Serra heaved a heavy sigh; she sat amongst a pile of books; Yilis had immediately recognized last night’s assassin, a woman by the name of Ririel Teneier, but hadn’t been able to identify the first. So, there she was, pouring through genealogies and employment records, census data. Trying to find any information she could on this brigand.

Iiandere had gone off to interrogate the assailants the Imperial Guard had picked up after the attack the previous night.

Leaving her to this drudgery. Not that she usually would have minded; this was the sort of thing she found therapeutic. She could just bury herself in a stack of reference materials and slowly make sense of the world.

But there was no sense to be found here, no promise of a resolution at the end of her research. Just the sad foolish reality that several women had died, Alex had been placed into peril, and for what?

Whatever this cabal hoped to gain by threatening the peace and prosperity of an empire so many had fought and died for that had brought stability to the lives of the souls living under it, she couldn’t imagine it was worth it.

She found what she was looking for, Miss Teneier’s birth record. Young, only forty, such a waste of youth. More importantly, the record, which Serra confirmed against the information logged at the time of her employment, listed her parents.

This, finally, was something concrete she could provide Iiandere.

She sighed again, setting the volume aside. The tidings Rosslln’s friend had brought back were interesting but not particularly useful. It was simply too vague.

“Missing your fiancée?”

She looked up to find a woman of the deep interior, dark-purple skin, almost the same color as her raven hair contrasting a bright smile.

“I am,” Serra chuckled. “Thank you, Viciel.”

The woman shook her head. “You could have gone, you know. I would have taken care of things here.”

“I know.” Viciel was her second. Assistant to the head archivist and quite a competent hand at it. It was somewhat unusual for a woman of the interior to attain so highly as a scholar. Though they were among the faithful, there was a tendency among that race toward unorthodox thought, and they suffered for it in the university and seminary.

Militarily, the women of that country were renowned for their outriders, and Deathwatch, the Empire’s premier light cavalry, were often recruited from among their ranks.

Viciel had never served militarily, except, of course, for militia drills, which were mandatory for all adult women.

“But,” Serra said. “This is my responsibility. You know how it is.”

The other woman nodded. “The things we do for our men.”

Viciel was younger, younger, even, than Elliza, but already wed and with children. Most of the women under her were; she didn’t know what had held her back; she’d certainly had the opportunity, providence, she supposed.

“Aye,” Viciel said. “The things we do for the love of our husbands.”

The dark-skinned paused, thinking. “Is it true that he fights as a woman? I’ve been hearing rumors since your outing the other night.”

Serra considered the question. “When did you start hearing these rumors?”

Viciel thought about that a moment. “Almost as soon as you left,” she said. “It didn’t come to me that the empress was personally escorting him until later. But he’s a hard one to miss, being so tall.”

Serra nodded. “But no one suspected his extra guard might be the empress?”

The young woman shrugged. “Not really; we knew she was hosting your nest, of course, but no one could predict how sweet she was on him. Now people are saying it looks like courtship.”

“I’d venture they’re right,” Serra said. “Though, I couldn’t tell you who’s courting whom.”

To say Viciel looked shocked was perhaps too much, mildly interested. How interested she actually was, Serra could only speculate, more than none.

“You think so?” the young woman asked. “I suppose you’d be in a position to know.”

“Yes.” Serra ran a hand through her hair. “It seems Lisril has been working toward this end for some time.”

“An ambitious project,” Viciel said.

“She’s an ambitious woman,” Serra agreed. “And perfectly positioned.”

“Aye,” Viciel said. “You know, I’ve a younger sister, a petty officer in the legions, in need of a husband.”

“I’m not sure I’m in a position to recommend her,” Serra laughed. “But I’ll remember her to him, I promise.”

The young woman chuckled. “Thank you, are you making progress?”

“I found the mother; we’ll see where it leads us. In fact, please fetch me out the marriage records for the capital and its surrounding lands from four and five decades ago.”

Viciel nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Forgive the interruption.

“No, I needed the break anyway.” Serra pushed away from her desk, stretching. “In fact, forget what I said. I think I’ll find something to eat and get back to it when I return. How are the girls? I’ve been neglecting them these past few days.”

“They’re fine.” Viciel put her hands on her hips. “And you don’t take enough breaks; I think we’re all grateful you have a husband to look after now.”

Serra snorted. “Well, excuse me for being in the way.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“You’re excused,” Viciel said, smirking at her. “We’re all glad your husband seems to have convinced you to take care of yourself more and your work less. How many times have I come in in the evening and found you here, having not slept a wink?”

Serra smiled ruefully. “Point taken,” she said. “I suppose it has been nice, though I haven’t even been able to take such time with him as I’ve wanted.”

“In fairness,” Viciel said. “Circumstance hasn’t proven itself amenable.”

“Still, I’ve neglected him when his other women haven’t, and it shows.”

Viciel patted her shoulder. “I don’t think he begrudges you your work.”

“Thank you,” Serra said. “It means quite a bit. If you and the rest haven’t taken your meal yet, why don’t we eat together?”

----------------------------------------

Iiandere sat behind her desk in her temporary office outside the dungeons shuffling through pages of notes and reports.

A third attack, at least they had a name this time, but it was simply unacceptable. Moreover, it was harming the Empress’ reputation.

She had suggested more stringent measures in the palace, and it was being taken under review.

There was a knock, and she stood as Initiate Henniel entered. “We’re ready?”

The young woman bowed. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

Iiandere nodded and swept out of the room, contemplating how she would approach this woman.

She had broad authority, could go so far as to kill the brigand on the spot if she so chose. Never the solution of first resort, judges didn’t appreciate it, and it was wasteful besides.

She stopped in front of the cell, two stony-faced guards standing outside the door.

She looked from one to the other, “where are the others being held?”

The guards shared a look. “Deeper down,” one offered.

“One of you go and get one,” Iiandere said. “Bring her to the adjoining room and break a couple of her fingers.”

The women seemed shocked. “Lady Inquisitor?”

“Do as you’re told!” Iiandere snapped. “If anyone questions you, tell them it was my order.”

The women nodded, and one ran off to do as she was told.

Iiandere led Initiate Henniel into the room, dimly lit by a single candle, and sat across the table from a rough, burly-looking woman, a westerner, who was chained hand and foot to the floor.

The Initiate set a wooden case on the table and withdrew an inkpot placing it on the table, adding a pen and roll of parchment to the ink. Readying herself to take notes.

As this was going on, Iiandere stared unblinking at the woman, and soon the woman began to squirm in her chair.

Being stared down by an inquisitor wasn’t an easy thing at the best of times, and this was hardly the best situation the woman could have found herself in.

“They’re erecting the gallows out in front of the Palace,” Iiandere said at last.

The woman swallowed but, wisely, remained silent. Why offer what wasn’t requested? It couldn’t help and could hurt.

It wasn’t actually true, either. At the moment, the attack and the Empress’ or any of her guest’s involvement in it was merely a rumor; no one could prove what had happened, and the inquisition was busy muddying the waters, creating different, contradictory rumors.

So they wouldn’t be hung, not yet. The populace would be given time to forget, and some likely excuse would be concocted when it came time to punish their crimes.

She leaned forward, briding her fingers, examining the woman. The prisoner was a westerner, her skin light, nearly white, like a northerner, the old Imperial nobility, who had blue skin. Unlike them, this woman’s skin was a pale green and her dirty tangle of hair black.

“You and your fellows are in deep trouble. You chose the wrong contract, and there can be no doubt of your guilt.”

The woman swallowed but kept her silence.

“How many are there in your company?”

Silence.

“Who hired you?”

The woman shook her head.

Iiandere leaned back in her chair. “Nothing to say?”

The woman held her silence, and there came a scream from the next room.

The woman jumped, looking wide-eyed at the wall as another scream echoed through the stone.

“One of your friends,” Iiandere said. “She wasn’t feeling talkative either. So we’re grinding her claws down.” There was another scream.

“Maybe she’s feeling more talkative now.” Iiandere pushed away from the table and turned for the door. “Maybe you will be, too, once we’ve taken a grindstone to your feet.”

She stepped toward the door and heard the clatter of wood and the sounds of chain pulling taught. “Wait!” the prisoner cried.

She turned; the woman was straining against her bonds, to attack or simply prevent Iiander from leaving, she couldn’t say. “Feeling talkative?”

The woman’s eyes fell, and she nodded.

“Initiate, reseat the prisoner,” Iiandere said.

She resumed her own seat and waited as her instructions were carried out.

When all had returned to their places, Iiandere continued. “Name?”

The woman held her silence, and Iiandere pushed her chair away from the table in a show of disgust. “If you’re not going to cooperate-”

“Arretil!” the woman cried. “It’s Arretil!”

“‘It’s Arretil, Lady Inquisitor,’” Iiandere growled.

“Yes.” The woman nodded emphatically. “Lady Inquisitor.”

“Very well,” Iiander said. “Arretil, it is in my power to pass judgment this very moment. If I so chose, I could cut your throat, and no one would bat an eye.”

The woman began to sweat even in the chill of the stone cell in which they sat.

“But,” Iiandere continued. “It is also in my power to grant clemency, to wipe your slate clean and send you on your way.”

That was true enough; she could do that. She spoke with the Empress’ own voice on matters of justice and the implementation of law. She wouldn’t, but she could.

“Cooperate,” she said. “And we’ll see what can be done for you.”

Arretil nodded, and Iiandere pulled her chair back into the table. “Good,” she said. “Now, how many are in your company.”

The woman hesitated, but this time Iiander let her think.

“Hard to say,” Arretil said slowly. “I didn’t do recruiting, didn’t keep the books, and it changed all the time. Attrition and new recruits, you know. Not more than forty or fifty.”

Forty-seven was the exact number. She’d known that from documents pulled from the safehouse Alex had found. This woman seemed ready to be honest.

“Who hired you?” This was a question for which she needed answers. No names, not even details of who this band had been hired to accost. She doubted this woman even knew just how much trouble she was in.

Admittedly, she hadn’t yet worked her way through all the recovered documents, but she doubted it mattered. For all they were a bandit rabble, their recordkeeping was surprisingly fastidious and discreet.

“I don’t know,” the woman said, shaking her head.

“You don’t know?”

“I wasn’t that high up,” Arretil insisted. “Most of those died- well, you know.”

“Most?”

“Ah, Captain Hattainal wasn’t part of the attack, some other business, I don’t know, they didn’t tell me.”

“Where can I find her?”

The prisoner shook her head. “They won’t be using any of the usual places, what with us being captured. By now, they’ll be looking for a way to smuggle themselves out of town past the military lockdown.”

“You’ll provide us locations; regardless, a map will be provided.”

The woman swallowed. “Ah, yes, Lady inquisitor.”

Iiandere nodded. “Good. Is there anything else, anything at all out of the ordinary?”

The woman seemed to wrack her brain for anything she could provide, anything that could save her life. “Uh, there was that man.”

Iiandere’s brow winged up. “Man?”

“Yeah!” The prisoner nodded. “Real dark-skinned, the sort you see out of the interior. Came around a couple times, talked to the boss.”

“Alone?”

“No,” Arretil shook her head. “Three, four women, always at his heels. Didn’t look married, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just- sorta how they acted, like servants, not wives.”

Iiandere considered that. “Very well,” she said. “A man of the desert accompanied by female servants. Anything else? Anything that stood out?”

The prisoner fell silent once more, then. “The women wore a patch.”

“A patch?”

“Yes.” Arretil nodded. “A wheel, eight spokes, with a bird perched on it, or clutching it in its talons.”

“What kind of bird?”

“Some sort of hawk, I don’t know. I’m not a falconer.”

“I suppose your not,” Iiandere agreed. “I think that’s quite enough for now. If your information proves useful, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

She stood, examining the prisoner; she might even keep that promise. “Guards!” she called.

The women entered, and Iiandered turned to them. “Return her to her cell and bring me the next prisoner.”