Ilanna narrowed her eyes. The boy’s skin was marred with small, round burn marks, seven of them set close together. “Someone burned him?”
“Yesss.” Rilmine nodded. “Before applying the plassster, but after his death.”
Ilanna recoiled. “What?”
“Burnsss inflicted before death are redder, blissstered. The burn marksss here are hard, dry, yellow, with no rednesss. Made after the heart ssstopped pumping.” His long, pale fingers swept down the boy’s body toward the strange symbol carved into his chest. “Thessse alssso, made after death.”
Ilanna contemplated the wounds. “So if the burn marks were made after he was dead, that means the plaster was also applied after death as well, right?”
Journeyman Rilmine’s bald head bobbed. “Correct. It wasss poissson that killed him. Sssomething in the family of belladonna. I believe the oil of the Night Petal, to be precccissse. Very rare, very potent.”
Ilanna nodded. “How rare?”
“Nearly imposssible to find here in Praamisss.” The Journeyman frowned. “I’ve no idea where it comesss from, but perhapsss Massster Ssscorpion would.”
“Either way, if it killed Arashi, it means someone here in Praamis has it.” Ilanna’s lips split into a fierce, humorless smile. “And where there’s something rare to be found, there’s someone willing to buy it.”
“Then perhapsss thisss will be of interessst asss well.”
Rilmine waved her over to the other body, the one that had been found in Old Town Market that morning. The boy had been stripped naked, his chest opened just like Arashi’s. The sight brought another wave of acid surging into Ilanna’s throat. She’d seen death before—done her fair share of killing, even—but this was different. It reminded her of deconstructing the locking mechanism of Lord Auslan’s vault, but this mechanism was made of flesh and blood, once a living thing rather than a clockwork device of steel and brass.
“The lipsss tell a curiousss tale.” Journeyman Rilmine blinked up at her, a hideous smile twisting the side of his face. “Poisssoned, but not the sssame. Thisss is the effect of Flaming Tansssy. Sssimilar in nature to arsssenic—fatty build-up in the liver, hemorrhage in the heart, leading to death by blood losss.” He jerked a thumb toward the organs hanging in the mechanical balance beside the table. “But thisss poissson is rarer even than Night Petal. The flower only growsss in the land of Fehl, acrosss the water.”
Ilanna’s brow furrowed. “The same killer, but a different poison?”
Rilmine shrugged. “Or, a sssecond killer.”
“Wait.” Ilanna’s mind raced as she tried to follow the Journeyman’s train of thought. “You think two different people are killing children with two different poisons? And it just so happens that both bodies show up on the same day?” She chewed on those words. “They were both found near Old Town Market—one in an alleyway, the other in the sewers—but they weren’t exactly laid side by side.”
“And, there isss thisss.” Journeyman Rilmine pointed to the boy’s forehead.
Ilanna tried to see what the Scorpion was talking about, but she saw nothing. The boy’s skin was smooth, unblemished. Realization sent a jolt of lightning through her. “No burn marks!”
“And no plassster,” Journeyman Rilmine said with a nod. “Two different methodsss of killing.”
“Which speaks of two different killers.” Ilanna’s gut clenched. “Keeper’s teeth!”
Her job had just gotten twice as hard.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” she asked Rilmine. “Beyond the fact that poison was used. Anything to point at who killed them?”
Rilmine shook his head, his expression growing mournful. “Alasss, the bodiesss have yielded no more information than I have relayed to you. However, I will continue my examination to sssee what sssecretsss may yet be unlocked.”
“Good.” Ilanna nodded. “If you find out anything else, send a message to Darreth, and he will see that it reaches me at all speed.”
“Of courssse, Guild Massster.” Journeyman Rilmine gave Ilanna a jerky, awkward half-bow.
Ilanna strode from the room, glad to be free of the foul odors and nauseating sights of Rilmine’s chamber of death. She stopped the first Scorpion she passed, a sandy-haired apprentice whose name she couldn’t remember.
“Is Master Scorpion in his chambers?” she demanded.
“Y-Yes, Master Gold.”
“Good.” Ilanna strode past the youth and headed straight for the House Master’s quarters. She knocked at the huge door, and Tyman’s voice echoed “Enter” a moment later.
The silvery white-haired Master Scorpion squinted in her direction, then brightened as he recognized her. “Master Gold, what brings you to my House?”
“Poison.” The word came out harsh, angry. She quickly recounted what Journeyman Rilmine had told her about the two victims.
“Night Petal and Flaming Tansy.” Tyman’s age-lined face creased into a frown. “Potent, and very rare, indeed.”
“Do you know where the killer—or killers, perhaps—could have gotten them?” Ilanna demanded.
“Not from us, on that you can be certain.” Age hadn’t dulled Master Scorpion’s edge or weakened his strong temperament.
“You’re sure?” Ilanna raised an eyebrow. “There’s no way any of your inventory went missing?”
“People may consider poisons the weapon of women and cowards,” Journeyman Tyman snapped, “but here in House Scorpion, they are works of art. Poisons that can kill without leaving a trace, that can kill with a single drop, or that only kill when in concert with a specific food or drink—those are masterpieces my Journeymen have labored their entire lives to create. Any idiot alchemist can concoct cyanide or crush pokeberries into a glass of wine, but only an artist can craft the sort of poisons that line the shelves of House Scorpion.”
Ilanna smiled. “And what artist would be so easily parted with his work?”
“Precisely.” Master Tyman nodded. “House Scorpion takes its role in the Night Guild with utmost seriousness. I would swear on my life that our stores of these poisons are complete, as our records will soon prove.”
He picked up a small ballpeen hammer from his desk and tapped it to a metal plate anchored to the wall. The strike created a high ringing like a clarion, but rather than echoing in the room, the sound seemed to travel through the walls. A moment later, Ilanna heard the clarion sound ring out in the Nest. She studied the strange metal contraption, but was interrupted ten seconds later when an apprentice entered the room.
“You called, Master Scorpion?” It was the same sandy-haired apprentice Ilanna had stopped.
“Ikar, fetch the records from Shelf 2B,” Tyman instructed.
“Of course.” With a bow, the youth disappeared. He returned a minute later, a heavy leather-bound volume in his hands.
“Anything else, Master Scorpion?” he asked as he set the book down on Tyman’s desk.
“Yes. Summon every Journeyman to my chambers at once.”
“Of course, Master Scorpion.” Another bow, and the boy closed the door behind him.
Tyman opened the book and flipped through the pages, muttering to himself as he scanned the contents. Ilanna caught a glimpse of neat, precise handwriting, perfectly delineated tables, and numbers she had no hope of understanding. It bore a strong resemblance to the system Darreth used to organize the minutia of keeping the Guild running.
After a moment, Tyman tapped his finger on the page and nodded. “As I said, all our stores of Night Petal and Flaming Tansy are accounted for.” He closed the book and lifted his eyes to hers, defiance written there.
“I never doubted your word, Master Scorpion.” Ilanna met his gaze, cool and unwavering. “I simply had to ask to be certain.”
“Though I might not appreciate even the hint of an allegation, I can acknowledge its importance.” Tyman shoved the book away. “But rest assured that I will set my Scorpions to hunting down the party responsible. There will be no apot
hecary, alchemist, or potion brewster’s establishment left unexamined.”
“Good.” Ilanna nodded. “House Bloodbear is at your disposal, and take as many of them as you need for…encouragement.”
“They should suffice to loosen tongues.” Tyman nodded. “I expect to have results for you within hours at best, days at worst.”
“Make it hours,” Ilanna warned. “I have it on good authority that the Crown is displeased that these murders are happening when we’re supposed to be keeping things under control.”
“I understand.” Tyman nodded.
“Thank you, Master Scorpion.” Ilanna bowed to the man and turned to leave.
“Ilanna.” Tyman’s voice echoed behind her, and she turned back to face the man. “Do not let this hunt consume you. Take care of yourself. The Guild cannot see its Master looking haggard and exhausted.”
“Thank you, Tyman.” Ilanna gave the man a smile. “I will try to follow your orders, as I always have.”
Tyman snorted. “You were one of my worst patients. I don’t expect you to start listening now, either, but that can’t stop me from trying my best to keep you alive a while longer.”
“There’s that kindly bedside manner I’ve come to miss.” Ilanna chuckled. “Be well, Master Scorpion.”
“And you, Guild Master.”
* * *
Ilanna wished she could take Master Scorpion’s advice to rest, but the chaos in her mind gave her no peace.
Acid bubbled in her stomach as she shut the door to her office and strode over to her desk. She sat, stood a moment later, sat again, then flung herself to her feet and began to pace.
Two murderers. The thought echoed over and over. Two people were killing children in Praamis.
People died every day in her city; life in Praamis could be hard and cruel, and violence was a way of life. Children starved to death on the streets, drowned in the Stannar River, or even died in collisions with carriages and wagons.
But this is different. This is straight-up murder.
Someone—two someones, possibly—were abducting children and poisoning them. One of the two children had had his face burned, that eerie symbol carved into his chest, and his head encased in plaster. What sort of sick freak would do that?
She drew in a deep breath and strode toward the bookcase that stood behind the Guild Master’s desk. Seven golden figurines adorned the top shelf, one for each of the seven original Houses of the Night Guild—she hadn’t gotten around to getting a phoenix made and added to the collection.
But it was the figurines on the second shelf that drew her gaze. Five silver hawks with ornately detailed beaks, wings, and feathers. One each for Denber, Prynn, Bert, Werrin, and Willem. A sixth hawk, made of platinum and larger than the others, spread its wings protectively around the smaller birds—this one for Jagar Khat, Master of House Hawk.
She smiled and ran a finger over the silver scorpion figurine, felt the sharp edge of its tail. She still thought of Ethen now and again, though the memories had begun to fade with the passage of time.
Her eyes went to the final hawk figurine on the shelf: a rose gold bird for Master Gold. They hadn’t been friends, but she had considered him a mentor of sorts. If nothing else, he’d taught her that she’d only survive in the Night Guild by being harder, stronger, and smarter than everyone else.
What would you have done in my position?
Her predecessor had always seemed so poised, controlled, self-assured. She’d rarely seen him worried, only when speaking of the Bloody Hand’s efforts to usurp the Guild’s control in Praamis. Even if he hadn’t known what to do in this situation, he would have pretended it so well no one would have known of his self-doubt.
She wanted to be like that, but it was harder than she’d expected. So many people were counting on her to find a solution, she didn’t want to imagine what would happen if she let them down.
So I won’t. The statement felt empty, yet she clung to the defiance it evinced within her. She might not see the way clear to safety right now, but that hadn’t stopped her from fighting through the impossible before. I will do what I must, no matter what.
She squared her shoulders and turned away from the shelf, striding toward the door. She’d summon Darreth, see if he had any news from Errik and the Serpents or House Hound. Anything she could use to—
The door to her chamber burst open. Ilanna tensed and dropped into a fighting crouch, her hand flashing to the dagger at her belt, but the anxiety dimmed when she caught sight of her son.
Kodyn had grown a great deal in the last few years. At sixteen, he towered a full hand’s width taller than even Ria, his shoulders and back broadened by years spent training with Errik and running the Perch and the Hawk’s Highway. He wore his long, dark hair pulled back into a tight tail, though he still hadn’t managed to control the wisps that framed his face.
But the sight of his handsome face lined with worry drove a dagger of ice into her gut. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.
“Mom!” The word burst from his mouth—he only called her Mom when nervous, scared, or angry—“We’ve got a serious problem.”
Chapter Ten
The Hunter made no move to draw his sword, but he kept his eyes fixed on the man threatening him. “Let me guess, you’re from the Night Guild. I’ve been looking for one of you.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “You’ve found only trouble, whoever you are.” He raised his sword and pointed it at the Hunter’s chest. “There’s only one reason for someone like you to be up on this rooftop. But you’ve made a mistake operating in Praamis. The city belongs to the Night Guild, and freelance assassins are not welcome.”
The Hunter’s lips quirked into a grin. “So you’ve come to kill me, then?” The man had marked him instantly—though the dark cloak and weapons were a dead giveaway—and the way he stood ready for a fight, the way he held his long sword steady without even a hint of waver, screamed assassin. That and his light scale armor and the twin daggers on his belt.
“If I have to.” The man shrugged, his expression bland. “I’d settle for driving you out of Praamis, with the knowledge that I will hunt you down if you ever step foot in my city again.” He spoke the words calmly, without a trace of bluster. The mark of a confident, competent opponent. Braggarts used volume to compensate for inadequacy and uncertainty.
“Truth be told, I’m not fond of either option.” The Hunter shook his head. “Is there any chance you’d simply walk away and let me hunt down the murderer I’m searching for?” He doubted the assassin would believe him if he spoke of demons.
“No.” A single word, quiet, calm. “Praamis is no place for you. Leave or die.”
The Hunter sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Especially if the Night Guild is killing children.”
The statement caught the assassin off-guard for an instant, long enough for the Hunter to slap aside his sword, step inside his guard, and drive a punch at the man’s solar plexus—not a killing blow, but powerful enough to dent the man’s light armor and knock the air from his lungs.
The assassin twisted aside at the last second and the Hunter’s fist met empty air. The Hunter recovered quickly, blocking the lightning knee strike aimed at his groin. He drove an elbow into the man’s ribs, but again the assassin slipped the blow. Not completely, though. The tip of the Hunter’s elbow caught the man in the side with bruising force. The assassin winced and stepped backward out of grappling range.
His eyes fixed the Hunter with a burning glare. “Who are you?”
“The man who’s giving you a chance to live.” The Hunter stood straight, hands outstretched and well away from the hilt of his sword. “All you have to do is answer a few quest—”
He leapt to the side, barely avoiding the assassin’s whistling blade, and ripped his own sword free in time to deflect a strike that would have opened his throat. Three more blows followed with lightning speed, aimed low, high, and low again. The Hunter’s long sword turned aside ea
ch, then answered with a hard strike at the man’s forearm with the flat of his blade. The assassin grimaced again, passing the sword to his left hand.
“I’d rather not kill you,” the Hunter said. “Lead me to your Guild Master and you can walk away from this alive.”
“So that’s why you’re here!” The assassin’s face creased into a snarl. “The Bloody Hand is not truly eradicated, simply lying in wait and gathering their strength for a return. They still want Master Gold dead, so they send you to do their dirty work for them.”
It was the Hunter’s turn to be caught off-guard. The Bloody Hand was no more, he’d seen to that four years ago. But the assassin seemed not to believe the criminal organization had been totally wiped out. To be fair, the Hunter would have the same suspicion. He wouldn’t trust that his enemies were truly dead until he saw the bodies—or put the knife in their throats himself.
“After all this time, will you fools never learn?” The assassin dropped into a low crouch, legs spread in an oddly wide stance, eyes fixed on the Hunter. “Your death will be a message to your masters that Praamis belongs to the Night Guild.”
He launched into an attack with an agility that surprised the Hunter. The man weaved and bobbed with strange, almost dance-like motions that reminded the Hunter of a bounding gazelle or a drunken monkey. Yet the assassin fought with admirable dexterity. His blows came high and low, striking right then darting left for a follow-up. The Hunter had never encountered the fighting style before and, for a moment, he lost himself in the fascination.
A sharp pain in his side quickly reminded him that the assassin meant to kill him. The killer danced backward, grinning at the crimson staining the edge of his sword. Yet his face creased into a puzzled frown when the Hunter remained standing. The wound, which punctured the Hunter’s kidney with precision physickers would envy, would have killed any mortal man.
Horror creased the man’s face as realization dawned. “The Hunter of Voramis!” he breathed. “So the legends about you are true. You really are immortal!”
Darkblade Justice: An Epic Fantasy Murder Mystery (Hero of Darkness Book 7) Page 8
