by Megan Derr
"It's just 'Master'," Reyes corrected. "I am Reyes O'Bannon. Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Tamark Feythe. I am Steward of Feyestone. I was told that if I could not reach Lord Kinnaird, then I was to speak directly to you."
"Tamark?" Reyes echoed, and then the name clicked. "Oh, of course, Baron. I was not expecting you so soon. But please, come in. I've the paperwork on my desk; it can be signed immediately."
"Baron? Oh, no, I am afraid there is some mistake. I am just the Steward."
Rhoten laughed, drawing their attention, beckoning them into the room. "No, I do believe Kinnaird told me to see the Baron stripped of his title, and the Baronet given to you."
Tamark blanched, as he realized who was speaking. "Y-your Majesty," he said, dropping hastily to one knee and bowing his head. "My apologies."
"Oh, you need not apologize. Come and sit with us, my good Baron. It is only fitting given your new status."
Slowly standing, Tamark took the seat that Reyes had quickly and neatly cleared of his own things. "I confess I am quite confused, your Majesty," Tamark said, looking uncomfortable and a little dazed, but determined. "I did not know I was being given the Baronet. I came to report what I have learned of the attack on the Northern Treasury, as his Grace the Duke of Keyes requested. Kinnaird told me that if I could not find him, I was to speak with Master O'Bannon."
Reyes paused in the middle of gathering the paperwork that Tamark would need to sign, to formally take up his new title. "He said that?" Maybe he'd let the idiot live, after all. Though he was still angry. He lightly touched a tiger lily as he moved around his desk and strode back to the table, setting the paperwork and a pen before Tamark. "May as well take care of everything while you are here, Baron. What did you need to tell me?"
"I did some digging, after Kinnaird left. Had my son and some trusted men do different digging. We learned the Baron often met with a couple of men, in one of his favorite whorehouses, under guise of them all being visitors. One of the men, we could learn nothing about. He was very careful. The other, however, was much more careless. A few of the whores managed to describe him well enough that I was able to sketch this." He reached into his tunic and extracted a smudged piece of heavy drawing paper, handing it to Reyes.
Unfolding it, Reyes swore softly. "Captain, collect the Earl of Pleasant for questioning."
Erices did not bother asking any questions. He simply stood up, retrieved his sword from the back of his chair and buckled it into place, then gripped Breit's shoulder in farewell before striding from the room. Reyes could hear him calling for men before the door finished closing.
Rhoten looked sadly at the drawing as he took it from Reyes. "A pity. No doubt it was money."
"No doubt," Reyes agreed, thinking of all the taxes owed, the reports he had recently received in regards to the Earl's massive gambling debts. Money did it every single time.
Breit frowned. "Reyes. You had best go see my brother. He is in the Earl's bedroom. Do not attract attention."
Reyes frowned. "How—" At the look Breit gave him, he stopped and simply nodded, setting his things down on the table before striding from the room.
He moved quickly through the halls, but not with overt urgency. People were used to seeing him rushing about, and so paid him no mind. When he reached the Earl's private chambers, a guard was stationed outside. When he saw Reyes, he opened the door and motioned for Reyes to precede him, then followed him inside and closed and locked the door.
Erices was standing by the bed, and Reyes strode across the room to join him. "Your brother said…" He drifted off as he got a good look at the bed—and the dead Earl of Pleasant spread out across it.
"Poisoned," Erices said, voice so mild they might have been discussing the weather, were it not for the thunderclouds in his eyes. "Probably slipped into his brandy, and the poor bastard never woke up. He's lucky he got such a kind poison. A pity we will not be able to string him up for treason." He turned away from the bed. "Someone must have suspected or feared we were close."
Reyes glanced at the bed again, then away. "Or the Earl had ceased to be useful."
Erices' brows shot up in surprise. "You are remarkably calm about this for a paper pusher."
"I am peasant born, Captain, and yet made it as far as King's secretary," Reyes replied. "It may surprise you what I have seen, and the secrets I have been told to keep." The secrets he kept still, and would always keep.
"Point," Erices said, and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "We need to figure out what made him useful."
Reyes sighed and pushed at his glasses, wishing it were late enough in the day for a drink, then dismissing the notion. He looked around the room, wrinkling his nose at the lingering scent of cherries and vanilla, and something else he could not quite place at the moment. "The Earl of Pleasant owned a small but respectable fleet of merchant ships. He traded primarily in furs, perfumes, other such luxury goods. He was heavily behind in taxes owed on the goods he imported, and was about to be brought up on serious charges if he did not pay them in full by end of year. He wouldn't have been able to do it, however, because he had gambling debts in excess of three times the value of his estates."
Erices winced. "That is impressive in a sick and awful way. So, he clearly needed whatever money was offered him to betray the King—but what did he have that they wanted?"
"I have no way of knowing, at present," Reyes replied. "I can have his paperwork in my office by end of day, and begin to sort through it, but even if he were stupid enough to put something in writing, finding it will take me some time."
"Likely a dead end, but best do it," Erices said, raking a hand through his hair. "I suppose I had best gather men and go investigate his home. If I see anything of interest, I will see it sent to you with all possible haste."
Reyes nodded, poking around the Earl's desk, taking what he could find, but having little hope any of it would prove useful. "I will get started, then. I trust you can see this is dealt with discreetly? I feel the death should not come to light sooner than is strictly necessary."
Erices grunted. "I'll take care of it. Let slip his debts, and I can make sure the impression is that he's run off to hide from creditors. That will buy us a few days time, and hopefully that will be enough."
"It will be done," Reyes replied, and papers in hand, departed.
When he returned to his office, only Rhoten remained. Reyes saw that Tamark had signed the papers declaring him Baron. Scooping those up with the rest of the papers in his arm, he strode to his desk to begin sorting the mess out.
"So the Earl was helping, and now he is dead," Rhoten said quietly, playing absently with a sugar spoon.
"Yes," Reyes said quietly, wondering how he knew already—probably the same way Breit had known Erices needed him, and there was definitely something suspicious about the twins. He had his ideas, but surely not. That sort of magic was myth. Bah. He would sort it out later. "I am sorry, Rhoten."
Rhoten sighed and stood up. "Reyes, cancel the rest of my day. If you need me, I shall be in my room, but I have no desire to see anyone else. The servants are to leave my food in the drawing room, and come no further than that."
"Yes, Majesty," Reyes said quietly. "Shall I come see you in a bit and read to you?"
"That would be nice," Rhoten replied, managing a weak but genuine smile. "But, there is no hurry. Finish up what you must, and do not work too hard, Reyes. I hate to see you as exhausted as you are these days."
"Yes, Majesty," Reyes said, returning the smile, ignoring the order to have more care. He did not work half so hard as Rhoten, so there was no damned way he would work even less. Rhoten worried too much about him.
Alone, he extinguished all the lamps but the one on his desk, then quickly sorted through the papers, sending the documents for Tamark's new appointment to Baron off for final officiating before focusing on the Earl's papers.
Unfortunately, as he had feared, they contained nothing useful. H
e sent off further requests, with the King's stamps, to order all of the Earl's papers released to him. Those he would not have until morning, and with the rest of the King's day canceled…
He hesitated over a blank sheet of paper, mind narrowing to a single sharp, bright thought—Kinnaird. Reyes should not bother him; Kinnaird was plenty busy in Cassala, no doubt. But he should be kept informed, in case any of it helped his investigation.
And since the idiot could not be bothered to do any writing himself, it would seem Reyes would have to do it. Nodding to himself, he readied paper and quill, and quickly wrote an accounting of recent events, then signed and sealed it.
The back of his hand brushed against tiger lilies as he strode past his desk to take the letter to be delivered.
Eight
"Good morning, Dilane," Kinnaird greeted.
Dilane nodded sleepily, and yawned. He sat down at the table and immediately poured coffee, waving off the servant who tried to step forward and do it for him. He drank half the contents of his cup in two gulps. "So what are your plans for the day, my friend? I have seen very little of you these past couple of days. Learn anything?"
"Very little, alas," Kinnaird conceded reluctantly. "However, I am meeting with a friend tonight, who hopefully will have additional information for me. Otherwise, the only real thing of value I have learned in the past few days is that someone, more than likely a woman, was here often meeting with the late Chief. I sense she is largely responsible for the destruction, or at least the arrangement of it. About her, however, I have unfortunately learned nothing more than that she had atrocious taste in perfume."
Dilane grunted and poured a second cup of coffee, drinking it as quickly as he had the first. As he poured a third, however, he began to look more awake. "Well, I assume you will let me know when there is something worth saying."
Kinnaird smirked behind his own coffee cup. "Yes, Highness."
Dilane rolled his eyes. "At least there have been no more attacks—false or otherwise. The Bridge recovery proceeds apace." He grinned in amusement. "A pity we did not bring your little secretary along; he would have this city running smooth as clockwork by now."
As that was very true, Kinnaird did not bother to comment. "He has his hands full at present, I think. That reminds me, we really should write to let them know how matters proceed." He sipped at his first cup while Dilane polished off his third, silently composing the letter in his head.
Dilane chuckled and began to select food from the various trays upon the table. "You are already quite hopeless, but I suppose you have been for some time, at that. I cannot wait to see how much worse you get when he finally gives in."
"I will be whatever it takes to keep him from changing his mind," Kinnaird muttered, wondering how much in poor taste it would be to give Reyes a ring the same day they became lovers. "Oh, do stop laughing at me."
Dilane smiled. "It is only out of jealousy, really. At least you are able to marry where you please. That is quite the luxury in our world, you know. I should not complain, seeing as my marriage will gain me a crown, but…" He shrugged, and said nothing more.
Kinnaird nodded in sympathy, and they fell into a companionable silence, until a servant quietly approached with a letter on a silver salver. His name was on it, Kinnaird immediately saw, written in Reyes' hand. Thanking the servant, he took the letter and immediately broke the seal, reading the contents quickly. He swore as he finished.
"What's wrong?" Dilane asked.
Passing the letter to him, Kinnaird said, "The Earl of Pleasant is dead by poison. He was also apparently tied to the attack on the Northern Treasury, which means he could have been involved in any number of the attacks—including this one."
Dilane read the letter, then set it aside. "He sounds afraid, Kinnaird. That is not like your little secretary at all. He is unflappable."
Not that unflappable, Kinnaird thought. He was just extremely good at hiding when things truly upset him. It frightened Kinnaird that someone other than himself could read the unspoken fear in Reyes' letter.
"I'm going home," he said abruptly, standing up.
"I'll take care of everything here," Dilane said immediately, not even attempting to argue with him, even if they both knew Kinnaird should stay. "Keep me informed, won't you?"
Kinnaird nodded. "Of course. Though, speaking of informed, if you are to cover for me…" He called for writing supplies, and sat down again. "You had best meet with the friend I was going to see tonight, and you will not meet him uninvited. Unfortunately, I do not have time to make proper introductions." He thanked the servant who brought the supplies, then began to write a letter to Sharla. Then he signed it, sealed it with his signet, and handed it to Dilane. "Take this, late tonight, to the Three Moon's Hall. Tell the manager you wish to see him. Say that and only that when the manager approaches. Give the manager that letter, and you will be invited up shortly thereafter. When you meet him, be firm and unaffected. He will respect nothing less."
Dilane looked confused, but also faintly amused, as he tucked the letter away. "As you say. Take care of matters back home."
"I intend to," Kinnaird replied, and then left, taking his cloak from the club doorman, then stepped outside.
Though it was morning, only the mage-lit lanterns interspersed along the streets kept it from being pitch black. It might have been the middle of the night, the stars were so visible, the dark so absolute. Extended Night was more than a little disorienting to strangers, and even those who had lived with it their entire lives found it taxing.
He strode rapidly through the city, all the way to the city gates, past them and well away from the city proper before he finally found a suitable place to shift.
Then he took to the sky, letting out a piercing cry, mind only on Reyes, worried and entirely too unprotected back home. Pain shot through him, catching him by surprise, and he screamed as he began to fall, the arrow lodged in his left wing making it impossible to fly.
It was also hard to hold on to all his magic—heat shields, his shape, what little healing he could muster to minimize pain. Only the fact he landed in a deep snow drift saved him from the fall itself.
He struggled to focus, to get a grip, but it was so hard to think around the pain.
Someone was coming, he could hear the man moving through the snow. Sun and moon damn them all. Who had been bold enough to order his death? But, it did mean he had scared someone, as empty as that reassurance was at present. They were willing to risk the suspicion that would rise, when the Duke of Keyes suddenly turned up dead.
Damn it.
He needed to change back, but he did not dare with the arrow still in his wing—there was simply no way of knowing where it would remain in his body, or if it would, when he changed back. Shifting was difficult; there were reasons it had taken generations for someone to figure out how to shift with clothes.
The sound of footsteps drew closer, and Kinnaird braced himself to die, hoping that Reyes would not hate him forever, or mourn forever.
"Kinnaird!" Sharla said, coming over the mound of snow. She dropped to her knees, carelessly letting go of a bloody sword. "Thank sun and moon. I saw you fall, and feared we were too late."
Then she carefully picked him up and Kinnaird resisted an instinctive urge to fight her off.
"Brace yourself," she warned, then yanked the arrow from his wing.
Kinnaird cried out in pain, but even as he did so, Sharla was pouring healing magic into him. "Can you change back?"
It took more focus and energy than he liked, but after several minutes Kinnaird at last managed it. As he lay gasping against the lingering pain throbbing in his right side, Dilane came over the rise, clutching a bloody sword of his own and leading a horse. "Thank sun and moon," he said. "I truly thought we were too late."
"What—" Kinnaird swore and gripped his side. It had just been his wing as a bird, but wounds were wildly unpredictable between forms. He was damned lucky he had been smart enough not to c
hange while the arrow remained. "What happened?"
Sharla's mouth tightened, and then she said, "I received word less than an hour ago that a contract has been put out for you—a quarter million sovereigns for the carcass of the Duke of Keyes. I came to you as quickly as I could, but you were already gone. Your friend helped me find you, but we found you just as they shot you down. I am glad we reached you in time."
"I am definitely in your debt, Sharla," Kinnaird replied, forcing himself to his feet. "Dilane. Thank you both."
"Do what I asked, and we shall call it even," Sharla replied, mouth curving in a rare true smile.
Kinnaird returned it. "Of course." He looked her over, dressed in breeches and snow boots, her hair neatly coiled on top of her head, sword belt obviously at home on her hips. Then he turned to Dilane. "Do you still have that letter I gave you?" He grimaced as he shifted, and took the letter as Dilane held it out. Then he gave it to Sharla.
She took it, looking amused, and quickly read through it. Tucking it away when she finished, she turned to Dilane. "Your Grace—or should I say your Highness?—it is an honor to make your acquaintance." She dipped into a curtsy elegant enough to put a Duchess to shame.
Kinnaird laughed, then made a show of formal introduction. "Your Highness, I present to you Milady Sharla Klair, Lord of the Cassala Underworld."
Dilane looked surprised for a moment, then simply amused and impressed. He held out his hand, into which Sharla placed hers, and kissed the back of it.
He lingered over it, unless Kinnaird was mistaken—and was his mind completely addled by pain, or was Sharla's flush due not entirely to exertion? That was interesting.
It was also irrelevant for the moment, so far as he was concerned. "Clearly, I can trust Cassala to your finds hands," he said to both of them. "I must be off."
Dilane broke away from his staring match with Sharla. "Are you strong enough to fly?"
Kinnaird hid a wince as he stretched to test his healed flesh. "Strong enough? I have no idea. Probably not. But I am stubborn enough. If whoever is behind all this is willing to pay so much to have me eliminated, he will not hesitate to kill you, Dilane. Take extra precaution."
