They carried on in almost hostile silence, one staircase at a time. The highest parts of the city were almost deserted: many nobles would either be attending the Golden Table, or waiting for news in their respective towers. In many ways, Isandor was holding its breath. Camilla would have preferred to do the same, and her wish redoubled when a deep voice called to them.
“It’s not every day you see such tension between two Dathirii.”
Kellian’s head snapped to the left, and he stepped closer to Camilla as soon as he spotted who had addressed them. She turned much more slowly, schooling herself into a calm expression. Maintaining the mask demanded her entire willpower as she faced Brune.
Hasryan’s old boss strode past two other citizens to close the distance between them. A maroon coat kept her warm, and her dark hair vanished into its hood. Brune had mastered the art of brown—clothes, accessory, skin tone, and make-up, everything on her was one shade of it or another. Although she held no weapons, neither Kellian nor Camilla relaxed. They knew Brune’s strength resided in her magic, both divine and arcane, not in swords.
“What a pleasing coincidence to find you both on these bridges. I assumed your family would be too busy to wander around the city.” A brief smile lit her squarish features, but she didn’t bother to maintain it. The rare potential onlookers hurried on their way, and although Brune’s tone remained clear, her voice didn’t carry much farther than the two elves. “Are you heading for the Sapphire Guard’s Headquarters?”
“We’re on business,” Kellian retorted. “Our business.”
Brune showed no offence. “Of course. Every House must have its secrets, no?” She laughed, but the sound contained no mirth or warmth. “I won’t insist. I know enough of House Dathirii to understand this is nothing like an unofficial arrest. I’m simply glad I have this chance to speak with Lady Camilla.”
Camilla’s throat tightened. She knew. How could she? Camilla wore no handcuffs and strode in front of Kellian, not dragged by him. The tense silence between them could not reveal enough for Brune to infer an arrest, yet Camilla didn’t believe this particular phrasing was a stab in the dark. She lifted her chin, hurriedly burying her fear behind a peaceful smile. “What could possibly have earned me this honour?”
“I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of my assassin,” she said, her voice dropping even lower. “I do hope he’ll remain safe until the end of the day. After his miraculous escape, it’d be a shame if something were to happen.”
Dismayed silence met her words, and a grin split Brune’s serious expression. She bade them both a wonderful afternoon and strode past them, continuing on her business as if she had expressed the most casual, meaningless thoughts of the year. Kellian’s hand tightened on the pommel of his sword as she passed, and Camilla knew he’d jump into battle at the slightest sign of aggression.
Questions bounced around Camilla’s mind. How had Brune learned so much? No one knew about the arrest except Hasryan. For a brief instant, Camilla considered the potential meaning of the mercenary leader calling him hers, of how this information had spread. What if …? No, she dismissed such thoughts. She trusted Hasryan wholeheartedly. If she began to doubt his loyalty, then Brune had isolated him yet again. Perhaps that’s all she wanted, but Camilla couldn’t help search for more. The Crescent Moon would never have become a deep-reaching mercenary organization if Brune wasted time amusing herself with personal vendettas. So what did she gain in telling them how much she knew?
Kellian touched her forearm, drawing her out of her thoughts. “I don’t like it,” he said.
“Bring me home, Kellian.” She wanted to speak with Hasryan—to warn him of the threat and pick his brains about Brune’s potential game.
“No.” With a firm hand on her back, Kellian started toward the headquarters again. “In other circumstances, I might, but I will be absent most of the day. You will be safer with Sora.”
“Under arrest.” Camilla didn’t hide the doubts in her voice. She trusted Sora, but once Isandor learned that she didn’t even deny helping Hasryan, her fate would be out of the investigator’s hands. “I would rather be at risk with my family than safe and alone.”
“You should have thought of that before hiding him.” His expression shut down, and Camilla knew any further arguing would be pointless. She lifted her chin, returning to the cold silence they had shared earlier. If Kellian refused to change his mind despite Brune’s worrying intrusion, he deserved to spend more time in his corner.
✵
Lack of outside news made Camilla’s confinement to Sora’s office difficult. She had spent her day replying to Sora’s questions and apologizing as she declined to answer. Every time the investigator asked about Hasryan’s location, Camilla offered only a pained smile and a polite refusal. She might open up once Diel had come, but until she met with her nephew, Camilla was determined to remain silent. All she’d revealed was that she had used her personal entrance to sneak Hasryan inside and out, and that Lord Dathirii had no knowledge of her plans. Diel had enough problems with the Golden Table without an even more direct connection to this.
Camilla wished for tea to ease her worry and make the wait more bearable. She leaned against the office’s window and stared at the sun, peeking behind towers and sitting low on the horizon. The Golden Table would finish soon, and she wondered how her nephew and grandson had done. Was Garith ready with the accounts? Did they have the fortitude to withstand the long debates? How many seats had been lost, one or both?
Camilla’s concerns went beyond the Golden Table to the secret expedition bound out of Isandor tonight. She suspected Kellian would be welcomed by Arathiel and Branwen with a cold shoulder after his actions this morning, but he’d provide the team with essential fighting skills. They ought to be all right. Camilla could only hope. After hearing Branwen’s tales, she shuddered to think of what Master Avenazar would do if he caught them.
And then, perhaps most preoccupying of all, there was her brief encounter with Brune. The mercenary leader’s words clung to her mind, the implied threats and knowledge staggering her. Thank you for taking care of my assassin. How had Brune learned that? And what did she mean by wishing he’d stay safe until the end of the day? Did she intend to attack once more? Had she waited for an occasion to finish what public execution had failed to accomplish? Camilla’s throat tightened and her mind flew through possible ways to warn Hasryan.
Any message would have to go through Sora, however, who was staring at Camilla with an annoyed frown. Their gazes met, and her eyebrows shot up. “Glad you’re back with us, Lady Camilla.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “I never meant to leave. I get horribly distracted when I cannot occupy my hands and stave off worry.”
Sora’s sober office did not exactly offer many options. She had a single abstract painting behind her desk and a tall snake plant in the corner of the room. The papers on her desk were in neat stacks, her inkwell clean, and Camilla suspected the seven leather folders in a pile contained documentation on Hasryan’s assassinations. Sora kept one hand flattened on top. She set down her quill with a sigh.
“Are your chances at the Golden Table so slim? The other guards are betting against Lord Dathirii, but they are pessimistic by nature.”
“I hope they’re not too attached to those coins, then,” Camilla answered. “Even if we lose our seats, Diel will bounce back. We never give up. I’m sure you’ve noticed we tend toward stubbornness that way.”
“‘Pigheaded’ is the word I’d use.” Sora half chuckled and shook her head. “What’s on your mind, then?”
“Brune.” No point in hiding it. Camilla turned her hat in her hands, fidgeting with its edge. How much could she tell Sora about this? “Kellian and I met her earlier, coming here. She must have sought me out. She implied she knew where to find Hasryan, and that he might be in danger.”
She hoped he had left her quarters. Sooner or later, they would search the Dathirii Tower for him
, and her rooms for clues to his location. Hasryan would never hunker down there, but where had he gone? Would it be safe, or would they catch him after all? Camilla prayed he’d sought help, yet she doubted it. Hasryan barely trusted her.
“I could protect him.” Sora’s offer surprised her, and Camilla raised her head. She studied the investigator, taking in the earnestness in Sora’s tone, the way she’d leaned forward, and the barely-concealed worry in her eyes. She wanted to. Camilla continued to stare with a soft smile until Sora’s cheeks reddened. “From Brune,” she added, “not from the justice he deserves.”
“You don’t want him to hang any more than I do,” Camilla said. “You met him, and you know it’s pointless. Only one more senseless death.”
“I met him, and I know he’s insufferable, shameless about his deeds, and …” Her initial clipped tone had grown soft, and Camilla wondered where Sora’s mind had gone. Hasryan wouldn’t discuss his time in prison or his interactions with her. She tapped on the folders with her knuckles. “These people deserve justice. Allowing Brune to do as she wishes doesn’t give them that.”
Camilla suspected a deeper attachment, but she let the issue rest. “Your cells wouldn’t keep Hasryan safe from anyone.”
Before Sora could protest, a soft knock interrupted them. Sora rolled her eyes and called, “Yes?”
“Miss Sora Sharpe?” Vellien’s small voice pierced through the door, and Camilla’s heart jumped. How many in the family knew Kellian had brought her to the headquarters? “May I speak with Aunt Camilla? Please?”
Sora stared at Camilla, as if asking “what now?” then sighed. “Come in,” she said, exhaustion lacing her tone. “And close the door behind you.”
Camilla straightened as the office door opened with a creak. Vellien entered with their shoulders hunched, one minuscule step at a time, hugging the wall. They ran a hand through their golden-red hair, refusing to look at her. Although she was glad to see them, their presence confused Camilla. Had they worried about her health? But then why did they act so … guilty? She smoothed the front of her robes.
“Is something wrong, Vellien?”
A slight nod, but they continued to stare at their feet. Camilla frowned, almost convinced they were fighting tears. Something ate at them, drawing out Vellien’s natural anxiety and sensitive streak. Although they were more mature than most at their age and calmer than their two exuberant older cousins, Vellien’s feelings had their own way of taking over.
“It’ll be okay,” Camilla reassured them. “Tell me.”
“I—” Vellien’s voice broke, and they tried to clear their throat. “I wanted to apologize.”
“I’m not sure what for,” she said. “Come here.”
She motioned for Vellien to draw closer, but they shook their head and looked up. Their soft expression hardened. “You wouldn’t be here without me. I saw all the connections and understood, and this morning I told Kellian. I was worried about you!” Words spilled out faster and faster as Vellien continued. “I know Branwen thinks they can’t be that bad—Arathiel and Hasryan, I mean—and maybe she’s right, but what if she’d been wrong? What if you got hurt? I had all these bad scenarios in my head all night, and I couldn’t get them out, but I never thought he’d arrest you. I didn’t want him to do that! I thought, I don’t know, I thought—”
“Vellien, stop.”
They drew a long, shaky breath and obeyed. They looked terrified, as if they’d committed a heinous crime and would never be forgiven for it. Camilla rose, skirts flowing behind her as she walked to the youngest Dathirii, the kind and talented child who had come all this way to apologize. She placed one hand on Vellien’s shoulder and lifted their chin with the other.
“This isn’t your fault,” she said.
Vellien shook their head with a faint smile. “Perhaps not all, but I helped. I’m so sorry, Aunt Camilla, I—”
Camilla stroked their cheek, stopping them. “It isn’t at all. This rests solely on Kellian’s shoulders. You were afraid for my safety, and seeking him is the best thing to do in such cases. You couldn’t have predicted his reaction, not without knowing a history that predates your birth.” This morning, she had glimpsed a side of Kellian she had thought long buried. The loss of his wife had deeply affected him, and Camilla remembered with dread the choleric, unpredictable elf he’d become. It had taken Kellian over a decade to stop drinking, and he still never touched alcohol. It seemed not all his scars were gone, however. “Your Uncle made a mistake—”
“He obeyed the law,” Sora interrupted, “which should not be considered optional.”
“I’m afraid his latent racism had more to do with it.” Camilla met Sora’s gaze, unflinching. “You’ll excuse me if I’m pretentious and trust my personal compass over laws voted by the Golden Table.”
In the heavy silence that accompanied their stare-down, Vellien shrunk back. Camilla held Sora’s attention long enough to drive her point home, but she didn’t want to debate the differences between law, ethics, and justice. Not now, with her nephew fighting for House Dathirii’s seats, with Hasryan’s safety in question, and with young Vellien still riddled with guilt. She turned towards them and smiled. “I’m glad you came to see me. That’s very considerate.”
Vellien nodded eagerly, and their smile became more genuine. “I have to go to the Shelter tonight, but perhaps I could stay until then? Do you want company?”
Camilla wouldn’t mind, but she turned to Sora. A sigh met the unspoken question. “You should be in a cell,” Sora said, “but I can’t bring myself to that yet. It seems Lord Dathirii got to me after all: I’m in no mood to deal with the storm that would follow official paperwork about your arrest.”
Lady Camilla couldn’t help but laugh at the strange mix of resentment and fondness in Sora’s voice. “Diel has a way of getting into people’s minds.”
“Then pray it’ll save your House today.” Sora leaned into her chair. “It’ll become difficult to protect you if your family no longer has a shred of influence.”
Camilla stiffened at the mention. She hadn’t considered the impact of losing her title on her position. Sora’s grace wouldn’t keep her out of a cell without a noble’s privileges. She squeezed Vellien’s arm to reassure them, burying her own fears deep inside. “We’ll manage. We always have, and we’ve been in this city since its foundation.”
“It’s you I’m worried about,” Vellien answered.
No doubt they had new scenarios running through their head, spinning and spinning. Camilla smiled at them. “Vellien, dear, I’ve been around almost as long as the family. Your old aunt spent three decades travelling the world on her own, got involved with an all-girl scamming group, and brushed with death a time or two since her birth. I can handle myself.”
Stars lit in their eyes, and they gasped. “You never tell those stories!”
“Garith and Branwen are enough of a handful without giving them ideas,” Camilla replied. “You can have them, but on two conditions. First, you’re not allowed to repeat them to your cousins. Second, I’d love to hear you sing.”
“N-now?” They grew a deep shade of red and threw her a silent, pleading look to withdraw the demand. When Camilla only nodded, Vellien glanced at Sora but agreed. “All right. Consider it a second apology.”
Their voice shook, and they didn’t start immediately. Camilla smiled gently. “Take your time, Vellien. Start as slow and low as you need.”
Their gaze flickered to Camilla. With a thankful nod, Vellien cleared their throat and picked up a soft tune. At first, the singing was barely audible, as if Vellien couldn’t bear for anyone but themself to hear, but it picked up strength as the young elf fell into the rhythm of the song. Soon, their light voice carried through the office. Camilla closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, her thoughts swimming between Diel and Hasryan, both so close to her heart yet so different—the golden politician, always at the front of any debate, pushing for changes his city refused, and the da
rk assassin, hovering in shadows as he struggled to even survive, hiding his wounds behind quips and smirks. Two strong men, each in their own way. She had to believe they would both be all right.
Yultes had stepped into the Allastam Tower this morning desperate for one final chance to alleviate the diplomatic disaster of Diel’s last audience with Lord Allastam, only to be turned away by a condescending note from the family’s first steward. He should have returned to the Dathirii Tower after that. Should have abandoned everything and continued the well-deserved break Hellion had passionately advocated for. Instead, he lingered on, walking through the familiar halls one last time. Yultes knew with absolute certainty that Diel’s decision to ally with Arathiel would lead to the end of their House. He’d witnessed Lord Allastam’s bitter resourcefulness too often to hold any illusions.
How strange, to bid the Allastam Tower goodbye after all this time. Yultes had worked as the liaison to this House before they’d even climbed high in the hierarchy. He’d watched Lord Allastam grow from a turbulent child to a passionate adult, had witnessed the switch from an ambitious man to a bitter, grieving widower. In many ways, House Allastam had become a second family. He didn’t want to leave, not yet, and he couldn’t find anything useful to do. He couldn’t attend the Golden Table, he wasn’t welcome around Branwen and her expedition, and all his paperwork was up to date. It always was.
Lingering around was his break, then—his well-deserved pause from work. Better to stay here and suffer the occasional hostile stares from household staff than to lock himself in his quarters and wait for the axe to fall. Perhaps it wouldn’t—Hellion hadn’t expressed an inkling of worry—but Yultes had never been an optimist. To think that after all these years and all his mistakes, he would lose his title because of Diel’s unyielding morality.
His feet led him to the inner gardens, high in the Allastam Tower. Fake windows arched above the green space, shedding warm light and allowing for exotic and often alchemical plants to grow. Unlike the blue-leaved trees of Allastam’s audience chamber, these gardens’ flowers bloomed in pale and soothing colours. Yultes discovered that someone else had found refuge in the tranquil space.
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