“Excellent.” Liak scribbled something on the parchment and set it aside to dry. “If there is nothing else you desire of the Hidden Circle, I will consider our transaction complete.”
The Hunter cocked his head. “Transaction?”
“Exchange of information.” Liak blinked, surprised. “Knowledge is coin, Hunter.”
“Indeed.” The Hunter stifled a growl at the man’s callous attitude. “I will return if I have more questions.”
Liak bowed from his seat. “Until we meet again, then.”
The Hunter’s gut roiled as he turned away from the alchemist and slipped out of the window through which he’d entered, but it had little to do with the reek of the tanneries. Men who dealt in facts and secrets often forgot that they spoke of real people, real deaths, real consequences. As a killer, he faced the reality every time he shattered a bone or crushed a skull.
His anger at the alchemist’s heartlessness gave way to fury over Baronet Wyvern’s actions.
The nobleman murdered children in the name of profit. That is something I cannot forgive. He touched Soulhunger’s hilt. Tonight, I am the hand of the Watcher, and I deliver justice for the forgotten.
The Bluejackets and the other children murdered by Baronet Wyvern would have vengeance.
He raced toward the nearby alley and found the hanging rope ladder that led up to the rooftops. Less than a minute later, he was sprinting across the Night Guild’s strange highway, his steps leading in the direction of The Gardens. The blocky, stone-walled mansions of The Gardens were dark, leaving only the pale glow of the half-moon and twinkling stars to guide the way.
The Hunter climbed over the wall with ease, raced through the darkened gardens, and scaled the side of the Baronet’s mansion to reach the third-floor balcony. Slipping through the still-unlatched window, he strode with a determined step down the hall that led to Baronet Wyvern’s office.
He marched through the office and through the adjoining door to the nobleman’s bedroom. His fists clenched as he caught sight of Baronet Wyvern sitting slumped on the floor, back against his bed, a bottle clutched in his hand.
“Baronet Wyvern,” he growled in a deep voice, “this night, you answer for your sins.”
The Baronet didn’t move, didn’t speak. With a snarl, the Hunter strode around the bed and glared down at the man.
The words never left his lips. Baronet Wyvern was dead. The metallic tang of blood hung thick about the man; long streams of still-drying crimson leaked from the eerie symbol carved into his bare chest.
The Hunter’s gut clenched as he inhaled and found the stink of demon hanging in the air. Faint, but present—the demon hadn’t killed the Baronet in person, but one of his hooded minions from the sewer had.
The Hunter put a finger to the man’s neck to feel for a pulse. Nothing. The body sagged to the side and slumped to the floor with a soft thump.
The body was still cooling, so the Baronet had died within the last hour or two. The killers had been in such a hurry they hadn’t had time to encase the nobleman’s head in plaster or burn those seven strange dots into his forehead. The Hunter’s nostrils picked up the stink of demon and blood, but no trace of poison.
Keeper’s teeth! The Hunter’s mind raced. If Baronet Wyvern had been the one leaving the bodies, why would he turn up dead now, that strange symbol carved into his chest? Had one of the family members of his victims tracked him down and killed him? That felt too thin, too coincidental to be real. Most likely, the Baronet had been killed by one or more of the men he’d seen in the sewer tunnels.
The question is why?
At that moment, the door flew inward, ripped off its hinges by a powerful blow. The Hunter crouched, hand dropping to Soulhunger’s hilt, and whirled toward the door to face the new threat.
And found himself face to face with the Master of the Night Guild.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Assassin!” Jarl roared and rushed through the door ahead of her. “Ilanna, stay behind me!”
“Jarl, no!” Ilanna cried, but the huge Pathfinder ignored her.
Jarl’s huge fist swung for the Hunter’s head. The blow, backed by the prodigious power in the Pathfinder’s huge body and the weight of his oversized steel knuckles, should have crushed the Hunter.
But the Hunter was simply not there.
The assassin moved in a blur, his cloak flaring out as he whirled out of the path of Jarl’s bone-shattering punch.
Ilanna’s gut clenched. “Jarl, stop!”
“Keep back, Ilanna!” Jarl roared, and swung another blow, trying to hit the moving Hunter. His fist struck wood instead of flesh and the thick post of Baronet Wyvern’s bed shattered, spraying splinters.
Then the Hunter was flying toward Jarl and Ilanna heard a loud crack as the assassin’s elbow smashed into the huge man’s face. Jarl staggered, dazed, but struck out with a lucky punch that caught the Hunter in the chest. The blow knocked the Hunter backward, off the bed. Yet the assassin was too quick—impossibly so—and landed on his feet.
“Jarl!” Ilanna leapt past the huge Pathfinder and planted herself between him and the Hunter. “Stop at once!”
“He’s—”
“He’s not our enemy!” Ilanna raised her hands to stop her friend. She barely reached Jarl’s chest, but her voice had the desired effect.
“What?” Jarl’s eyes narrowed as his gaze snapped from Ilanna to the Hunter and back.
“Like she said, I’m not your enemy.” The Hunter’s voice was hard—Ilanna almost thought she detected a hint of pain, but he hid it well. “Right now, we both want the same thing. We want to find out who murdered Baronet Wyvern.”
Jarl’s breathing slowed and the pulsing vein in his forehead diminished as he lowered his hands. Yet his eyes never left the Hunter; suspicion filled his gaze as he tracked the Hunter’s movements.
The Hunter strode toward Ilanna and crouched beside Baronet Wyvern’s body. “Look.”
Ilanna followed his pointing finger and saw the strange symbol etched into his chest. “The killer’s handiwork.”
The Hunter nodded. “The question is why.”
“And why not the rest of the ritual?” Ilanna added. “The plaster mask, the poison, the seven dots branded into the forehead.”
The Hunter narrowed his eyes as he studied the body. “A clean death, a quick thrust to the chest.” He pointed to a stab wound at the upper edge of the symbol.
“Just like with the others.” Ilanna and stood. “But this is a problem. All our indications pointed at Baronet Wyvern as the one responsible for the murders.”
The Hunter nodded and fixed her with a curious gaze. “Mine, too.”
Ilanna arched an eyebrow. “You found the Shalandran connection? The Night Petal?”
“Yes,” the Hunter replied. “And his connection to the Chasteyns.”
This came as news to Ilanna. “What connection?”
A smile tugged at the Hunter’s lips. “You didn’t know?”
Ilanna scowled. “Right now, we’ve got two choices, Hunter. Seems like we’ve both reached the same conclusion, which means we’re both on the wrong track of the real murderer. Or whoever did this to Baronet Wyvern, either to send us a message or to silence the nobleman before he sent us down the right path.”
The Hunter cocked his head. “And what are our two choices, then?”
“Either we keep stubbornly trying to find our way alone, or we work together to take the bastard down.”
“Ilanna!” Ria’s voice held a note of shocked surprise.
Truth be told, Ilanna couldn’t believe what she’d just said, either. The words had slipped from her mouth before she’d given it real thought, but now that they were out, she realized that truly was the best option. The Hunter doubtless had valuable resources of his own—how else had he reached Baronet Wyvern before she had, even without the Night Guild at his back. She could make use of those resources and the skills he clearly possessed to help put an end to the m
urders.
Hell, they don’t call him the Hunter for nothing!
“An intriguing proposal.” The Hunter’s bemused smile returned. “And why, pray tell, would I want to work with you?”
“Because you’re one man, but I’ve got hundreds of eyes, ears, and minds to call on.” Ilanna met his gaze with calm confidence. He might be the Hunter of Voramis, but she was Master of the Night Guild, with a reputation equally as fearsome as his. “If we combine our knowledge and skills, our chances of finding the killer doubles.”
“Your people have a nasty habit of trying to kill me.” The Hunter shot a glance at Jarl and his hand went to his chest—evidently Jarl’s steel-backed punch had done more damage than the assassin cared to admit. “Yet you expect me to trust you?”
“Who said anything about trust?” Ilanna snorted. “You don’t seem the type.”
“Neither do you,” the Hunter shot back, though with more humor than anger.
“So that’s settled.” Ilanna shrugged. “We don’t fully trust each other, but we both want to achieve the same end, so working together is the smart play here.”
The Hunter’s expression grew pensive, and he remained silent for a long moment. Finally, after what seemed an endless ten seconds, he nodded. “So be it.” He held out a hand. “We find the murderers and put them down.”
Ria and Jarl both stiffened behind her, but Ilanna stepped forward and gripped his hand. “Like the dogs they are.”
Ilanna could feel the power in the Hunter’s hand as he shook. It reminded her of Jarl, the way the huge Pathfinder had to be gentle else risk breaking her in his iron-vise grip. Once again, his piercing gaze fixed on her, and it felt as if he stared into her very soul. She concealed a shudder but broke off the grasp quickly and stepped back.
“A word, Ilanna?” Ria rumbled behind her.
Ilanna held up a finger to the Hunter. “One moment.”
The Hunter swept his hand in a magnanimous gesture. “I’ll be waiting.”
Ilanna followed Ria out of the room and into the hallway. The tension in Ria’s posture shouted at Ilanna long before the words ever left the Ghandian woman’s mouth. “This is insane, Ilanna. He’s the Hunter of Voramis, for the Watcher’s sake!”
Ilanna smiled. “Which makes him the perfect person to have on our side, rather than risk working against him.” She held up a hand to stop Ria’s next words. “We’ve got the whole Night Guild trying to figure this problem, yet he’s made just as much progress on his own. Think about that!”
Whatever Ria had prepared to say never came out. Her mouth snapped shut and her brow wrinkled as she contemplated Ilanna’s words.
“You know the legends of the Hunter as well as I do. You know what sort of man he is, what sort of killer he is.” Ilanna spoke in a low whisper. “He already knows where we live, for the Keeper’s sake. He waltzed into the bloody tunnels like he owned the place! The last thing we want is to antagonize him. And, if working together gets us to the killer faster, then I’m all for it. Him, I can keep an eye on, but I can’t stop Duke Phonnis from pushing the King to come after us.”
“It’s been one day, Ilanna!” Ria said. “Surely Duke Phonnis can’t expect miracles, even from you.”
“In that one day, Ria, there’ve been four bodies.” Ilanna held up four fingers for emphasis. “Three children, including one of our Foxes, and a damned nobleman. That’s the sort of body count that’s guaranteed to give Duke Phonnis’ arguments real weight.”
Ria growled in frustration.
“Listen, I know you’re looking out for me, for all of us.” Ilanna gripped Ria’s strong shoulder. “But right now, I think this is our best choice. If he wants the murders to stop and he’s willing to work with us to put an end to them, then I’m willing to take the risk. Besides, if he wanted to kill us, he’d have done so by now.”
Ria’s scowl deepened, but she had no argument.
“Trust me,” Ilanna said in a pleading tone.
“I do.” Ria thrust a finger at the doorway. “It’s him I don’t trust.”
“You have my permission to watch his every move.” Ilanna grinned. “I’m counting on it, in fact.”
Ria nodded, and the tension drained from her shoulders.
“Thank you.” With a smile, Ilanna turned and strode back into the room, Ria on her heels.
She had to squeeze past the hulking form of Jarl, who had placed himself between her and the Hunter. When she re-entered the late Baronet Wyvern’s bedchambers, she found reinforcements had arrived.
“Look, your friends were kind enough to join us.” The Hunter smiled at her, cool and collected despite the four Serpents and a glowering Jarl looming over him. “I take it you weren’t expecting Baronet Wyvern to be happy to see you.”
“You mentioned a connection to the Chasteyns.” Ilanna folded her arms. “What do you mean by that?”
The Hunter hesitated, and for a moment Ilanna thought he wouldn’t answer.
“Lord Chasteyn was his primary competition,” the Hunter said finally. “The two of them were at odds in the narcotic business. Lord Chasteyn is bringing wishleaf into Praamis, while Baronet Wyvern dealt in crushweed.”
Ilanna’s eyes narrowed. She’d known of the noblemen’s side businesses—House Scorpion dealt with both of them to keep the brothels run by House Phoenix stocked with narcotics and opiates—but how had the Hunter known? Mere hours had passed since he left the Night Guild, and that sort of information couldn’t be readily available at this time of night. Clearly he’s got the right sort of contacts.
“And you think he was killing Bluejackets to tarnish her reputation, thereby discrediting her husband and knocking him out of the running?” Ilanna asked.
“I believe so.” The Hunter tapped a finger to his lips. “Or, perhaps, maybe we were simply supposed to think that way.”
“Someone interested in discrediting Baronet Wyvern, then.” Ilanna pondered his words. “Someone trying to muscle in on his business.”
The Hunter thrust his chin at her. “I’d have thought you would be the one to blame for his death, had I not seen the surprise in your eyes upon your arrival.”
“Me?” The statement caught Ilanna by surprise. “Why would I want someone as insignificant as Baronet Wyvern dead?”
“From what I hear, he’d drastically increased his importing of crushweed recently.” The Hunter folded his arms over his chest. “Were you not aware?”
His smug, self-satisfied expression twisted a dagger in Ilanna’s gut. House Scorpion was supposed to be monitoring and regulating the amount of crushweed Baronet Wyvern brought into Praamis. “If he was trying something, my people would certainly have handled it before it ever needed to be brought to my attention.”
The Hunter inclined his head. “Fair enough.”
A thought occurred to Ilanna. “What of Lord Chasteyn? If, as you say, Baronet Wyvern was his direct competition—”
“Why would he kill the Bluejacket?” The Hunter raised an eyebrow. “That would reflect poorly on Lady Chasteyn.”
“And thereby onto him.” Ilanna drew in a sharp breath, her frustration mounting. She was missing something, a piece of the puzzle she hadn’t found yet or wasn’t seeing properly. That knowledge only made the growing irritation worse. “A third party, then. Someone who wanted to turn the tables on the Chasteyns and Baronet Wyvern both, to discredit the former and replace the latter.”
“Perhaps.” The Hunter’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Or maybe we’ve been looking at this all wrong.” He crouched beside the corpse, his gaze fixed on the bloody mark in Baronet Wyvern’s chest. “Until we understand the point of this symbol, we’re not seeing the full picture.”
Triumph surged within Ilanna, and a confident smile spread her face. “You mean to tell you don’t know what it means?” She felt a glorious smugness that she’d outdone the mighty Hunter of Voramis in this one thing at least.
The Hunter glanced up at her. “You do?”
“Yes.
” She nodded. “But before I tell you, I will require an answer from you.”
“To what question?” The Hunter stood, tension written in the lines of his shoulders, the tightness of his expression.
“To the question that has been plaguing me since I first heard of your arrival in my city.” Ilanna’s smile grew. “Why are you really here? What brings the Hunter of Voramis so far from home?”
The doubt had been nagging at the back of her mind since she’d learned that he hadn’t been hired to take down the Night Guild. It had grown to full-blown curiosity after their meeting earlier that evening. He’d taken the deaths of the Bluejacket and other children far more personally than she’d expect from someone with his reputation.
Something told her that the answer to her question would be a fascinating one.
Chapter Thirty
The question caught the Hunter off-guard. The Guild Master—Ilanna, the big one said her name was—stared at him with a burning intensity in her dark green eyes.
What in the bloody hell am I going to tell her?
She’d proven clever enough that he’d have to come up with a very convincing lie. Right now, any deceit on his part would just widen the rift between them, make it impossible for either party to come close to trusting each other. They’d come to an uneasy peace, yet perhaps she and her Night Guild could actually be of use to him.
Her people knew their way around the sewers, and she seemed to know every dirty secret—well, almost every one—concealed by the nobility of Praamis. The way her assassins had slipped into Baronet Wyvern’s bedroom from the rooftops spoke of a skill and experience that could come in handy when tracking down the demon and the killers that served him.
But to recruit her help, he’d have to give her an idea of what he was hunting. He might hate what the Night Guild represented, but he refused to send her people to their deaths at a demon’s hand. He was better than that, even if they weren’t.
He almost found himself wishing for the voice in his mind. He knew what it would tell him—that he could trust no one, and that everyone intended to betray him—but arguing with that voice had always helped him to understand the conclusions he reached. Now, since Enarium, the voice had fallen silent, no longer necessary now that he remembered Kharna’s mission. Which meant he alone had to make the decision of what to do now.
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