well and truly alone, the manor barely in view, that Erion snagged Baldair’s elbow. “Wait a moment.”

  “What?” Baldair’s attempt at keeping his voice low was comical. But he attempted to do so in response to Erion’s hushed tones.

  “We know Nana isn’t telling us something.”

  “Nana wouldn’t hide anything like this; she’s worked for the family for years. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” Baldair insisted in the woman’s defense.

  “You don’t know her. Other than this, we were only in the summer manor for, what, one week last year?” And Erion wished they had never thought it’d be such a good idea to return. “She’s been here alone this whole time, keeping the place, having it to herself. Surely, she knew about the lore of the manor being built on Adela’s old hideaways and told us nothing when we started our investigation. That much you must admit she hid.”

  Baldair shifted his weight. Erion’s truth was no doubt uncomfortable on his shoulders.

  “I’m not suggesting we walk in and condemn her.” Erion relaxed, straightening away. “But I do think we should be careful around her until we know what’s going on. She could’ve easily been the one to hide the book on Adela, and she knows the manor better than anyone else.”

  “Which was precisely why I was going to ask her if she knew anything about it being built on the remnants of pirate hideaways.”

  “Let’s try to do our own research on that first,” Erion suggested. He didn’t want to give away the fact that they had any suspicions before they had to. “Surely, in that library, there’s still the records on the building. Its construction, architecture, blueprints, something.”

  Baldair nodded.

  “Then we’ll look for those.” And hope they haven’t already been hidden or destroyed, Erion added mentally.

  After the first hour of searching, Erion had nearly lost all hope for ever finding any documentation they would find useful. Not only was the book that had information about Adela missing, but almost every other manuscript about the history of the region was gone as well. He scoured the shelves, but the only thing he could find with potential was a book on the architecture of the Imperial Palace. While the manor had clearly been crafted from the same architectural mind, he was looking for something more in-depth than choice of plaster embellishments or sketches of window shapes.

  “Where did you get off to?” he asked as Baldair returned with a yawn. “Don’t tell me you took a nap.” They were burning the midnight oil yet again.

  “I had an idea—” Baldair held up an old leather folio. “—that I think is about to pay off.”

  “What is that?” Erion quickly met him at the table where Baldair was unwinding the fastening twine that held the folio closed.

  “I finally went through the bag of things Jax bought. And before you scold me again for going through a dead woman’s personal effects, I think the situation called for it,” Baldair added hastily. “We know Renalee was targeted by them, and Abaveil saw her—”

  “—and Nana,” Erion added. He wasn’t going to let Baldair’s good will absolve the woman just yet.

  “And Nana,” he begrudgingly added, “with the ghost. So I thought that Renalee may have something of note.”

  “I take it she did?” While Erion would always be uneasy with the idea of rummaging through the belongings of the dead like some treasure trove, he had to admit that Baldair had a point, and, judging from the folio he held, it had paid off.

  “Bundled in one of her pockets was a small key—I almost missed it—bearing the Imperial seal. So I began to try it on every door, or chest, or cabinet I could find.”

  “What did it unlock?” As horrified as Erion was at the idea of staff sneaking around, he was genuinely curious now.

  “The desk drawer in the Imperial quarters.”

  “A desk drawer?”

  Baldair nodded. “A big, ancient-looking thing, not unlike what Father uses back at the palace.”

  There were moments when Erion still paused and reminded himself that when Baldair mentioned “Father”, he was talking about the Emperor Solaris, ruler of everything Erion had ever known.

  “Why would Renalee have the key to the drawer of a desk in the Imperial quarters of all places?” Erion frowned. “Sounds like a thief to me.”

  “Or someone who wanted to hide something where no one would think to look.”

  Erion mulled over this as Baldair pulled a stack of parchment from the folio. Even Baldair didn’t usually stay in the Imperial quarters; it was reserved almost exclusively for the Emperor. Which meant no staff would go in there with any regularity.

  Baldair laid out the yellowed parchment carefully on the table. It was worn from age, but well preserved from the folio and desk.

  “It’s the blueprints,” Baldair whispered.

  Sure enough, the architect’s rough hand outlined the building they were now standing in with broad strokes. The lines became firmer, darker, giving shape before dark ink layered atop. Straight corners and tight edges betrayed the use of a ruler and careful calculation, the transition from art and concept to mathematical precision progressing methodically.

  “Not just that, but… What’re these?” Mixed in with the yellowed paper were newer drawings, maps of winding, clumsy curves and bold ‘X’ marks over them.

  “I don’t know.” Baldair shook his head. “Let’s start with the manor.”

  “Okay, this is the room we’re in.” Erion decided with a tap after much page turning.

  “It’s not this one?”

  “No, because here’s the main entrance.”

  “Oh, I see now.” Baldair gave a strong nod of affirmation, catching up with what Erion had already figured out.

  “So here are these rooms, servants’ hall, dining, kitchen… upstairs…”

  “What’s that?” Baldair asked right as Erion’s finger pointed to a superfluous hall. The prince pointed as well for emphasis.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that…” It curved around the manor, behind all the Imperial quarters, and then branched off into two more antechambers before the tunnel faded off the page.

  Erion picked up one of the newer pieces of parchment, slotting it together against the older sketch. The drawn tunnels fit together neatly, building a puzzle of interlocking tunnels. A grand map of the interior of the cliffside behind the manor.

  Baldair eased away slowly. He blinked several times at the picture before him. “This pirate stuff. It’s...real?”

  “The ghost, I doubt…” Erion looked at their discovery and refrained from pointing out that if Baldair didn’t think it was real, he shouldn’t have dragged them down to Oparium and landed them in this whole mess in the first place. “But someone taking up Adela’s mantle seems more plausible by the moment.”

  “Why did Renalee have all these?” Baldair mused aloud.

  “Because she wanted Adela’s treasure.” Nana spoke from the doorway.

  Erion and Baldair both straightened away from their discovery. Erion’s hand fell on the pommel of his sword. This woman had endangered them all with her games. Now, confronted with the truth, what would she do?

  After a long, silent standoff, Baldair took a breath to speak. Nana raised her winkled hand. She closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

  “I’ll tell you everything.”

  21. ERION

  BALDAIR HAD A weight to him when he spoke. It wasn’t expressly a harsh tone, but it had a terrifying gravity to it that could crush the boldest of men. “We had a right to know everything from the beginning.” There was no laug
hter, no air, in his voice.

  “I was trying to protect you, my prince.”

  “Protect him?” Erion couldn’t stop himself. The idea of what was happening flew too far against his every ideal of the classes and their roles in a well-functioning society. “How can harboring knowledge of—and potentially even engaging with—an illegal crime ring and allowing your sovereign to sleep under the same roof ever be confused for protecting him?”

  “I did not think you would stay for so long.” She sighed and started in to the room.

  Erion was at Baldair’s side in a second, his hand still on his pommel.

  “I’m unarmed.” Nana raised her hands in the air before taking her seat. “I just didn’t want to stand the whole time.” She folded her hands, looking at them with eyes that had gone near-milky with age. “What do you already know?”

  “Bits and pieces. We want the whole story.” Erion didn’t want to offer anything; he wanted to take whatever the woman would give, and maybe then some.

  She shifted herself in her seat, then shifted once more. When that was finished, she adjusted her skirts around her, lifting them and replacing them until they were just so. Erion was patient with the stalling. Push someone and they fluster; wait and the only person they exhaust is themselves.

  “It started about a year ago. The sailors reported seeing mysterious things at sea, pirate ships off in the distance flying Adela’s trident. Fishermen began to whisper about hearing shanty songs echoing off the cliffs to the south of the city. Then the first Trident was found etched into the side of a building near the Market, and everyone was convinced that the ghost of Adela was upon us.

  “It wasn’t until there were rumors of the ghosts taking up residence in the Imperial manor that I began to investigate. Woodcutters and sneaking lovers had said they saw orbs of light and ghostly figures in the moonlight on the grounds. So I moved from my home in the west of town and took up residence here.”