by Gwynn White
This was it. The moment she could no longer hide. She stood and paced to the mantle, but as much as she wanted to conceal the truth about Zella’s hatred, she could not turn her back. “I know someone who can help us find the tavern. But I don’t know where she lives.” She hesitated, ashamed of that tragic admission. “Only where she works at night.”
A knock on the door made them both jump. Her hand went to her hip, searching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Sword in hand, Dominik stood, and faced the door.
“Dominik. Soul-Reaper. It’s just me, Elion. May I come in?”
Dominik let out a breath. He stalked to the door and yanked it open.
Elion stood between the two guards stationed in the lobby. A black outfit replaced his gold tunic and black leggings. He bowed to her but spoke to Dominik. “The palace is in uproar about what happened in the city.”
He had come here to state the obvious?
“I bet it is,” Dominik said. “I can’t remember a time in our history when the king was attacked in our own capital.”
“I saw Father. He says that Lady Caeda knows where the Bone is, and that the king has commanded you to take troops to find it. I want to help.”
Her hackles rose. She liked Elion, but didn’t want him muscling on what was essentially her and Dominik’s investigation.
And why did Lord Sundamar’s name keep cropping up? Like Dominik, he was a powerful Element-Fabricator. He had spirited Izanna into the Round Palace on the day the Bone was stolen. And she hadn’t seen him the evening of the ball, either. Could he have been the one to send in the arrows that killed Ryo and Lane?
Elion bowed again. “My lady, I honestly do not mean to impose. I merely wished to offer my services. If they aren’t needed, then I will leave you.” He made for the door.
Dominik huffed out a breath.
She closed her eyes, considering, and made a quick decision. “You have some magic, Elion?” Before she agreed to accept help from him, she wanted to shift him off her suspect list. For that, she first had to get the measure of what he could and couldn’t do.
Eyebrows raised, Elion turned to her. “I do. Nothing like my brother, of course.”
She already knew that. It took all her civility not to snap at him. “I would love to see what you can do.”
“What’s the plan?” Dominik nudged her rather more sharply than she considered necessary.
She scooped a cushion off the closest sofa and passed it to Elion. Not sure what to ask him to do, she hesitated until she caught her reflection in the mirror above the mantle. “Turn this into me.”
Dominik grabbed her tunic. His face pressed close to hers. “Have you any idea what you are asking him to do? The simplest fabrication takes an enormous amount of magic. An animation… well, that’s a huge ask. I’d even think twice about it unless it was absolutely necessary.”
She glared at him. “Your brother offered to help. Let him.” She shoved his hand, but he still clenched her leather tunic in his fist.
She considered punching him, but didn’t. This was a new Dominik, one she hadn’t imagined lurked beneath his smiling skin. Better to see how far he went.
Elion stepped into Dominik’s personal space. “It’s okay, Dom. Really. Don’t get into it with the Soul-Reaper over me.”
Dominik closed his eyes, then dropped his hand from her tunic. “Sorry, Caeda,” he mumbled. “I get tense about Elion and magic. Not everything is as straightforward as it seems.” He slumped against the mantle and folded his arms.
Defeated but not gracious in that defeat. He reminded her of herself. What a shame this deadly, barely tamed Fae belonged to a sap of a girl who would never appreciate his fire. Or his loyalty and protection for those closest to him.
She had once raised her fists to protect her sister.
It hadn’t been appreciated.
Elion turned the pillow over in his hands. “I can try and fabricate you, Lady Caeda. It won’t be sentient, though.”
She folded her arms across her chest, mirroring Dominik. “It doesn’t have to be. As long as it looks like me.”
Dominik shifted, dropping his arms to his sides.
Elion licked his lips. His eyelids fluttered closed, and concentration etched his face. “Dom, you don’t mind me pillaging from you?”
“Where else are you going to get the magic for this trick?” Dominik leaned back against the mantle with a long-suffering sigh.
Sweat beaded Elion’s brow as he studied the cushion.
Nothing happened.
The fire crackled in the silence.
Soul-Forged flickered blue at her feet. If a sword could occupy a chair, he would have been on the edge of his.
She was beginning to think Elion would never manage when a shimmer of starry magic settled on the pillow. It sank deep into the fabric. Elion dropped it onto the floor.
Slowly, it morphed into a Fae wearing black fighting leathers. She looked at Caeda through hazel eyes.
But it was the Fae’s face that made her clutch her own sharp cheekbones and prominent jaw-line. Familiar pointed ears protruded through hair the color of chocolate. Some of it had fallen out of its braid and hung down her back in waves. The fabrication’s nose was slender and straight, and her full lips slightly parted.
Caeda.
Her jaw slackened. “Amazing.”
Unnaturally pale, Dominik smiled at his brother. He stumbled over and slapped Elion on the back. “You did it. I’m impressed. Very.”
A smile pulled on Elion’s lips. He waved his fingers over the fabrication, and she dissolved back into a pillow.
“Cheeky. And very sneaky,” Soul-Forged chimed. “Cheeky is sneaky. Sneaky is cheeky.”
But it isn’t animated. If he cannot animate, could he have sent arrows flying at the guards?
“Fly! It rhymes with ‘my.’ Just like ‘sneaky’ rhymes with ‘cheeky.’ They’re all one and the same, Nasty Reaper.”
Elion bowed. “I’m available to help if it pleases my lady.”
She nodded. “It does. And thank you.” She waited until he’d left. “Your brother is not as weak as you claim.”
Dominik slumped down on the closest sofa. “You have no idea how much magic he had to pull from me to achieve your little stunt. He’s not skilled enough to be economical.”
She sat next to him and clenched her hands together. “Meaning?”
“An Element-Fabricator is just a fancy name for a parasite. And with any parasite, it takes skill to balance how much magic you rip from a host. Take too much, and your host dies. In brutal terms, that’s bad because you reduce your pool of magic. But take too little, and you can’t fabricate. Elion has never managed to get that balance right.”
Although he’d told her far more about his art than she could have imagined possible, his stiffness suggested there was more he wasn’t saying. “That sounds like there were consequences.”
Like arrows, his green eyes drilled into her. She longed to shift away, but she’d asked the question. She forced her eyes to remain locked on his.
They were dry and scratchy when he finally whispered, “When Elion was a youngling, he killed one too many hosts. It wasn’t intentional. He just lacked skill and control. Our father forbade him to ever use his magic again. Through the years, I’ve offered to work with him in secret, but he didn’t want to risk my relationship with our father.” He shrugged. “Today was the first time I’ve seen him fabricate in years.” His tone softened with affection. “My father would—should—have been proud of him. But, of course, he won’t be.”
She understood all about fathers who should have been—but weren’t—proud of their offspring. Time to shift this painful conversation to another subject. She stood. “I need food. Real food. Not the rubbish Taliesin called breakfast. And you need to let King Kaist know that we plan to go tonight.”
He hopped up, grinning, as if nothing had happened.
Dominik’s shield.
Just like she hid behind scowls
and growls.
“I’m not arguing. Don’t forget your Sword.” He gestured to the door. “While you see Garrik, I’ll brief the king.” He paused. “Have you decided about Dain?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t. I’ll see what Garrik says and then decide.”
A visit to her old commanding officer had a certain appeal. Someone had killed Ryo and Lane without being seen or heard. Find the killer, and she would know who took the Bone. If anyone could help her figure it out, it was Garrik.
She ignored Soul-Forged’s derisive hiss and left her apartment.
13
Snow caked the courtyard in the barracks like icing on a Winter Solstice cake. It stuck to Caeda’s boots and the hem of her cloak as she strode across the deserted training ring toward Garrik’s office just off the weapons room. The two guards from her apartment door, Castien and Astay, trailed behind her. Soul-Forged hummed his little five-note tune over and over.
The new “normal” in her anything-but-normal world.
The weapons room door was shut, but golden light glowed from the behind the snow-speckled window. She stepped inside and strode down racks of swords, cudgels, shields, and bows to a short passageway, at the end of which was a closed wooden door. Force of habit made her knock. Snow dripped down her collar as she stood at attention and waited for Garrik’s reply.
“Come in!” a gruff voice called.
She yanked the door open.
Heat from a fire crackling in a small grate enveloped her. She breathed deeply, relishing the scent of burning pine, mingled with weapons oil, boot polish, dust, and the uniquely woody smell that was Garrik.
Dressed in the full military regalia he would have worn to the parade, Garrik lay back in his well-worn wooden swivel chair. His gleaming boots, propped on his desk, crushed a pile of parchment. She’d never seen his desk without the piles and piles of paperwork that seemed to come with his job as commander and trainer of the Royal Guard. As was his custom, Garrik picked his fingernails with a throwing knife.
He was living proof of the immortality of Fae, but time had finally gouged deep crevices around his eyes and mouth. Even his skin was leathery and rough. Behind him, shelves bulged with well-thumbed books. Weapons of every kind, all of which he’d wielded in battle, decked the other three walls. They included an iron shield, mounted behind protective glass. It did little to stop the iron prickling her skin.
It didn’t matter.
The room was familiar. And even with the iron, comforting.
Until she saw her.
Seated across from him on a rickety wooden chair was Izanna. Her dun-colored tunic and leggings blended in with the clutter.
Her heart sank. What was she doing here?
Soul-Forged gasped. “Traitorous Fae and Greedy Fae having a tête-à-tête. Interesting, interesting.”
Traitorous Fae? She almost tripped over her feet. What’s that supposed to mean?
“Bad Fae. Worst Fae. Never trust that Fae,” Soul-Forged chanted. “I keep telling Nasty Reaper, but she doesn’t listen. Soul-Forged is wise. He knows all. And he knows we can’t—we mustn’t—trust Traitorous Fae. Not with our Bone. Not with us. Not with anything.”
She swallowed, flummoxed by his virulent reaction. She’d already gathered that he didn’t like Garrik, but to call him a traitor?
That was extreme, even for crazy Soul-Forged.
With no possible explanation that didn’t include more mumbo-jumbo, she straightened her back and forced her scattered brain to focus.
Izanna’s upturned eyes widened with delight. “The Soul-Reaper! What luck!” She rubbed her hands together. “What a relief you survived the attack. Our poor king.” She leaned in to leer at Soul-Forged. “What a wicked thing that is! To attempt to murder King Kaist!”
“Defend me!” Soul-Forged wailed. “Oh, Nasty Reaper! Defend my honor. To accuse me of willfully harming Cruel Fae. I would never—”
Oh yes, you probably would. Given a chance.
But she’d never tell Izanna that. She steeled herself not to snarl at her, and saluted Garrik instead. “Sir. Is this a bad time?”
Garrik’s bright, black eyes lit up. “Caeda! Come in, come in.” He jumped up with a fluidity that belied his age. He still had the suppleness and strength of a sixty-year-old. He tossed a pile of parchment off a mismatched chair and dragged it to his desk. The rickety legs squealed against the wooden floor. It was already covered in scratches and scuffs. “Take the weight off your feet.”
Garrik had never bothered with fancy furniture, or airs and graces. He was just as gruff and graceless as the rest of the guards, despite his title—a title he forbade his officers to address him by.
It was one of the reasons she loved him so much. And why it irked that he’d be holed up with Greedy Fae.
Was the blasted Sword right? Could she no longer trust him, either?
She sat stiff as a board with Castien and Astay at her back.
Garrik wagged a knobby finger at them. It had been broken one too many times. Even Fae healing had its limits. “Sergeant Castien. Sergeant Astay. I trust you’re taking good care of our Soul-Reaper?”
“They are,” she interrupted before he could start grilling them. “Not that it’s necessary.” She was just as good a fighter as them—and Garrik knew it.
“Yes,” Izanna oozed, fluttering her eyelashes. “Caeda is an excellent fighter. Why else would she have been chosen to accompany Ayda on the last day of her life?”
“You two have met?” Garrik’s gaze flitted between Izanna and her.
Izanna’s smile was almost feline. “Briefly. Right after I was spirited in. It was fabulous. Meeting her, not knowing what she would become. She was standing on the brink of greatness, yet…”
She let Izanna gush to give herself time to think.
It seemed a far-fetched coincidence that Izanna had spirited in the day the Bone was stolen. If she’d studied the Bone as much as she claimed, she’d probably know how to steal it right out from under them.
But why would she? What did she really want?
“Power plays and lying in wait, Greedy Fae will have her way!” Soul-Forged sang.
What’s that supposed to mean?
“’Tis just a song, Nasty Reaper. You should sing a little. Perhaps it will quell some of your nastiness.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. She could be the thief. Maybe she’s working with Sundamar Dakar. He dislikes his sons enough that I could see him setting them up.
“Yes, but so could she, and he, and the one in between!”
A warm hand clamped down on her leg.
Her head snapped up.
Garrik watched her with concern. Did he know she had drifted away to talk with Soul-Forged? She wished she knew what she looked like when she turned inward. Vacant? Blank? Loopy? She cursed. As long as I don’t start drooling.
To prove her sanity, she said forcefully, “I’m here to get some help with my investigation.”
“And I’m more than willing to give it.” Garrik let go of her knee. “As I’m sure is Lady Izanna. She’s studied the Bone and its habits for a long time. She can probably be of some use to you.”
Like hell was Izanna staying for this discussion. It was enough that the king had commanded her to work with Dominik, someone still hovering on the edges of her suspects list. And now she’d dragged his brother into play. The last thing she needed was Greedy Fae hearing her thoughts and suspicions.
“With all due respect, sir, but the fewer people who are involved in this, the better.”
Garrik pursed his lips.
Surely he’d listen to her? As Soul-Reaper, she knew things about the Bone and the Sword he couldn’t even guess at. If he allowed Izanna to stay—
Garrik waved a dismissive hand. “Lady Izanna, I hope I’ve answered all of your questions, but I’m afraid my Soul-Reaper has need of me. Feel free to drop by again if you need anything else.”
Vague and unenlightening. Still, she sighed with re
lief.
Izanna barely restrained her sneer. Her chair shot back, rasping on the floor. She stood stiffly, bobbed her head at Garrik, then at her, and stalked to the door. Astay opened it for her, letting in an icy wind. Izanna shivered, then stepped out into the cold.
“Bye, bye, Greedy Fae! Have a lovely day!” If Soul-Forged had legs, he would have skipped.
Regretting the cold, she saluted Castien and Astay. “Wait outside, please.”
They saluted back, and the door closed behind them.
She was alone with her mentor, a Fae closer to her than her own father.
Please don’t let me discover that I can’t trust him.
“Traitor. Traitor. Traitor,” Soul-Forged hissed. “He will have your heart. Your life. Your soul.”
Shut up!
Garrik dragged open a drawer and pulled out a couple of wooden mugs and a brown bottle. He waved them at her. “Mead?”
“Yes, please.”
He slopped the spicy, golden liquid into each mug and pushed one over to her. “Bad business in the city today.” He corked the bottle and put it on his desk.
She waited for him to drink before sipping from her mug. “It was. But Soul-Forged is being manipulated by the thieves. He has no control over what he’s doing.”
“Thank you, Nasty Reaper! But he won’t listen. He won’t believe. He—”
I thought I told you to shut up.
Soul-Forged huffed.
Garrik held out his mug to her. “To a new journey for you, Caeda. May it be long and relatively pain free.”
She chinked mugs with him, and they both drank deeply. Fiery and warm, the mead burned its way into her core. She licked her lips. “I first have to find the Bone.”
“You do.” His boots plopped back onto the desk. “Thoughts?”
She hesitated, and then decided to tell him everything. If she couldn’t trust Garrik, then she didn’t want to be alive in this world. “My list of suspects is short. Sundamar, Izanna, Dominik, and Elion.”
His bushy eyebrows vanished into his dark hairline. “Sundamar Dakar? Why him?”
She took another swig of her drink. “He spirited Izanna in. He’s a Fabricator. It would have taken powerful magic to send arrows into Ryo and Lane. And Sundamar despises his sons.”
