I looked to Haven as Luka’s glazed eyes continued to roll, seeking something no one else could see. “Do they often spout nonsense?”

“Vaendal flowers have hallucinogenic properties even as they kill,” Haven explained calmly, apparently unfazed by the strange prophecy Luka was trying to deliver through his heavy breaths. “As we said, he is in delirium.”

“Wreathed in flame, wreathed in ash... The heat! The heat!” The spymaster thrashed on the bed as he spoke in his beast form, claws whipping dangerously close to my head. I retreated back alongside Haven and Shira, giving the poisoned Luka more space.

Anstydir crossed his arms, powerful muscles flexing under his dark, partially scaled skin. The wyrm-blooded man kept his eyes on the thrashing, delirious spymaster, even as he asked his question. “Do you think there is any truth to it? Does vaendal open the mind, Haven?”

“To Fate?” I said scornfully. “Do not be ridiculous.”

Haven started to wash his instruments in the basin of steaming water nearby, positioned safely out of reach of the bestial Luka. “Vaendal is a poison, from the root to the bloom. There are some in Suzail who say one may safely inhale the vapors of a tea of its leaves and see into eternity, but that is a tale as likely to be true as any other elvish drivel.” The wight sniffed disdainfully. “Besides, if his condition is this grave this quickly, clearly he consumed some of the petals.”

Anstydir grunted at that, slitted pupils flicking towards the cup sitting on the table beside Haven’s many remedies. “Well, shall I read it? Lady Frostborn is present now.”

Haven glanced over at me, his black eyes still lowered slightly in deference. “Perhaps it might give us clues to a curative. I think the purgative was administered too late to be fully effective. My lady?”

I inclined my head to Anstydir. “Do it.”

Shira’s fingers flicked a question as she watched with fascination. Read what?

“Anstydir is a master of arcane recalling,” I explained for her. “He can learn much of people and things with a mere touch. It is a rare and undervalued talent.”

The towering man gave Shira a broad grin that showed draconic fangs and sent a shudder of fear through the priestess. “Lady Frostborn is not among those who fail to appreciate its uses.” He picked up the cup, rolling it slowly between his palms. The simple cracked ceramic gave no sign that anything magical was occurring, but Anstydir’s strange golden eyes rolled back into his head, eyelashes fluttering like that of a dreamer. The tiny expressive muscles in his face twitched and spasmed as the impressions on the object unfolded in his mind’s eye.

I waited patiently. Anstydir would speak when he was ready. For such magic, the mind always had to accommodate, and that took time.

“I see Luka.” The wyrm-blooded man inhaled sharply. “No suspicion. He took the cup when it was offered without hesitation. He knew this person, trusted them.” His face spasmed into a snarl. “The one who carried this was an archer. I feel the calluses on his hands. Fear, carefully controlled. His eyes watch Luka’s face. The horror that spreads across it as the poison sinks in. Luka lunges for him, but collapses before more than a glancing blow. His claws catch the assassin’s arm just as the archer makes it to the door.”

I turned to face the door to Luka’s room, noting a splash of dark on the stained floor. Blood. That was useful. I opened the door and looked down the hall, still listening to Anstydir.

“They entered through the passage below. No one was in the house but Luka. They listened, checked. Before, the cobbles of the Dark Mother’s path. Hooded, wary, always checking behind. Two. Male. Human. Fresh gravedirt under their nails.” Anstydir inhaled deeply. “The smell of ha’adis and blood.” His voice rose in pitch, almost like someone else’s entirely. “No, no room for doubt now.”

I scowled at the mention of ha’adis, but said nothing. Anything could break his concentration.

“It freezes like ice in blood,” the wyrm-blooded man growled, face contorting in pain. “Pushing forward. The slugishnesss is coming on. Hurry. Hurry. The poison must be delivered first. The death of the beast is the first step. They will rip each other to pieces when he is gone, blinded and cut at the wrists.”

I turned abruptly and stalked towards Anstydir. “Give me a face,” I commanded.

Lines of concentration formed in his brow as he delved deeper and deeper into the remaining impressions, hunting for an identity. “The hands are scarred. A missing forefinger on the left. Black ink beneath the skin of his palm. The last gasp of an ancient hate. Then, more fear. The beast will devour us.” Anstydir twitched abruptly, a shiver that started at the base of his skull and ran through his entire body in a cascade. His eyes rolled back to their normal position and he fumbled as he tried to set the cup back down.

“Haven, help me,” I said brusquely, catching the towering Anstydir before he could fall. Together with Haven’s unholy strength, moving him to sit in a chair was relatively easy.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Anstydir said through his daze. It would take his mind time to right itself. “That was all I could parse out. The effects of the ha’adis complicated matters.”

What is this word? Shira signed at me, noting my scowl.

“Ha’adis is a poison, concocted by alchemists from widow’s respite, a flower that grows in the cemeteries here in Sanctum. It’s one of the few plants that thrives despite the blight. Unlike vaendal, its progression is slow. Also unlike vaendal, it is very much native to the Eternal Kingdom’s schools of poisoning.” I looked over at Haven, who nodded in confirmation. I wasn’t as confident in my herbal knowledge as I was in his. “The assassins poisoned themselves, likely so that if Luka suspected anything, he wouldn’t have long to interrogate them. If they are human, I doubt they are still breathing. It takes an alchemist of great skill to brew it.” I looked over at Anstydir. “You said Luka trusted the one who gave this to him?”

“Indeed, my lady,” Anstydir said, his voice clearer as he looked over at me. “And if the smell of ha’adis and blood did not alarm him…”

“It was someone he expected to come bearing those smells. Either an alchemist or their servant, both probably part of his own network.” I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “Luka trusts very few people.”

“That at least narrows the field,” Haven said in his mild way. “As will the appearance of a corpse.”

“And it means that Luka’s own spy network was infiltrated without his knowledge,” I muttered darkly, looking over at the thrashing beast on the bed. “Either it is a new occurrence or we have a very, very large problem. He will be fortunate if the poison kills him. I have half a mind to smother him where he lies.”

Anstydir shrugged. “We could take his head to Naltheme.” He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by Shira’s horrified expression.

“His mind is more useful to me when he is alive. Dead, the numbers and details of questions I can ask is limited, even with the spells of the Lady of Bones at my command. His cursed blood does not allow for transformation into intelligent undead either.”

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“So what do we do, my lady?” the wyrm-blooded man asked.

“Find a different spymaster?” I said sourly. I rocked back on my heels, puzzling over everything. This was not my strong suit. “I thank you for your time, Anstydir. Your expertise is always illuminating.”

“There will be bodies, my lady,” Haven pointed out. “We could speak to the servants of the Dark Mothers who tend the graveyards and ask if they will watch for any matching the description that Anstydir who might be overcome by ha’adis.”

A stab of dark humor hit me. “Three heads are better than one?”

Haven nodded. “You could question all of them.”

“I would rather eat my armor than ask those parasites for anything.” I again pinched the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger, fuming at Luka in the privacy of my own thoughts.

“The alternative is ghouls consuming the flesh of the assassins before Naltheme can speak with their souls using necromancy,” my servant reminded me gently. “It was His Majesty who wanted this resolved.”

I sighed. “I know.” I pulled off my signet ring, the one bearing the emblem of a withered rose, and dropped it in Haven’s palm. “Deliver this to Melody with a request that she obtain the bodies. She will need it if she is to convince them to part with their sacred charges. Tell her that if they will not willingly surrender them, to imply very heavily that I will disassemble their clergy one limb at a time.”

Haven accepted the ring with a bow. “I am certain she will be more tactful, my lady.”

“Undoubtedy.” Tact would probably go further, but I knew they would want something in return for their assistance. If they learned of the significance…well, I could practically feel their clergy salivating at the idea of having the Withered Rose owing them such a substantial favor. “Perhaps I should send Vex and Brydris with her.”

Haven arched an eyebrow. “Does Vex know the meaning of the word ‘tact’, my lady?”

“I am certain she has had it described to her once or twice.” When his eyebrow stayed elevated, I sighed. “This is more for Melody’s safety than my desire to rile up the clergy, I assure you. We will not be the only ones looking to acquire those bodies and I trust those two as the most capable defenders I can provide for her.”

“As you say, my lady,” Haven said with a bow.

I reached out, touching the hem of his tattered shirt. “When you return home, have someone see to those wounds as well,” I said firmly.

There was no softening of Haven’s features with fondness or gratitude, only the placidity he used to mask his hunger. He could not feel such things any more than the steel of a dagger could. “Of course, my lady.”

“What of Luka?” Anstydir asked, drawing my attention away from my faithful wight.

“I will stay with him until he succumbs or recovers enough that he can be moved to the Winter Palace,” I said firmly. “I have kept such vigils before for those I liked significantly less. There is a chance that someone will come by to ensure he has succumbed, since his assassins will be unable to.”

“Please be careful, my lady,” Haven said as he ran a loop of cord through my signet ring and put it around his neck under his shirt. “If they mean to destroy the Eternal Kingdom, they would be most pleased to poison you as well.”

I gave Haven my scalpel smile, cold and sharp. “I would like to see them try.” My sword hand almost itched at the thought. Battle would be sweet relief from all of this complication.

Anstydir scratched the edge of the patch of scales on his chin thoughtfully. “I should stay as well. There are undoubtedly other objects that may reveal more of the assassins.”

I gestured to the blood spatter. “Would that assist?”

The wyrm-blooded sorcerer considered it carefully. “It could be used to locate the assassins, by one knowledgeable in the Seventh School. That is less my area of expertise.”

I took the letter opener, a slim dagger, off Luka’s desk and approached the spatter. It was easy enough to chip a blood-stained piece off of the wooden doorframe, aged as it was. “Who would you recommend?” I asked as I wrapped it carefully in a handkerchief.

Anstydir shrugged. I knew full well that the wyrm-blooded sorcerers were least inclined to share their secrets, particularly with each other. The hunger for power and knowledge that burned in them, fueled by draconic greed, seldom allowed for friendly relations. Even Anstydir and Brydris could barely stand to be in the same room as each other, and their interests hardly overlapped. “I could not say, my lady. I spend little time near the Mirrored Hall. My talents are beneath them, or so they say.”

Shira glanced down at the wrapped bundle in my hand before hesitantly flicking her fingers in sign. I could do it.

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Last I heard, priestesses were forbidden to use the arcane. Unless things have changed?”

My grandmother was not a priestess, Shira signed. Her fingers twitched nervously between words. She passed many years ago, but tradition was very important to her.

I studied Shira very carefully, trying to parse out both the truth of it and the motivation. The nervous energy in her grew worse and worse the longer I looked in silence, my arms crossed. She glanced down at the floor, unable to meet my gaze. “You are an exceptionally poor liar,” I said bluntly after a long moment.

She looked up at me with wide eyes. I can—

I stepped in and caught hold of her hand, effectively silencing her even more than her vow did. “Oh, I believe that you can. But that story about your grandmother…let’s not pretend.” I studied her intently, watching the fear play across her face. “You have the gift, don’t you? It’s why they sent you away and silenced you. How typically Rusan of them.”

Shira didn’t answer aloud, but the flicker of shame across her face betrayed her.

Delicately, I released her hand. “You prayed and prayed to get rid of it, but it stayed, stuck in your mind, in your soul. They wouldn’t dare let you speak, not if words of power might come out.” I carefully unwrapped the shards of wood and offered them to Shira. “Most are not suited to the Art. You should relish being more precious and rare than any jewel. Do this favor for me, Shira, and you may name your price.”

She hesitated as she looked at the wood. I expected her to ask for the ability to leave Sanctum, but again her answer surprised me when her fingers flicked. I want a real sword.

I smiled. “Done. I will have Ember craft you something suitable when this is resolved. You of all people know I am a woman of my word.”

Shira covered the bloodstained pieces of wood with her palm. Her lips moved as if speaking an incantation, but no sound came out. Beneath the cloth, a sudden heat flashed across the skin of my own palm as magic infused the fragments. They pulsed with power for a split second, but then it faded. Her talent was novice level at best, but it was there. That was more than I expected. Besides, being able to cast silently was an unusual ability to say the least. Most mages in Sanctum relied on their words of power being spoken.

“Who taught you that invocation?” I asked.

She hesitated for a long moment, then signed her answer. My parents said I met the devil in the woods.

“How kind of the devil.” I glanced over at Anstydir. It was hard to read his half-scaled face, but I could tell by the way he pursed his lips that he was impressed. “So, did you see our assassins?”

In this, she seemed confident when she flicked her fingers. Their bodies lay on slabs, attended to by a man in dark robes wearing the mask of an old woman.

I sighed, knowing full well that the only people in Sanctum who dressed so were the clergy of the Dark Mothers. “Delightful,” I muttered. The urge to find Varys and stab him for pawning off this endeavor was only growing stronger the more unfolded. I turned and paced over to the chair near Luka, undoing my swordbelt so I could sit with Woe across my lap. “Let us see if he lives or dies. Anstydir, search the house. Shira and I have much to discuss.”