“Here,” Kai said, holding them out with one hand.
Mumbling his thanks, Mikael took the boots and worked them onto his feet, then laced them with shaking fingers. It was slow, but he did them himself, feeling Kai’s eyes on him the whole time. He pushed himself up off the bed and managed not to sway.
“Let’s get you back home,” Deborah said, one hand on his arm.
Mikael wasn’t sure how much longer it would be his home. Deborah would insist on keeping him in the fortress the next time he dreamed, and the sensitives would be the ones hurt. The elders would have ample cause to send him away to one of the enclaves once that happened. That they’d let him stay so long when he was an irritant to the sensitives was a testament to Deborah’s interference. She was determined to find a way to fix him.
But the next time he dreamed would likely be the breaking point, and he very much feared he would find himself without a home.
• • •
Cerradine stared at the sketch Kassannan presented him, a series of letters in the Pedraisi language. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. “I think I recognize this.”
Kassannan had returned from his foray to the city’s morgue brimming with news about the police commissioner’s actions, and guilt that he’d allowed Shironne to be hurt. He was still dressed in civilian clothes since he hadn’t had time yet to don his uniform. “Yes, it’s clearly blood magic,” he said, “although what this particular inscription is meant to do, I’ve no idea.”
Cerradine shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I think I’ve seen this specific inscription before.” He sat down on the edge of his desk. Surely the Daujom would have a record of the inscription. “I’ll need to take this up to the palace. I need to be sure.”
“What does it remind you of?”
“I was out in Andersen Province in the cleanup after the Farunas massacres.”
Kassannan’s mouth pursed. “No. The victims are wrong. This can’t be the same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” Cerradine agreed. The Farunas massacres had seen entire families butchered, sacrificed in blood magic. Plucking a single police officer off the street wasn’t the same at all. “I want to check the writing anyway. It looks very close to what I remember.”
Few people this far away from the border with Pedrossa would have much familiarity with a series of deaths fourteen years past. Kassannan would have been young then, probably still at the medical college, and most of the workers in the office were even younger. Shironne wouldn’t recognize the killings, nor would Mikael Lee, Cerradine suspected. He would.
The Larossan army had been called in only afterward, to deal with the bodies and restore security along that section of the Larossa-Pedrossa border. The army had counted seventy-two dead from twelve different households along a thirty-mile stretch of border, all sacrificed over about a month. That was, however, only the ones they’d actually accounted for. Homesteads along that border were spread out, and very often a family’s nearest neighbor wouldn’t see them for months. Added to that, many of the bodies had been dumped in the Sorianas River, which grew more turbulent as it flowed south toward Kithria. It was impossible to know exactly how many lives had been lost in that incident.
It had ended without their interference. The Andersens, the Family associated with that border province, claimed that vigilantes shot and killed several of the priests involved, and the remaining perpetrators had fled back across the river into Pedrossa. The territory into which they’d fled housed many of the most violent clans in the country, those most determined to cling to the old ways.
The Pedraisi government hadn’t been willing to help, and neither the Andersens nor the army had been able to do much more than gather information about the killers. They’d never learned much, though, merely that they had to have come from one of a handful of clans that followed the ancient god Farunas. Only those clans knew what Farunas promised his followers. And since they had no treaty with Larossa that guaranteed extradition, the pursuit of justice for all those families murdered in the name of a foreign god had simply died out. Fourteen years had passed, but that time was still vivid in Cerradine’s memory.
“Faralis may have made the connection,” he said. “He may not have. But if a second body turns up with the same markings, his reaction will probably be even worse.” Having one of their own officers fall victim to practitioners of blood magic made the Larossan authorities here look weak. That was likely the reason why Faralis had reacted the way he had, calling for the body to be sequestered and demanding secrecy. “Go talk to Officer Harinen again after he gets off his duty shift,” he told Kassannan. “I’m willing to take him on if Faralis fires him over this.”
Kassannan nodded. “I’ll need to write a letter of apology to Madam Anjir first, but after that, I’ll go find him.”
“Good.” Cerradine pushed himself to his feet. “And I will talk to Aldassa.”
He found David Aldassa in the front of the office. After carefully laying out every detail about the second dream that Shironne had shared, he charged the lieutenant with locating that second body before the police did. If these murders did have something to do with the Farunas massacres, he was far more likely to recognize it than the police were. And far more likely to do something about it instead of pretending it hadn’t happened. He only hoped that the second body hadn’t been dumped in the river after death as the first had. When it came to evidence, water played havoc with timing and details.
Aldassa sent an ensign off to retrieve a map of the river’s course along the edge of the city and turned his attention back to the colonel. “The first body was pulled out of the river south of the sewage outlet, is that right? So it could have gone in anywhere north of there.”
Cerradine nodded. “I don’t know how much it would help to have the site where he died, so the priority has to be on finding that second body.”
Aldassa peered down at the list Kassannan had written of all the small details Shironne had gleaned from the previous night’s dream. “Eliminate any heavily populated area. That takes us to the edge of the city. Not too far out, because a coach would need roads. Don’t want to be dragging a victim very far. We can eliminate some of the farms we’ve already searched as well.”
The ensign returned with a large map, and Aldassa hung it carefully on the chalkboard that he kept near his desk. Then he fetched a straightedge and, after peering at the map a moment longer, drew a line that roughly followed the river before it turned in the middle of the city, creating a grid of parallel and perpendicular lines that followed along the edge of the river. “Ideally, sir, I’d like a squad to search each square I’ve drawn here. And I think it would be easier to run a search from the tavern up on Lana’s Road. Shorter distance to report in before going back out.”
“I’ll talk to the general before I leave for the palace,” Cerradine told him. “I’ll get you as many squads as you need.”
“If I can have eight, sir, I think that would work. I’ll pair them with some of our people.” He went on to list off most of the office’s workers.
“Isn’t Pamini working on the Endiren case?”
Aldassa shook his head. “She can step away for a while. And there is a slim possibility they’re related.”
Cerradine had put forward that possibility himself. Asking Shironne to query her mother about it had mainly been a formality, though, and also an excuse to communicate with her. Endiren had gone to the border to pursue news of children being sold into Pedrossa, not religious fanatics. Cerradine rose and picked up his hat. “Then I’ll go get you your eight squads.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shironne woke to her mother’s touch on her forehead. The pillow underneath her was damp, which confused her until she remembered the piece of ice she’d held to her cheek before falling asleep. She sat up, and her mother slid the sodden pillow away.
“I’l
l get you a dry one,” Mama said. “How do you feel?”
Her mother’s fingers tilted her face to get a better look at her eyes, worry in her mind.
“Passable.” Her head hurt, the cheek throbbed, but her mouth ached the most, which surprised her.
Her mother’s concern washed about her, flooding back at the hesitant sound of her reply. “It always gets worse before it gets better. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Before Shironne had lost her sight, she’d never been the sort to trip or fall. Now she walked into things on a regular basis, too eager to be cautious.
“I received a letter from the captain.” Irritation flared briefly across her mother’s mind, quickly tamped down. “Apologizing for what happened.”
“Don’t be angry with him,” Shironne said. “He couldn’t have prevented it.”
Her mother sighed. “He seems like a nice man, so I’ll try not to be too vexed with him.”
But Shironne could still feel that hint of ire in her mother’s words. “Not Messine either. Or the colonel.”
Her mother’s fingers brushed her cheek, her bracelet tinkling. “Sweetheart, I know very well that you will do what you want, so I will not blame your colonel when going there was your choice.”
Her mother’s thoughts spun away. When Mama contemplated a new idea, her mind turned in a whispering tumble, unformed concepts not yet made into words. Shironne waited in silence while her mother chased her ideas to their ends, wrapping words around them so she could hold them.
“What is it?” Shironne finally asked.
“All I’ve ever wanted for the three of you was that you each be able to make your own decisions,” her mother said. “I didn’t have any choice. I had to marry your father. I didn’t know why at the time, but I learned later that he had evidence of one of my mother’s affairs—a packet of letters. My father agreed to give me to your father in exchange for hiding yet another of my mother’s indiscretions.”
Her mother had been married off at fifteen to Tornin Anjir, a man with neither family ties nor money, but ample ambition. Shironne had wondered why her grandfather, a man of means and social standing, had agreed to that, another thing in her mother’s mind she’d avoided touching.
“Some children grow up,” her mother went on, “and never face any repercussions for their parents’ actions, but my mother’s sins have haunted me my entire life. That’s why I’ve always done my best to protect the three of you. I don’t want you suffering for mistakes I’ve made.”
They never spoke of Shironne’s wanton grandmother, as if that would prevent her pernicious influence from touching their lives. Shironne knew very little about the woman. “Mama, you’re not like your mother,” she protested anyway.
Her mother’s amusement swelled around her. “I see her whenever I look in the mirror, sweetheart. And when I look at you, lately. We both resemble her.”
Shironne didn’t think about her appearance often. Not very often. She knew her grandmother had been considered a great beauty. Her mother had a serene loveliness that made men adore her and want to help her—especially Colonel Cerradine. But her? The last time she’d seen her face, at thirteen years old, she’d had chubby cheeks and hair that curled enough to make it horribly unruly, unlike her mother’s sleek fall of dark hair. And she would never be tall and elegant like her mother. “Was Grandmother short?”
“Actually, she was,” her mother said, laughter in her voice now. “I get my height from the other side.”
Shironne had never heard her mother laugh about her own mother. “Did you like Grandmother at all?”
Her mother took her hand, as if wanting Shironne to be clear about her meaning. “Your grandmother treated me like a toy. She had the nursemaid bring me out whenever she wanted to show me off, and sent me away as soon as I didn’t entertain her or her friends any longer. As I started growing taller, my value as a source of entertainment lessened, so I saw her only rarely. I don’t know that I ever had much of a chance to like or dislike her. My nursemaid was more of a mother to me than my mother ever was.”
That was absolute truth. A touch of anger lurked behind those words, combined with regret. Verinne was still with her, and no matter how tight the family’s funds became, Shironne knew her mother would never turn the old woman out.
“My father loved me,” her mother added, “even if he hadn’t fathered me. He later told me he regretted the marriage contract he signed with your father.”
“Far too late to change the fact,” Shironne said.
“True,” her mother allowed. “But it made me feel better to know. I’ve tried to make the best choices for you. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course you have.”
Her mother shook her head, a faint whisper of her hair moving. “There are times that I regret allowing you to involve yourself with the army, times like this when you come home with a bruise on your cheek or a hank of your hair torn out. I don’t want you to someday regret it as well.”
“I’m seventeen now, Mama,” Shironne reminded her. “If I didn’t want to work for the colonel, I would tell you so.”
“Oh, I’ve little doubt of that,” her mother said with a laugh. She rose from the bed, her hand pulling away from Shironne’s. “Cook kept some lentil soup warm for you. After you eat, will you feel well enough to help your sister with her reading?”
Now that her mother had distracted her from her aching cheek, Shironne felt ready to take on anything. Even Melanna’s terrible reading.
• • •
After he bathed, changed into a fresh uniform, and took a nap, Mikael felt better. Physically, at least. His head still ached, and his mind wasn’t at its best. On occasion he heard a whistle in the hall, warning him that he’d allowed himself to grow agitated again and was bothering one of the sensitives. So he clamped down on his anxiety and reminded himself to be calm. To be happy.
He didn’t relish the idea of reporting to Dahar, though. While Deborah handled everything with the least amount of fuss possible, Dahar would do the opposite. There would be yelling, guilt, and possibly broken porcelain. He could only hope that Deborah got to Dahar and smoothed his feathers first.
When he reached the office near noontime, he was rather shocked to find he had it to himself again. Dahar wasn’t pacing around the room, and Kai had to be off on another of the mysterious missions that kept him beyond his father’s reach. Mikael settled there and started in on his pile of papers.
He’d been there nearly half an hour before a knock sounded at the office door. When he went to answer it, he found Eli standing outside. The younger man looked as if he’d just stepped from his barracks, a handful of blond braids trailing smoothly over his shoulder and not a wrinkle on his brown uniform. Mikael doubted that Eli ever sat down while on duty.
“I’m to ask you to come with me to Dahar’s quarters. Colonel Cerradine is with him.” Eli served runner duty in the portion of the palace where the king’s household lived.
And that explained where Dahar was. Mikael checked to make certain nothing sensitive was open on his desk, joined Eli in the hallway, and locked the office door behind him. Eli could have gone back to his post, but Mikael was grateful he’d stayed to escort him. “I wanted to apologize for missing our appointment this morning.”
Eli pulled a stray hair off his otherwise immaculate woolen jacket and favored it with an offended look as they walked down the hallway toward the stairs. “Half my yeargroup had dreams last night, so I knew you weren’t going to make it today. I used the hour to study instead.”
“We can make it up later, then?”
“Tomorrow, same time?” Eli asked as he headed up the first set of steps.
Mikael took a deep breath and started the climb, grateful he wasn’t climbing up out of the fortress instead. “That’s fine. I’ll alter my schedule.”
“You loo
k tired today,” Eli said, stopping on the landing and waiting for Mikael to catch up.
“I feel like hell.” Mikael could afford to be honest with him, a rare luxury. Despite his age, Eli was the closest thing to a friend he had in the fortress . . . other than Jannika, of course. “Did I wake any of your yeargroup?”
Eli’s yeargroup had more than its share of sensitives, so Mikael figured Eli heard plenty of gripes about him. “Just a couple,” Eli said. “They’ll live.”
The sentries who stood duty in the royal household were quarterguards, a special service. All the quarterguards were sensitives, and they watched Mikael as if he were a particularly noxious form of insect crawling up into their territory. He wished apology at them and tried to keep his thoughts pleasant, hoping not to disturb them further.
Mikael and Eli passed down a side hall to Dahar’s apartment. Eli rapped on the heavy door and opened it when they heard Dahar’s summons from within.
Dahar and the colonel sat dining at the graceful mahogany table in Dahar’s sitting room, possibly the most austerely furnished room in all the king’s household. Compared to the rest of Above, it was plain. Even so, the trappings of the room hinted at wealth: the massive, finely crafted desk; floorcloths figured in Valaren burgundy and brown rather than the thick carpets used elsewhere in the king’s household; and heavy window hangings of black silk exactly like those in the office. Mikael always wondered if Dahar had intended to mimic his office.
The room’s only adornment, a portrait, hung above the marble hearth. Nearly two hundred years old, it depicted an Anvarrid woman both Mikael and Dahar could name in their lineages. Rumor claimed that Dahar had ordered everything in his rooms burned when his wife was executed a decade before—everything except that painting.
Colonel Cerradine rose when he spotted Mikael. He shook Mikael’s hand, towering over him for a second before returning to the table. “Just the man I wanted to see,” he said. “Have you eaten?”
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