“Ilanna.” Errik’s voice sounded beside her.
Ilanna turned to find the Serpent holding a small vial.
“I’m betting it’s the Night Petal,” Errik said.
With a nod, Ilanna took the vial from the Serpent. “Necroset Kytos, I offer you the one thing you did not offer your victims: a choice. Tell me who in Praamis is helping you, and I will let you live.”
The Hunter scowled, but Ilanna smiled at him and gestured to the dagger at his hip. The assassin got the message: she would let the priest live, but he could do whatever he wanted.
“I care nothing for this life!” Kytos spat. “I have been prepared to meet the Long Keeper since I was a child in the Hall of the Beyond. Killing me would be a kindness.”
“Would it, though?” Ilanna’s smile grew as she stared down at the vial in her fingers. “Didn’t you say that only those purified, marked, and consecrated would be given this immortal bliss of which you speak? But what happens to those who aren’t properly sanctified?”
Kytos shook his plaster-smattered head. “They are destined to wander the cold, empty darkness, ever searching for the Long Keeper’s embrace and never finding it.”
Ilanna leaned over the bound priest. “Including you,” she whispered.
“What?” Kytos jerked back. “I am a priest of the Long Keeper—”
“But have you been purified?” Ilanna stared down at the man. “Do you bear the sign of the Long Keeper burned into your flesh, or the mark that grants you access to the Sleepless Lands? If you die with your head uncovered, your human imperfections exposed to the Long Keeper, will he condemn you to that cold, empty void as well?”
Kytos opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Ilanna’s smile turned cold. Missed that little flaw in your plan, eh, Priest?
“Then I offer you what you desire most, Priest: consecration. Tell me who in my city was helping you, and I will give you the Keeper’s Kiss and all the rest.” Ilanna dropped her voice to a low croon. “Or would you rather spend an eternity wandering the afterlife?”
“Purify me, and I will tell you what you wish to know!” Kytos nearly shouted. “One drop of the Keeper’s Kiss is all it takes to begin the purging.”
“Answers first, sanctification later.” Ilanna pulled the cork from the vial with an audible pop. “My offer expires in five, four, three—”
“I do not know!” Kytos cried. “He never revealed his face to us, but always kept it covered behind a mask.”
Ilanna ground her teeth. “And you didn’t think that was odd?”
“Odd?” Kytos sounded confused. “He is a true Gatherer, and the faceless mask he wears is intended to conceal his human weakness from the Long Keeper.”
“You’ll have to give me more than that if you want me to hold up my end of the bargain.” Ilanna poured a drop of the Night Petal poison onto the man’s cheek. “Choose your next words wisely, Priest. The vial is almost empty.”
“The child!” Desperation echoed in Kytos’ voice. “He said something about the child being connected to him.”
“What child?” Ilanna demanded.
“The one who was unworthy.” Sorrow echoed in Kytos’ voice.
Ilanna dripped more Night Petal onto the man’s cheeks, causing Kytos to turn his head in a vain attempt to swallow the poison. Ilanna pulled it away after a moment, and Kytos’ tongue flicked out to try and lick the poison from his cheek, an effort that proved fruitless.
“What child?” Ilanna slapped the man.
“The child we took two nights ago.” Kytos stopped struggling, and his body sagged in his bonds. “When we Gathered him and brought him here, we found he was already too weak, his body rotting from the inside out. He passed into the afterlife before we could properly sanctify him. Our only choice was to give him the Keeper’s mark and hope the one who sees all accepts him into the life beyond this one.”
Ilanna’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, she thought another child had died. Then it clicked. The Bluejacket!
“So this mysterious man in the mask, the one who helped you, said that the child was connected to him?” she demanded.
Kytos nodded. “He was furious when he saw the child lying on our table. Insisted we dump him rather than burying him with the rest.”
“And where is that?” the Hunter growled.
“In the Field of Mercy.” Kytos seemed surprised at the question. “For that is, in truth, our purpose in your city.”
“Yes, of course,” Ilanna snapped. “To give the Long Keeper’s mercy to avoid this prophesized doom.”
Her mind raced as she digested what the Gatherer had told her.
“I have told you what I know,” Kytos said. “Now, please, purify me so I may join my brothers in the Great Beyond.”
“Of course.” Ilanna’s voice was sugary sweet. “Open your mouth and receive the Keeper’s Kiss.”
“Keeper have mercy on you and save you from the Final Destruction.” Kytos’ body relaxed his mouth opened.
Ilanna stoppered the vial of poison and rammed it into his mouth. As Kytos gagged and jerked in his bonds, she hefted the bucket of plaster and poured it over his nose and open mouth. He twitched, his body going rigid as he tried in vain to breathe through the thick plaster.
For a moment, Ilanna thought the Hunter would draw his soul-stealing dagger and finish off the priest then and there. Yet he simply nodded and stood with his arms crossed, his face an expressionless mask. Perhaps he, too, believed this a more fitting end for the priest that had caused the deaths of so many.
Something the priest had said flashed through her mind.
The Bluejacket was somehow connected to the man in the mask. There’s only one explanation that makes sense.
She turned to the Hunter. “I know who the man in the mask is.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Hunter found himself intrigued and impressed by the Guild Master. Everything he’d seen of her so far—her tender manner with the Ghandian woman, the motherly concern for her son, the confidence of a competent leader—hadn’t prepared him to watch her in action with Necroset Kytos. He hadn’t needed to handle the interrogation because she’d manipulated his delusions with the deft hand of an expert. And for her to finish it off with such ruthlessness…it left him impressed, indeed.
“I know who the man in the mask is.”
The Guild Master’s statement caught him by surprise and raised his estimation of her even more. Had she come to the same conclusion as he?
“You’re thinking it’s Lord Chasteyn,” he said.
To her credit, the Guild Master’s eyes only widened a fraction. “Yes,” she said, with a barely-noticeable pause. “When he saw that they’d taken a Bluejacket—”
“He was afraid they’d connect the child’s death back to him through his wife.” The Hunter sucked in a breath as realization dawned on him. “Which is why he tried to point the finger at Baronet Wyvern!”
“Of course!” Now, Ilanna’s eyes did widen visibly. “If anyone found these Gatherers, they’d immediately recognize them as coming from Shalandra.”
“And, given that there are only two people in Praamis with known ties to Shalandra, they would be the only logical choices.”
Ilanna nodded. “But if Baronet Wyvern was dead—perhaps his death could be written off as a suicide—no one would think to look at Lord Chasteyn.”
Something the priest said had stuck with the Hunter. “What he said about the Bluejacket, about him dying before they did their ritual on him, did that make any sense to you?”
Ilanna shook her head. “Struck me as odd. How would a Bluejacket end up poisoned before being poisoned by the Gatherers?”
The Hunter’s mind flashed back to his visit to the House of Mercy, and his conversation with the caretaker. “When I visited the House of Mercy, someone mentioned that there were far fewer children these days.” His brow furrowed. “My contact in the city said that a few dead Bluejackets would form a pattern
indicating Baronet Wyvern as the man responsible. But what if we’ve been looking at the wrong man. Or woman?”
Ilanna’s eyebrows shot upward. “Lady Chasteyn?”
The Hunter shrugged. “I know it’s a stretch, but can you think of any other way for the Bluejacket to wind up poisoned?” The caretaker that had greeted him at the orphanage said Lady Chasteyn served the children lunch every day. He couldn’t understand why she would poison the child, but the how certainly fit.
The Guild Master seemed to come to the same conclusion. “If Lord Chasteyn is involved with the Gatherers, it’s not impossible to believe Lady Chasteyn is as well. Though why two different poisons were used is beyond me.”
“Only one way to find out,” the Hunter growled. “We go and ask Lady Chasteyn herself.”
Ilanna’s expression grew pensive. “We can’t simply go around accusing the nobility of Praamis of such a crime without proof.”
The Hunter shrugged. “You can’t.” He turned to go, but Ilanna stepped in his way.
“This is my city,” she told him. “Every body you drop will get blamed on me and my people. You can walk away when this is all done, but I’ve still got my King to answer to. That means we’re going to play this my way.”
The Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “And what way is that?”
Ilanna’s smile grew syrupy. “We’ll ask Lady Chasteyn, like you said, but we’ll actually use words.” She gestured to her three assassins. “We’ll save the violence and torture for when it’s absolutely necessary. Turns out the fine nobles of Praamis aren’t too fond of hearing that the Night Guild is murdering their peers.”
The Hunter couldn’t help grinning at her sharp tone. “So be it.” He held up a finger. “But I give you fair warning: if, as I believe, we discover Lord Chasteyn is the demon I seek, I will deal with him my way.”
Lord Chasteyn wouldn’t actually need a mask to conceal his features—he could simply shift his face as the Hunter and all those of Abiarazi blood did. Perhaps he’d simply worn it for theatrics’ sake. Whatever the reason, the Hunter was convinced it was a demon beneath the disguise.
“Nothing will stop me from bringing him down. Not you or your Night Guild, and certainly not your King.”
Ilanna fixed him with a stern gaze, something dangerous written in her eyes. Finally, after a long moment, she shrugged. “So be it. If there is a demon in my city, killing it is worth the hassle of explaining to Duke Phonnis why a nobleman turned up dead.”
“Who says he needs to turn up at all?” Errik said from beside Ilanna.
The Hunter turned to the assassin with a surprised grin. “That’s one way to think of it.”
The fierce warrior woman, Ria, placed a hand on Ilanna’s arm. “And what about the rest of the Gatherers? How do we find them?”
“We don’t.” Ilanna shook her head. “As we originally planned, we let them come to us.”
She turned to Errik. “You and your Serpent stay here. Get that door back in place and fix the place up so any Gatherers who show up aren’t instantly alerted.”
Errik shook his head. “Sys will stay, but if you’re hunting a…” He seemed to stumble over the word. “…a demon, I’m going with you.”
“As am I,” Ria declared.
Aisha flicked blood from the tip of her long dagger and strange, short spear and stepped up beside Ria.
“No.” The Guild Master moved toward Aisha and placed a hand on her shoulder. “First you’re going to return to the Night Guild to summon reinforcements. I want the Hounds, Foxes, and Bloodbears here within half an hour, and a handful of Serpents to meet me at the House of Mercy.” She shot a glance at Errik that seemed to say, “Happy?” “Once that’s done, you’re going to help Kodyn get all the captives to safety.”
Two terrified children cowered behind a stack of crates, and Kodyn had helped the girl, Briana, to sit on the floor. Her face had gone pale, pinched with pain, and sweat stood out on her gaunt forehead.
Aisha looked ready to protest, but Ilanna held up a hand. “Right now, these people need your strength more than I. Help them find their way home, return them safely to their loved ones, then return to the Night Guild.”
After a long moment, Aisha relented. “As you say, Master Gold.”
Kodyn looked up from where he crouched protectively over the girl he’d rescued. “Guild Master, I’d go with you, but Briana—”
“I want you safe, my son.” Ilanna shook her head. “See to the people that need you.”
The Hunter couldn’t help feeling a surge of sorrow welling within him. He had Kiara, Hailen, Evren, Graeme, and a few others to call friends, even family, yet nothing compared to what this Guild Master had. Whatever life had thrown had her, she’d taken and used it to grow strong—not on her own, as he had, but with the help of those around her. He found himself longing for that sense of companionship, of trust.
He pushed the thoughts aside and swallowed the emotions. I’ve more important things to deal with. If Lord Chasteyn really was the demon, he’d finally complete the mission that had brought him to Praamis in the first place.
He waited until Ilanna had finished giving her men commands, then nodded toward the door of the warehouse. “Let’s go.”
With a nod, Ilanna fell into place beside him, her loyal guardian beside her. Together, the three of them strode out of the warehouse and down the road that led in the direction of the House of Mercy.
The streets of Praamis had come alive since sunrise. Carts, wagons, and carriages rumbled up and down the broad avenues, weaving through the throngs of pedestrians that surged toward the nearby marketplaces and shops of Vendor’s Block.
One look at the Hunter, Ria, and Ilanna sent most passersby scurrying out of the way. The Hunter strode with purpose—not only to reach their destination before the Chasteyns fled, but to avoid any Praamian Guard patrols that might object to their bloodstained appearance and the weapons they carried.
They reached the House of Mercy in a matter of minutes and strode in without hesitation. Last time, he’d paid a visit as Lord Anglion, with subterfuge and deceit his weapons. Now, the Hunter of Voramis came calling, and woe to those who stood between him and the demon he hunted.
Fearful looks greeted the three of them—as to be expected from seeing armed warriors storming into an orphanage.
“Where is Lady Chasteyn?” the Hunter demanded of the nearest caretaker, a portly, rosy-cheeked woman whose curling red hair refused to stay put beneath her white wimple.
“Sir, this is a place of peace and refuge,” the caretaker replied in a calm voice. “There is no need for violence—”
“Tell that to your mistress,” Ilanna snarled. Quick as a striking whip, she darted forward and seized the woman’s tunic. A dagger whispered from a sheath at her hip to press against the woman’s cheek. “Where. Is. She?”
“Not here!” the caretaker cried out. “She sent word that she was ill.”
Ilanna nodded to Ria, who hurried down the hall toward Lady Chasteyn’s office. A minute later, she returned and shook her head.
Ilanna released the caretaker. “Thank you.”
The woman flinched as the Guild Master reached into her pocket, but Ilanna only produced a pouch, which clinked as she placed it in the caretaker’s hand. Again, the Hunter couldn’t help feeling surprised by the gesture—an oddly humane one, given Ilanna’s reputation as Guild Master. He followed Ilanna as she stalked out onto the street.
“We need to get to the Chasteyns’ now,” he insisted once they’d ducked into an alley opposite the House of Mercy. “If they know they’re discovered, if they try to run—”
“They have no reason to suspect anything,” Ilanna replied. “If Lord Chasteyn had his Gatherers kill the Baronet, he doubtless believes his hands are clean. We can wait until my Serpents arrive, then go pay the Chasteyns a visit in their mansion.”
“If any of the Gatherers somehow escape your men and get word to the demon, he may flee.” He clenched his fis
t. “I cannot allow him to evade my grasp, not when I am so close to bringing him down.”
Ilanna was about to respond when Ria hissed. “Ilanna!”
The Hunter and Ilanna whirled and found the Ghandian woman pointing out into the street.
“Isn’t that Lady Chasteyn’s manservant?” Ria asked.
The Hunter scanned the crowd until he found the man he sought. Hair gone grey with age, slim features, cord-thin build, and dull brown servants’ garb. The man walked with the pronounced limp left by some injury or defect of birth to his left leg.
The Hunter’s eyes narrowed. He reached into a pocket and plucked out the thread he’d taken from the dead Bluejacket. The thread had been clutched in the child’s hand along with the blackmail note for Baronet Wyvern. It had been a scant clue, barely evidence enough to tie the Gatherers to the boy’s death.
Yet now, staring at the thread and the manservant’s clothing, a shock ran through him. The boy was poisoned before his death. The poison had to come from the House of Mercy. Either Lady Chasteyn herself, or her trusted servant.
But why? The question nagged at him. Why would the servant poison the Bluejacket? And how did the thread from the manservant’s robe end up in the boy’s hand.
All questions he intended to ask the man, Holtan, in person. He wouldn’t bother being gentle.
He didn’t bother to explain to Ilanna or Ria, but slipped out of the alley and strode toward the manservant. Slipping up behind Holtan, he drew Soulhunger and pressed the dagger’s tip into the man’s back.
“Make a move or sound and you die a slow, painful death.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The manservant’s violent reaction shocked Ilanna. The slim, grey-haired man whirled far too fast for someone his age, slapping away the Hunter’s dagger and driving a punch into the assassin’s chest. It seemed to catch the Hunter by surprise, too, for the blow knocked him back a single step.
Whirling, the manservant tried to flee, but his twisted leg slowed him down.
Darkblade Justice: An Epic Fantasy Murder Mystery (Hero of Darkness Book 7) Page 27
