by Darian Smith
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she had to have gone into my room to take the koroleen from my supplies, but the ward never went off. I wonder how she did it.”
“Don’t look at me,” Draeson said. “I gave her access to my room, and my room only.”
Brannon went cold. “She was never in Taran’s room.” He clapped his hands over his face. “Blood and Tears! She was never in Alapra either. People remember her being here in town the whole time. Morgin too.”
Draeson sat back, leaning against a sarcophagus. “Hooded Wolf. We’ve missed an accomplice.”
Brannon nodded. “One that can get past your wards.” His bones felt as shattered as his sword. “It’s one of us.”
Chapter Forty-five
The fresh air as they exited the building was a blessed relief for Ylani. She could only imagine how Jessamine and Tomidan, kept prisoner in that underground room for hours, must feel. The cool dusk light made shapes with the shadows and brought goosebumps out across her forearms. She squeezed the little boy’s hand in hers as they stepped out into the street.
“Are you warm enough, Tommy?” She stopped and crouched down beside him, tugging his jacket better into place. “That better?”
He shrugged.
Jessamine flanked her other side, holding tightly to a fallen tree branch she had picked up just outside the door. The young woman seemed to gain some comfort from having it. She gripped the end like a club. Ylani noticed that her eyes watched their surroundings carefully, despite her calm exterior.
“You know you’re safe now, right?” she said, aiming the question at Tommy but intending the message for them both. “Morgin’s gone. He’s not coming back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The little boy looked from her, to Jessamine, then back again. “He killed my parents, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Tommy, he did.” Even as she said it, the instinct twinged inside her. Some part of what she’d spoken was a lie. Her breath caught in her throat and she stumbled, swallowing quickly to recover. “That’s why Sir Brannon went after him. That, and so we could get you back.”
The instinct’s message made little sense, but then they often didn’t make sense at first. She stood up and took his hand again. “Come on. Let’s go back to the inn. We will . . . send word to your grandfather that you’re okay.”
That one she knew was a lie. Duke Roydan was the last man she wanted to send a message to. With all that had happened, she’d be lucky to prove what he was up to until it was too late. And without Brannon as a corroborating witness . . .
She pushed her disturbing thoughts aside and concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, a cheerful and comforting look on her face. There had been enough pain and misery for one day. Any more could wait.
“You must be looking forward to getting back to Alapra,” she said to Jessamine. “This isn’t quite the trip home you might have hoped for.”
Jessamine shook her head. “This was never my home.”
“Oh. I thought you lived here for a while.”
“I did.”
The light had fled in earnest now. The streets were completely deserted. Ylani couldn’t blame the townsfolk. After this, she wondered if many of them would pack up their homes and leave. Despite Jessamine’s words, most of the people here called Sandilar home. From what she knew, they may find it hard to live anywhere else in Kalanon after here. The prosperity that came with the gold mines was hard to come by without them.
A few crickets started their nightly chorus and an owl swooped by, searching for mice.
Tomidan jumped.
Ylani ruffled his hair. “Not scared of birds, are you?” she teased.
“No.” He pulled a face. “Did you know you have mud on your forehead?”
She laughed. “Nice distraction, kid. You’ll be a good politician yet.”
“Brannon had the same mark,” Jessamine said. “How’d you get it?”
“Ula’s earth spirits. It’s how Brannon got strong enough to fight Morgin.”
“What?” Jessamine grabbed her arm. “How?”
At Jessamine’s touch, a stab of pain shot through Ylani’s forehead, as if the clay mark had burst into flame. The instinct flared inside her, vivid and bright enough to hurt her eyes. She swayed in its grasp, her hand clenching on Tommy’s small fingers until he squealed.
The image burned into her mind: Morgin, Tomidan, Jessamine. Together. The same.
She gasped and pulled away from them both. “Ahpra’s Tears!”
“What is it?” Jessamine said. “Are you all right?”
Ylani struggled to bring her body back under control. The pain was fading but her breathing was still ragged. “The spirits,” she said. “They said a sibling sacrifice would be powerful. We thought they meant Tomidan because he was the only heir left. But no.” She looked up into Jessamine’s face. “They meant a real sibling. They meant you.”
The blond girl’s concern melted away. The gentle lines of her face hardened and her eyes went flat. “Ah,” she said. “It would have been better if you hadn’t known that.”
She raised her club.
Chapter Forty-six
Brannon entered the smithy with slow, careful steps. The shaded lantern he carried let out a soft light, barely illuminating what was inside. A lantern designed for thieves and Children of Starlight, Taran had told him when handing it over. It gave enough light to see by but not enough to be noticed from the outside.
The door clicked closed behind him. The sound was very loud in the dim light. He felt very alone.
He increased the light from the lantern just a notch and looked around.
The smithy was essentially divided into two rooms: the outer shop, which contained the forge, workspace, and the finished products, and the storeroom in the back for raw materials and records. The outer shop was spacious and cluttered. In the darkness, racks of hoes and scythes made shapes that reminded him of the tentacled creature from Morgin’s portal.
He moved forward slowly, turning his head this way and that, searching for anything that didn’t belong, anything that moved.
A muffled shout came from somewhere ahead.
Brannon hurried toward it. His foot connected with something thin, stretched across the floor.
There was a twang and a sudden, sharp pain in his neck.
He reached up to find a small dart, little bigger than a toothpick, penetrating his skin just below his right ear. He pulled it out quickly and dropped it on the ground.
Several lanterns flared up at once, highlighting the far side of the room, beyond the forge. Ambassador Ylani and Tomidan were gagged and bound to chairs. Ylani had a trickle of blood dried and crusted down the side of her face. She strained against her bonds and made muffled noises into the gag. Jessamine held a dagger up to her throat and she quieted.
“I’m impressed, Brannon,” Jessamine said. “You found me pretty quickly.”
Brannon shrugged. “People go to places they’re familiar with. Morgin went to the tunnels under his workplace. Once I realized it was you who’d had the affair with Kholi Gruul, it was pretty simple to figure out where you’d be.” He gestured to her wrist. “The burn scar from a forge.”
“Ah. I see. It seems there are a few things you can still teach me. It’s a pity my apprenticeship is ending.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Brannon said. “Put down the knife and we can call this a youthful indiscretion due to stress.”
“Brannon,” she chided. “Come on. I appreciate you coming alone though. Didn’t want to raise suspicions with the others until you were sure, huh? Figured you could handle me on your own.”
He gave a half shrug. “It was worth a try.” He began moving forward. “I’m curious, was Mayor Shillia in on it at all? Or was she just collateral damage?”
Jessamine pressed the knife against Ylani’s neck.
The ambassador lifted her chin, trying to pull away, her eyes wide.
“Collateral damage,”
Jessamine said. “Another step and there’ll be more.”
“Okay, okay.” Brannon stopped. He kept his arms out from his sides, one hand open, the other holding a sword. He’d borrowed it before coming and had no intention of giving it up. “I was sure Shillia was the mastermind.”
She laughed. The sound was incongruously innocent. “No, that would be me. Morgin was the perfect ally. Brother and sister, both wanting something from dear old Dad. Different somethings, of course.” She shrugged. “His mother had no idea who I was or how many other women her precious Roydan had impregnated.”
Brannon felt a tingling in his neck. His breath quickened. The dart had been dipped in something. Of course. It was the killer’s modus operandi. Jessamine’s modus operandi. She would have planned for this.
“I always knew you were a clever one. I think maybe you deserved a better mentor than me.”
“But I asked for you, Brannon.”
“So you could do all this? Kill people and then watch us try to solve it?”
She shook her head. “So I could learn things. Remember, I told you the rituals were done by an apprentice.” She gestured to herself with her free hand. “I’ve been an apprentice to all of you. Four experts in various forms of power. I learned so much.”
Brannon swayed, suddenly unsteady on his feet.
“For example, there was loredin on that dart. Not as effective as ingesting it, but it should be weakening you pretty good by now. I learned that trick from talking to Taran.”
“And you learned how to use a kaluki to make Morgin stronger from Kholi and from Ula—then you stole some of her supplies to make it happen.”
She took a little bow. “Exactly. Poor little innocent Jessamine saw the big bad burglar get away. No one could possibly suspect her.”
“You slipped up stealing the koroleen from Taran though. He figured out that you lifted his room key when you kissed him.” Brannon’s legs began to tremble. He clutched his borrowed sword tightly but the tip was drooping.
“Really?” Jessamine’s eyebrows raised. “I was sure I had him lovesick enough to miss that. I guess this is all quite timely then.” She gestured to her captives.
Brannon forced his knees to lock. There would be no point attacking in a weakened, drugged state. Once the drug had full effect, Jessamine could do what she wanted. Until then, he needed to keep her talking. To find out the truth behind all of it. He had trusted her. He had brought her into the center of the investigation. And she had manipulated the whole thing.
“Is Jessamine Tral even your real name?”
The expression left her face. “Yes. Yes it is.”
His sword wavered, dipping even lower.
“Don’t fight it,” Jessamine said. “We both know how loredin works. Such a wonderful paralytic. Your legs really won’t be able to hold you up much longer.”
As if to prove her right, his legs gave way beneath him and Brannon fell to his knees. The sword clattered to the floor as he braced himself with his hands.
“Oops,” she said, in a little singsong voice. “Need a physician?”
Brannon glared. “Not one who commits murder. I assume it was you who killed Keldan and that woman back in Alapra.”
“Oh yes.” She stepped back a little from Ylani, fiddling with the knife in her hand. Still too close for Brannon’s comfort. “Actually, I feel bad for the woman. She wasn’t in the original plan.”
“Then why did you kill her?”
“You were intent on finding the woman you’d seen Keldan with before he died. I couldn’t risk you figuring out it was me. So I went to the docks, found a whore that could pass and killed her. After a while, I started worrying that the connection wouldn’t be made, so I stashed the body in your cupboard.”
“But what about her friends? Her family? What if someone had reported her missing?”
Jessamine snorted. “I made sure she had no children. And nobody else ever cares about street whores, Brannon. No one knows that better than me.”
Brannon slumped back, half sitting, half lying on the floor. His mind whirled. He didn’t have much time left before loredin would render him completely immobile and speechless.
“You killed Kholi because he could reveal that it was you he had told about the ritual. You must have planned this all before you even came to Alapra. Maybe even before you came to Sandilar. You slept with Kholi to learn what you could and then you used Morgin’s insecurity to manipulate him into joining you. Why?”
Jessamine smiled. It was a tight, hard smile below dead eyes. “Vengeance.”
“For what?”
She licked her lips and stared off into the distance. “You remember what I told you about my mother?”
He watched her carefully. The knuckles on her hand were white as she gripped the dagger. “You said she died because her employer wouldn’t send for a physician.”
She sneered and shook her head. “My mother didn’t have an employer. Or rather, she had many—sometimes several a night.” She turned and looked directly into Brannon’s eyes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up watching your mother be a whore because it’s the only way to put food in your stomach? That your father is the richest man in the kingdom but won’t spare a single coin to save her?”
Brannon swallowed. Memories of his own childhood were sometimes tough—that of a younger son, considered irrelevant until he made a name for himself in the army—but nothing like this. “No. I don’t.” Surely Roydan hadn’t known the girl was his. The man was generous with his seed but he wouldn’t leave even a bastard child and her mother so uncared for. That wasn’t the friend he knew. Was it? “What happened?”
“Like I said, my mother got sick. We couldn’t afford a physician and we couldn’t afford food. But I knew who my father was and I knew he wouldn’t let us down. So I borrowed a horse and I rode as fast as I could to Sandilar Manor to beg my father, the legendary Duke Roydan, for his physician to save my mother, the woman he had given a child to. He had his men run me out of town without my horse. I was eleven years old.”
“He . . . ” The words stumbled on Brannon’s tongue. “Are you sure? I mean, did he see you himself?”
“Oh yes.” Jessamine lashed out a hand at a stand of wooden-handled rakes and the whole thing crashed to the ground. She stood over it, breathing hard.
Brannon twitched. She was distracted. But still close to the captives. The tingling in his neck where the dart had struck faded and he let his head roll to the side, his eyes still on her.
“Yes,” Jessamine continued. “He and his precious wife granted me audience but that ended as soon as I spoke. When I finally made it back to Trallene on foot, my mother was dead. I swore then that I would destroy him for what he’d done.”
“Ahpra’s Tears, girl, you very nearly destroyed us all!” Brannon thought it over. The elaborateness of the plan. The years that had gone into designing it. This girl was not satisfied with simply killing Roydan for revenge. She wanted him to suffer. In Alapra, she had been the one close when Roydan had been grieving. She’d wanted to be there to see her handiwork as he wept for the loss of his son. Then he was tormented further when that son was raised by Ula and put down again. And that had been just the beginning of the killings. She was wiping out Roydan’s entire line so that when she finally came to him, he would know nothing of him would survive her vengeance. She was twisting the knife all the time and he didn’t even know it.
“Blood and Tears. He requested you as his physician. He has no idea who you are, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t. And every time his sleazy gaze comes near me I think about slitting his throat and it makes me smile. He loves my smile, he told me.” Her laughter ran sharp, serrated chills across Brannon’s skin.
He swallowed. “You have more planned for him?”
“I do.” The smile Roydan had commented on graced her lips. “But now, of course, the plan must change. It’s always important to have a contingency.”
She
reached up with both hands, one still gripping the knife. The other she used to pull her ponytail taut before cutting it off. The remaining hair fell forward, framing her eyes and hanging to just below her jawline. She threw the severed ponytail on the floor. “That, with a bit of my blood to react to Draeson’s spell, ought to convince people I died with the rest of you. We’ll all be in pieces, after all. A few symbols on the walls, and we’re the latest victims of the murderer on the rampage.”
“What murderer? Morgin’s dead. He can’t be your scapegoat anymore.”
“True,” she said. “But once I kill Taran, the only ones saying that will be a Djin and a wizard. People don’t trust Djin or wizards.”
She pointed the dagger at Ylani. “Her death might start that war you’re so worried about, but at least you won’t be here to see it. More likely both countries will attack Djinan. That should be interesting. Either way, there’ll be confusion and I’ll be starting my life over somewhere else.”
She moved over to Tomidan, tracing a finger over his shoulder. The little boy flinched. “The question is, do I kill this one outright or maim him beyond repair? Which do you think would hurt Roydan most? I could cut off his tongue, hands, and balls. That’d make him pretty useless as an heir. He might die of infection anyway, of course—maybe even in Roydan’s arms. That’d be such a poignant way to go, don’t you think?”
“Please,” Brannon croaked, his body at last giving out on him completely. “Please.”
“Oh, Brannon. Begging for me to spare you all? That’s no way to go. The mighty Bloodhawk, begging for his life. Tragic.”
“No,” he said, struggling to form the words. “Kill me first. Please.”
“Ah. That’s more like it. Noble to the end. Buying the innocents a few seconds reprieve.” She walked out from behind Tommy’s chair, the dagger held loosely now, casual. “You’ll forgive the mutilation that comes after. All part of setting the scene.”
She leaned forward and took a handful of his hair, pulling his head up to face her. “Physicians know how to kill,” she reminded him. “Thanks for being a good teacher.”
