10

THE CEILING DRIPS

Husir trotted along between Leotin and I as we crept through the palace halls. It was the dead of the night, and there was no good reason for the three of us to be prowling the eastern wing. I just hoped we didn’t run into Magoran.

Even though the hall was already brightly lit, we both carried torches. Our twin flames flickered, shadows dancing along the walls, tiny points of warmth in the freezing darkness. I was wrapped up in a heavy coat, a wolf pelt around my shoulders. Like the one Leotin wore, I’d hunted the animal myself. I kept looking back over my shoulder. It was hard not to feel as though I were the one now being hunted.

We turned a corner, the two of us nearly shoulder to shoulder. I’d asked around the barracks and found out Adelmar’s room that way. The men there had easily given up his location— I got the impression that none of them liked him. I sympathized. I’m not a jealous man by nature, but every time I’d see him trailing behind Islana, always maintaining a few careful strides between the two of them, an invisible stick had poked my heart. Now he was one of the best chances I had to save her.

Leotin came to an abrupt stop, holding out a hand.

“What?” I whispered.

“Saw something.” He was squinting ahead into the darkness. I could make out nothing, but then, my vision was even worse than his.

I waited for his assessment. Leotin had an unparalleled sense for danger. It was an uncanny ability to know if something was about to happen, if a man was intent on betraying them, or someone was hiding up ahead in the bushes. It’d saved my life more than once in the past.

Seconds passed. Leotin shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, and continued moving.

As the personal bodyguard to the queen, Adelmar had his own private quarters right at the end of the eastern wing. Like my own role, his elevated him to a level that ultimately ostracized him from his fellow warriors. It meant that he lived alone. That he was vulnerable.

Movement up ahead. Again, the two of us froze and waited, hand immediately directed to our sword hilts. A shape coalesced before us, just a young boy, a servant, a waste bucket in hand. He passed us with his gaze averted.

We continued uninterrupted until we reached Adelmar’s quarters. A door, painted red, stood in our way. I tried the handle. Locked. I took a step back, lowered my shoulder, and prepared to smash my way in.

Leotin stepped in front of me. “Shit, man, no subtlety.” He fished around inside a coat pocket, eventually producing lockpicking tools. “Allow me.”

I was already grateful that I’d dragged the big man along with me. I stood back, on guard, while Leotin quietly fiddled with the lock. I scratched Husir behind the ears and she looked up at me with glowing yellow eyes.

I was just about to ask Leotin if he actually knew what he was doing when the door swung silently open. He grinned at me triumphantly and bowed theatrically, waving me in.

I stepped inside Adelmar’s quarters. Pitch black inside. The air tasted like metal, never a good sign. Something was dripping.

Leotin and I fanned out in different directions, torch light illuminating a bedroom to the right, and a small library to the left. Shelves of books surrounded several comfortable looking chairs. So, Adelmar had shared Islana’s love for reading. Another poke in the heart.

I stuck my head into the bedroom. Empty. The bed was messy, as though someone had recently rolled out of it. I touched a hand to the sheets. No lingering warmth.

I started to say, “He isn't here—”

Stolen story; please report.

Leotin held up a hand, a finger pressed to his lips. I became silent and still, touching my sword, loosening it in its scabbard. The drumbeat of my heart pounded in synchronicity with the writhing of my torch flame, a tribal rhythm. Leotin’s head was cocked to one side. He was listening.

Then Husir started barking.

In the darkness, someone moved. I glimpsed a shadow darting toward the door. I lurched forward, throwing myself across the room, my hand crashing down on the shadow’s shoulder just as they pulled the door open. They whirled around, a fist colliding with my nose. A white flight of light as my head snapped back. I snaked an arm around their waist, stuck out a leg, and threw them across my hip. They slammed into the ground and I was satisfied to hear the air knocked out of their lungs. Husir lunged forward, teeth bared, but a whistle from me kept her at bay.

“Don’t move,” I said, “and I won’t have to hurt you.” A trickle of blood oozed out of my nostrils. More damage to my abused nose was exactly what I didn’t need.

Our shadow was cloaked and hooded. Pale hands reached up to pull down the hood.

Keterlyn gazed up at me, her expression pained. “Oh, Sigmund, I didn’t see you there.”

Leotin scowled. “Who’s this?”

“Her name is Keterlyn,” I said, “and she’s the king’s spiritual advisor.”

“A witch?”

“A witch,” I confirmed. “Keterlyn, I’d love for you to explain why you’re sneaking around a place that isn’t yours.”

“Likewise,” she spat.

“Since you’re on the ground and I’m not, why don’t you go first.”

Her eyes between Leotin and I. I saw her calculating various odds, determining how best to proceed. I didn’t know her well, but I was aware that she was undeniably cunning. Could she be behind Emrik’s death?

Before Keterlyn could start speaking, I lowered myself down next to her and brought my torch close to her face. She recoiled, wincing, but then, anyone would.

I said, “Stick out your arm.”

“No. Why? Sigmund—”

“Stick out your arm or I’ll just have to grab your hand and put it in.”

“Sisters of Mercy,” she hissed, then, eyes squeezed shut, she offered out her arm.

Time to test Islana’s information.

I rolled back Keterlyn’s sleeve and touched the tip of my flame to her flesh. Not enough to badly burn her, but it still did damage. She cried out, tried to pull away, but I held her firm. I assessed the result. She was burned just the same as anyone would be. What exactly had Islana meant when she’d said that the Vald didn’t like fire? Fire tended to disagree with everyone.

Despite her pain, Keterlyn’s look was one of suspicion. “Why did you do that?”

“Tell us what you’re doing here.”

“Can I please just stand?”

I thought about it, then decided to be nice. I offered her a hand and helped her up, though made sure I was standing between her and the door.

“I noticed that Adelmar didn’t show up for his regular duties,” Keterlyn said, “and, considering recent events, I thought I ought to come check in on him.”

I weighed up the various approaches I could take. Truthfully, this wasn’t my speciality. I was a brute, more suited to fights where the rules were clear and well defined. Sneaking around at night and questioning people wasn’t something I was well versed in.

“Well,” Leotin said, “Adelmar ain’t here.”

For the first time, Keterlyn looked truly distressed. “He is, actually.” And she gestured at the ceiling.

Leotin and I looked up at the same time.

And there Adelmar was.

He’d been smeared across the ceiling, soft skin and mushy flesh clinging to the stone, a great pile of jelly spread corner to corner. His face, which was flat as though nothing more than a mask, hung from a long string of red-brown paste. Amongst all the gore was the black mucus, by now a familiar sight.

My stomach churned. It took everything I had not to empty the contents of my stomach. Keterlyn didn’t look up, her eyes instead watching the two of us very closely.

“You know what did this,” she said. More of an accusation than a question.

I averted my gaze from the mess above. “Do you?”

Her nod was slow and reluctant. “I believe so. That’s why you burned me, yes?”

“Had to check.”

“Shit.” Keterlyn’s eyes were bright. “They're real, aren’t they?”

I winced. “Seems like it.”

“How did you know?”

“Islana.”

“Ah. You think they killed Emrik?”

“At this point, I know it.”

“Can we please get out of this room,” Leotin grated.

On the way out, Adelmar dripped on me. One last poke.