The man’s broad, florid face creased into a smile as he held out a crystal goblet filled with soft pink wine. “This Snowblossom wine is going warm, and it would be an absolute travesty if such a fine vintage went to waste.”
Lady Chasteyn laughed—a high, ringing sound that grated on Ilanna’s nerves—and reached for the drink. “Why, Husband, that is a matter most urgent indeed.”
Ilanna caught a glimpse of the lady’s forearm as her sleeve rode up, and there was no mistaking the red, raised flesh of scars. She gave no indication she’d seen anything as the noblewoman turned back to continue conversing with Lord Beritane, but her mind began putting pieces together.
Lady Chasteyn’s tension at mention of her husband and the sight of those scars made things plain. No wonder she’s less than pleased at his return. I’d be, too, if I was the one being harmed like that. She felt a momentary flash of pity for Lady Chasteyn, but it fled as quickly as it came. A gilded cage might be a cage, but a fortune like the Chasteyns’ went a long way toward easing most pains.
She paid little attention to the inane exchange Lord Beritane carried on with their hosts. Instead, she sipped her wine and allowed her hearing to filter through the conversations being held around the room. Drink loosened far more tongues than daggers. Events like this held secrets worth a fortune, if one simply knew how to listen well enough. Ria had sent Aisha as her bodyguard, but also to pay attention to what was being said in polite company. Among her “betters”, one more serving girl—even one as exotic-looking as Aisha—would be less noticeable than the marble floor.
At that moment, Aisha sidled up beside her. “He’s here.”
Ilanna gave no indication she’d heard, but she turned her attention toward the door. She smiled as her eyes lighted on the figure she’d come to this event to find.
Baron Wyvern strode into the ballroom with the overcompensating swagger that marked him as lower nobility, a confident grin on his not-quite-handsome face. Once again, he wore clothing of a dull brown—an earth-colored island amid a sea of eye-catching hues—though his vest, jacket, trousers, and stockings were of the highest caliber Praamian money could buy. He flashed a smile as he greeted his peers, then lifted a drink from a passing servant.
Disgust twisted in Ilanna’s gut as she watched him drain his drink and two more in quick succession, followed by a few moments spent leering over an older nobleman’s pretty young daughter. Her memory of his presence in The Gilded Chateau earlier that day only added to her disdain.
She turned to Lord Beritane. “Forgive me, my darling, but I’ve just seen an old friend that I would so love to greet.” She poured every shred of simper she could manage into her voice. “I will just be a moment.”
“Of course, my dear.” The nobleman leaned in to kiss her, and Ilanna turned her face so he planted his too-moist lips against her cheek.
“Do return soon, dear.” Lady Chasteyn gave her a saccharine smile. “I would hate for any of the other eligible bachelors of Praamis to steal you away from our good Gileon here. After all, such a pretty thing like yourself must be in high demand.”
Ilanna returned the smile. “You are too kind, my lady.” She bit back a retort; the last thing she wanted was to draw any more attention to herself than necessary. Noble women like Lady Chasteyn had a penchant for petty vengeance and grudges over even the smallest slight. Better to let her think she’d won the game of veiled insults.
Ilanna glided through the swirling dresses and clacking shoes of the people on the dance floor. She’d always had a knack for slipping in and out of crowded marketplaces; here, unfortunately, she had to deal with stuffy dresses that refused to cooperate with her efforts to move quickly.
It took her a full minute to cross the chamber to the wall where Baronet Wyvern had taken up a comfortable position beside a high bar table, hand resting on the crystal stem of his fourth glass of wine. He drained it and set to work on his fifth glass of wine as Ilanna flounced up to him.
“Baronet Wyvern, I presume?” She flashed her most dazzling smile and held out a hand.
The Baronet glanced at her, then straightened, his eyes sparkling, as he got a good look at her dress—his eyes roaming the deliberately low-cut neckline that exposed more bosom than Ilanna felt comfortable with. “Why, yes, yes I am!” He beamed and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “And who might you be?”
“A friend of a friend.” Ilanna gave him a suggestive smile. “Though, perhaps, that might change, in the right circumstances.”
“Is that so?” Baronet Wyvern’s smile nearly split his face in half. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”
Ilanna fluttered a hand in front of her face. “I find myself quite overcome with the excitement of the night. Perhaps a walk outside in the garden could help.”
“Ah yes, I hear the night air can be quite…” Baronet Wyvern leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “…stimulating.”
Ilanna stifled a shudder, instead giving a little giggle. “Indeed.”
Baronet Wyvern held out an elbow. “Allow me to escort you, my lady.”
Ilanna linked her arm in his and walked with him out of the hall into an adjoining passage. But instead of heading to the left, down the passage she knew led to the gardens, Baronet Wyvern steered her right, deeper into the mansion. She made no protest as she followed him down a small corridor and into a dark, quiet side room.
Just as I expected. Baronet Wyvern’s reputation was well-known to the Night Guild—House Phoenix learned as much as possible about the wealthier clients that frequented their establishment. His treatment of Krystal was nothing compared to some of the tales shared by the working girls when Ria and her crew had first taken over The Gilded Chateau. Ilanna knew precisely what the nobleman intended by bringing her into this dark room, well away from the party.
If only he knows what he just got himself into.
Baronet Wyvern turned toward her, lust burning in his eyes as he made to shove her hard against the cloth-paneled wall. Yet no words came from his mouth as he found Ilanna’s dagger pressed against his crotch.
Ilanna bared her teeth in a snarl. “It’s time you and I have a conversation, Baronet.”
Chapter Eighteen
Every muscle in the Hunter’s body tensed at the familiar scent of demon. He sniffed the air again just to confirm the smell. No mistake. The odor of an Abiarazi hung in the tunnel.
But it was faint, faded by time and the thread of air wafting through the passage. The demon had passed here hours ago.
Long before those hooded men came this way. His gut clenched, his momentary excitement at finding the Abiarazi diminishing in the face of reality.
He hurried through the tunnels, the light of the strange liquid in the glass lantern guiding him. His heart hammered, an urgency driving him to run, yet he forced himself to maintain a steady pace. Who knew what traps or obstacles lay concealed in the darkness ahead of him?
The tunnel ran for thirty paces before reaching an intersection and branching off to the right, left, and straight ahead. The Hunter’s mind raced as he stared at the three passages. He heard nothing to tell him which way the hooded men had gone—the only sound was an occasional drip somewhere ahead of him and the scurrying of rat feet.
At this intersection, the stink of sewage grew strong enough to drown out the milder scents that marked the humans; only the smell of ancient rot and decay stood out above the foul aromas drifting up from the waste matter slithering past his feet. The sight of the sewage surging through the perpendicular tunnels made the decision for him: he’d follow the dry passage straight ahead.
The scent of demon grew stronger as he left the sewage behind, though the thick reek desensitized his nostrils to the point that he couldn’t pick up the smells of the humans he hunted. But his heart leapt as he found more footprints in the dust ahead.
The hooded men had discarded the child’s body, then returned to the sewers. The only explanation that made any sense was that the tunnels bene
ath Praamis provided them a way to travel around the city unseen, camouflaging their movements. If that was the case, he’d find only empty corridors ahead.
A new smell filtered through the stink of sewage. Incense. The thick, heavy odor was too sweet to be pleasant, marking it the sort of incense burned in the temples—the Hall of the Cruori, home to the Bloody Minstrel, or The Sanctuary, where the healers of the Bright Lady plied their arts—to mask the reek of rotting flesh, disease, and death.
Priests? The thought twisted the Hunter’s stomach. He’d encountered horrible things done in the name of the gods during his years as an assassin. Men, women, even children beaten, abused, and killed in all manner of rituals.
Five paces ahead, the Hunter saw the tunnel widen into a larger space. The smell of incense was thick enough to drown out the demon’s stink, and the too-sweet stench made him gag. The moment he stepped into the chamber, he knew he’d found his killers.
Or, more accurately, his killers’ lair.
A human hand had scrawled that strange Serenii symbol onto all four walls of the wide-open space—scrawled it in blood. As he approached, his nostrils filled with the metallic tang of dried blood. Somehow, the incense served not to cover the stink, but to enhance it. The two smells joined together in a malodorous bouquet that revolted him but to a demon, it would be pure delight.
No doubt about it. The demon is leading these killers.
He held the lamp high to get a better look at the room. The dust had been disturbed by dozens of booted feet, mixed with rust-colored droplets of dried blood and gobs of what looked like brown candle wax. Four perfectly round clear spots in the dust spoke of table legs—doubtless the surface where they’d laid their victims for whatever foul ritual they carried out.
A pile of clothing discarded on one side of the room caught the Hunter’s eye. He crouched over the clothes, his stomach twisting as he found a pair of Bluejacket pants mingled with robes belonging to at least five different men, women, and children. Hideous patches of blood, vomit, and ordure stained the fabric.
Yet, aside from those few details, the chamber stood empty. The killers had to have abandoned their lair. Why, he didn’t know, but from the footprints that tracked through the dust in the room, they went through the chamber and into the tunnel beyond.
If this was where they killed the boy, they won’t be coming back.
He growled in frustration and drove a fist into the stone wall, shattering stone. So close to finding the demon and the murderers—working together, it seemed—only to come away empty-handed.
Shoving down his anger, the Hunter forced himself to think. What now?
The Night Guild could be coming for him, ignoring his warning and following him down the tunnel to have their vengeance for the death of their assassin. He needed to leave this place before they caught up to him.
But what of the murderers? His only hope lay in continuing along the tunnel. If luck was with him, he’d find another clue to their whereabouts. He didn’t want to think about what he’d do if his search came up empty.
He followed the footsteps into the tunnel beyond, passing another intersection and finally reaching a second metal door. He lifted the latch and, finding it unlocked, shouldered it open.
Just as he stepped into the sludge-filled sewer, the glass globe in his hand began to flicker, the illumination slowing fading away until he stood alone in the darkness.
Keeper take it! The scent of demon had dried up, and his nostrils found nothing but the stink of sewage. The filthy water running along the tunnel floor had washed away any footprints, any signs of passage. Even if it hadn’t, he had no light to see and no idea which way to go to find the murderers.
Bloody hell, or which way to go to get out of here.
His gut clenched. The last thing he wanted to do was spend hours roaming around these sewer tunnels searching for a way out.
Closing his eyes, he pulled open the metal door and stood in the aperture. He remained still for a long moment, until he felt a thread of air caress his face.
Yes! His heart leapt. That wisp of a breeze had to come from outside, so he had only to follow it to find the way out. With renewed determination, he focused on the sensation of the air washing over his skin.
It came from off to his left, so that was the direction he went. He reached an intersection a few hundred paces down the tunnel. After a moment of patience, he felt the current of air pulling him to the right.
Five gut-wrenching minutes later, he caught sight of a single faint beam of light ahead. Relief surged within him as he reached the sliver of moonlight leaking through a sewer grate. He wrenched the grate aside and scrambled out of the tunnel.
He sucked in a deep breath of sewage-free air and found he’d had never tasted anything so fresh and clean. The stink followed him as he hurried down the alley, wafting up from the muck coating his boots and trouser legs. But he didn’t mind, simply basked in the feel of the cool night wind on his face and the freedom of being above ground.
He almost clambered up to the rooftops, but instinct warned him to avoid it. Doubtless the Night Guild ruled the heights, and they’d be searching for him there. He had no more time to waste crossing blades with assassins, thugs, and thieves. He had murderers to find.
Again, how the bloody hell do I do that?
The hooded men had left the sewers this way, he guessed, but there had to be dozens, even hundreds, of ways to access the underground network of tunnels. He could lay in wait for them on the off-chance that they’d return this way, but chances were slimmer than a starving man crossing the Advanat Desert.
He paused in the shadow of an alleyway and leaned against a wall as he pondered his next step.
He’d gotten lucky finding the hooded men, but he couldn’t count on that good fortune twice. His encounter with the two assassins made him rethink the Night Guild’s complicity. He still hadn’t written them off as innocent, but until he found evidence to prove otherwise, the Night Guild had no reason to want either child dead. If they had been the source of the blackmail message, the child’s death would only raise suspicion about their dealings with Baronet Wyvern.
It seems all roads lead in the same direction.
Baronet Wyvern might be the victim of blackmail, but he’d certainly have a suspicion who’d want to use the leverage against him. Right now, that was the best clue the Hunter had.
Perhaps it’s time to pay another visit to Baronet Wyvern.
The Hunter knew he’d find the man at Lord and Lady Chasteyn’s soiree, but right now, he was in no mood to endure the primping and preening required to don the Lord Anglion disguise. He always felt more comfortable in his dark work clothes than the stuffy, garish garments of the nobleman.
He will talk to me, one way or another. He grinned and patted Soulhunger’s hilt. His dagger loosened tongues far better than even the strongest drink.
One whiff of the smell drifting up from the sewage clinging to his boots made his gut clench. He glanced up at the stars. Definitely time enough for a quick bath.
Midnight wasn’t far off, but if Baronet Wyvern was at the Chasteyns’ soiree, he wouldn’t head home until the early hours of the morning.
And when he returns, he will find his worst nightmare waiting for him.
Chapter Nineteen
Baronet Wyvern’s brain took a long moment to register the threat. When it finally sank in, his face contorted into a mask of rage. “Why, you little bi—”
Ilanna didn’t let him finish his insult. She drove her knee into the man’s groin and slammed the edge of her hand into his throat. Not hard enough to kill him—he wouldn’t get off that easily—but enough to shut him up and drop him to his knees.
“Manners never were your strong suit, Baronet.” Ilanna looked down at the choking, moaning man before her. “Young Lady Riandra’s blood is on your hands, Baronet Wyvern!”
The baronet’s eyes went wide. “L-Lady Riandra?” Now, his face turned a shade paler. “You…you�
��re…Night Guild!”
“We are.” Ilanna bent to place her face close to his. “And my master is not pleased with you.”
“I swear, I fully intended to make the payments,” Baronet Wyvern protested.
“Were it only about keeping your secrets, perhaps the Guild Master might see clear to overlooking your transgressions.” Ilanna dropped her voice to a low, cold whisper. “But thanks to you, Chantelle is dead.”
“Dead?” The word burst from Baronet Wyvern’s lips in a gasp. “I thought she’d fled the city or been moved to another brothel. But dead? How?”
Ilanna narrowed her eyes. The nobleman’s surprise appeared genuine. He’s not smart enough to pull off any serious deception.
“Her body was discovered in an alleyway, discarded like soiled clothing.” Ilanna’s jaw muscles worked. “But what the Guild Master found most curious was that she was found outside The Gilded Chateau in the first place. Curious, indeed.” The tone of her voice left no doubt that she knew precisely what drew Chantelle away.
Baronet Wyvern caught her meaning, and his face paled. “Y-You know about Chantelle and me?”
Ilanna nodded. “Nothing remains secret in Praamis. But you should know that better than anyone.”
A hint of color tinged the Baronet’s cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “Then the fault lies not with me. If you knew she was coming here on the sly and you did not stop it, her death is on your head.”
Ilanna slapped him, hard, a resounding blow with all the strength of her shoulder and arm. The impact knocked the Baronet backward to his knees. Before he could recover, Ilanna pounced atop him, the force of her weight driving him flat onto his back.
“If you value your tongue,” Ilanna snarled, “you will learn to control it.” She drove her knee harder into his chest, and the Baronet coughed from the pressure on his solar plexus. “Chantelle’s blood is on your hands.”
“She was…alive when she…left me…that night!” Baronet Wyvern gasped.
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