“Also in 1212. A few months into my apprenticeship.”
“At twenty-three?” Olivant finally spoke. Minox had thought the man had dozed off out of boredom.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s—I’ve never heard of such a thing. Most manifest it between twelve and fourteen. I knew of one young woman who did at seventeen, but . . . twenty-three? No.”
“It’s true,” Minox said. “I told it once to Major Dresser, of the Red Wolf Circle and former member of Druth Intelligence. He was surprised but not as incredulous.”
“Do you have any specific questions, Mister Olivant?” Cheever asked. “Or are you just harassing the inspector?”
“I do,” Olivant said. “Eventually.”
“Hmm,” Cheever said. “Seems like you just intend to interject at your leisure.”
“Mister Olivant’s role here is as my expert consultant,” Miss Morad said. “His interjections are useful to me.”
Olivant didn’t look very pleased at that, but he had been looking displeased for some time now.
“I’m saying, can we proceed to something resembling the point?” Cheever asked.
“Yes,” Miss Morad said. She reached under her table and pulled out a crate full of files. “These are all the cases you’ve worked on since the day your magic manifested. I would like to go over some of the particulars of each of them.”
Chapter 10
AS DAYNE LED Satrine along, he passed a note to Jerinne, and she ran off immediately. Likely some sort of Tarian business, and saints, could that girl run. She ran like the night couldn’t catch her.
“What’s happening?” Satrine asked.
“Quoyell is happening,” Dayne said. “He’s behind closed doors with your commissioner, Mister Montrose, and Prince Escaraine.”
“And you think I should storm in there and stop him from doing whatever he’s doing?”
“I think it’s critical that this investigation be kept clear of, if not the marshals, at least from Chief Quoyell.”
Quoyell. Something about that man sat wrong with Satrine, and it was deep in the back of her skull as to why.
No, not him—his name.
And she couldn’t put her finger on why.
She shook it off. The man was just obnoxious, and that was probably what set the bad taste in her mouth about him.
She reached the door, Dayne waiting for her to take the lead.
“You want me to be the one to barge in on the prince and a member of Parliament?” she asked him.
“I didn’t think of it like that,” he said.
“I thought you were supposed to be protecting me, Tarian,” she said, aiming for a playful tease, but feeling like she landed on a jaded barb. If nothing else, Dayne looked like a kicked puppy, as much as a man as towering as he was could manage.
“You’re right,” he said, taking the door handle.
“Wait,” she said. “Let’s not burn your capital just yet. I’ve got a sense you don’t quite have much to spare.”
“If you need—”
“Dayne,” she said. “You’ve got the one constable who isn’t going to be cowed by a prince. Trust me.”
She opened the door and went in.
“—which is exactly why this is our problem,” Quoyell was saying. He was standing at the desk, looming over Mister Montrose. Montrose had the look of a man who often had people attempt to intimidate him, and only found their attempts amusing. Enbrain was sitting on a couch, away from the desk, appearing to be lost in his own thoughts. Prince Escaraine—who Satrine assumed the handsome young man in the fur-lined jacket and silver circlet was—looked deeply concerned about Quoyell’s point.
Just looking at Prince Escaraine triggered a whole history lesson in her head. Whoever had designed her telepathic education must have thought it was critical to know Escaraine’s specific lineage. King Maradaine XV—the great-grandfather of both Prince Escaraine and the current king—was killed by a Poasian assassin in 1161, along with the queen and two of the king’s three sons, Mardel and Calivar. The only royal survivor in the palace was Mardel’s infant son, Ponoraine, who would grow up to be Escaraine’s father. But the crown went to Prince Escarel, who was serving as a commander in the war in the Napolic Islands. His reign as Maradaine XVI was entirely on the war front, but he sent his wife—a Napolic woman—pregnant with his son Mastaine back to Druthal.
After Maradaine XVI died in battle, there was an outcry throughout the country that the throne should go to Ponoraine instead of a half-Napolic outsider. Ponoraine outright refused to challenge his cousin’s rightful claim, and Mastaine ruled for twenty years as the charismatic and beloved King Maradaine XVII.
His son, Maradaine XVIII, was not charismatic or beloved. He was sullen and withdrawn, especially after the death of his queen and son two years ago. Prince Escaraine had the love of the people, and there were more than a few people who believed he was the “true line” of the Druth throne. Seeing him in person, Satrine could understand why he was so popular. He wasn’t just handsome, he radiated an uncomplicated charm. She immediately bowed her head, not only showing proper respect and deference to his rank, but also giving herself a moment to absorb all the information that had just slammed into her skull.
“What are you doing here?” Quoyell asked her.
“I came to ask you the same thing,” she shot back.
“This is a private meeting,” he said.
“Shouldn’t be,” she said. Turning to the prince, she added with a touch of Druth highborn to her accent, “Begging your indulgence, your Highness. I would not presume to intrude upon you without your grace and permission, and will humbly withdraw should you command it.”
The prince raised an eyebrow, and looked to Enbrain. “I was not aware we had women in the Inspector grade. And certainly not women of such impeccable grace.”
“Rainey is a singular woman,” Enbrain said, now focused on the conversation.
“Surely,” the prince said. “I would not expect a member of the city loyalty to be so versed in etiquette.”
Not every member of the “city loyalty”—a term both old and privileged, rarely used outside the nobility—had been a secret princess in Waisholm. But there was no need to tell Prince Escaraine that.
“I deeply apologize for my impertinence, your Highness. But I was made aware that Chief Quoyell was engaging in some sort of foolery that could impede my investigation.”
“Your investigation?” Quoyell asked, almost raising his voice before looking to the prince. “Your Highness, as I said, we must maintain a certain order of things. A matter of this gravity must be handled by the marshals.”
“Because the marshals have proven to be beyond reproach?” Dayne asked. “Need I remind you—”
“No, you needn’t,” Quoyell said.
Mister Montrose waved Dayne off a bit. “This circumstance is unique, on an order that none of our systems were designed to handle.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Quoyell asked.
“I mean,” Montrose said, “that the breach in security and protocol—”
“Not to mention the sanctity of Parliament floor,” Dayne interjected.
“Tarian,” the prince snapped. “Do not talk out of turn.”
Dayne bowed his head and stepped back.
“Mister Heldrin has a point,” Montrose said. “We were lucky this didn’t happen during Convocation, with more members of Parliament present in these offices.”
Quoyell shook his head. “Begging your indulgence, sir, it’s only because it was in the off session that this breach was possible. Just as members of the Parliament are away—mostly out of the city, save yourself and a handful of others—we are operating now on a crew of bone.”
“I saw dozens of marshals today,” Satrine said.
“Now, in response.
And only because I wasn’t even here when it started.”
“No?” Satrine asked. “That is interesting.”
“If I had been, all of this would have been handled in a quiet, dignified manner, rather than the carnival this fool started.” He pointed at Dayne.
“I started? Your men had already sounded the alarm when I arrived.”
“But you were here, Tarian. Your ‘residency’ is right in the building. Yet you saw nothing. Prevented nothing.”
“I’m the one who brought in the inspectors in the first place!” Dayne shouted.
“Inspectors, Yellowshields, journalists. We could have kept this quiet!”
“Kept it secret, you mean!”
“And you want it all out in the open, right? So Dayne Heldrin, Tarian Candidate, can be the great hero in the newssheets again? And yet that still won’t earn you your place as an Adept.”
“Gentlemen, please,” Satrine said.
“Did he tell you, Inspector, that he’s going to be cashiered at the end of his Candidacy? That he will never be a full member of the Tarian Order?”
Dayne’s head went down, his face and ears burning red. “That doesn’t mean—”
“Because he screwed up and nearly killed a young man, grandson of one of the Parliament.”
“I am still a Candidate—”
Quoyell drove further at Dayne, getting up in his face despite only coming up to the Tarian’s chest. “And the only real connection between what happened to that boy and what’s happening here, Dayne, is you. So maybe you’re who she should investigate.”
“I told you—”
“Cease this.” The prince barely raised his voice, but the authority behind it sucked the steam out of both Quoyell and Dayne.
After a moment of silence, Satrine said. “Chief, if you weren’t here when this was discovered, who was? Who was in charge of security yesterday?”
“As I said, we’re on a rationed crew while the Convocation of the Parliament is disbanded. For the past month, we’ve had only ten men assigned here, and yesterday many were given the Saint Day off.”
“And who was here?” Satrine asked.
“Inspector,” the prince said. “Surely you don’t suspect that the marshals themselves were culpable?”
“Specific suspicion is not the point, your Highness,” Satrine said, lying to some degree.
“We had a breach,” Chief Quoyell said. “We will determine what went wrong and correct it.”
“Not good enough,” Satrine said. Turning back to the prince, she said, “Your Highness, there was a catastrophic failure in their security, and that must be investigated, and independently of their office.”
“Which we don’t have a real mechanism for,” Enbrain said. “The Grand Inspection Unit—which Rainey is a part of—is the best unit for such an endeavor.”
“It goes against the order of things,” the prince said. “If anything, I would think Druth Intelligence would be best equipped. Or perhaps the Tarians. Independent of all aspects of law enforcement, and beyond reproach.”
“I appreciate the confidence, your Highness,” Dayne said.
“I didn’t mean you, necessarily,” the prince said. “But surely Grandmaster Orren would have insight. One of the Adepts or Masters, yes.”
“I appreciate the confidence in the Order,” Dayne said, “but the Tarians couldn’t do something like this. We are warriors, steeped in martial training. We know nothing of inspection or investigation.”
“Which this would require, your Highness,” Enbrain said.
“Which leads me back to Intelligence,” the prince said.
Enbrain gave a glance to Satrine. “My unit is capable, and already versed in the particulars. We simply need Chief Quoyell to give his full cooperation.”
“Feed my men to you, you mean,” Quoyell said. He sneered at Satrine. “You want my duty rosters so whoever was working yesterday can be the laundry you hang. No, ma’am. You want to put my skull on the block, fine. But you can’t compel me to give my men up.”
“No, I can’t,” Satrine said. “But I believe he can.”
“You’re correct,” Prince Escaraine said. “Were I to order him to, he would be compelled to give you that information. I am not, at the moment, inclined to do so.”
“Might I ask why, your Highness?” Mister Montrose took the question before Satrine could, which was probably for the best.
“I’m still uncertain about what is best here,” the prince said, scratching at his chin. “I must contemplate this further, and I appreciate all these points of view. For the moment, I will not gainsay your decision, Good Mister Montrose, and allow the commissioner and his Grand Inspection Unit to continue. But I will keep thinking on this, and take counsel with my cousin. I will leave you to your duties.”
Everyone bowed to him—including Satrine—and he swept out of the room. Chief Quoyell made for the door.
“Chief,” Satrine said. “I want those names, and I will want to interview them all.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Quoyell said, “if the crown commands.” He stalked off.
“Pleasant fellow,” she muttered under her breath.
“He’s rattled,” Montrose said. “And you and yours would build as much of a wall around yourselves if the positions were reversed.”
“Mine but not me,” Satrine said. She knew well enough how the red-and-green wall worked, but she wasn’t one to protect a corrupt stick if she had evidence. “But I appreciate that you are letting us do the job here, sir.”
“It’s largely a hot pot in your hands,” Montrose said. “I’m not sure holding it will be desirable for very long. Though I’m surprised you didn’t want the Tarians involved, Dayne.”
“I think the Order needs to have a role, sir, but one that is suited to us. I’ve sent word to the Grandmaster, whom I suspect I’ll be hearing from—yes, here we are.”
Jerinne ran in the room with a letter, and handed it to Dayne, giving Satrine a small nod as she approached. Dayne read through the letter and nodded, folding it up and putting it in his pocket.
“Good news?” Satrine asked.
“Somewhat,” Dayne said. “The Grandmaster has agreed to assign members of the Tarian Order to guard the survivors tonight.”
“That is well suited,” Montrose said with a slight smile.
“You think—” Satrine still didn’t want to give too much credence to Dayne’s “Sholiar” theory, but she caught herself almost saying the name. “You think the killer will try to finish the survivors off?”
“It’s worth the precaution,” he said. “But he’s asked me to protect Niall Enbrain personally.”
“Niall’s still at Riverheart Ward,” Enbrain said.
“All the more reason for me to stand watch,” Dayne said. “He’s helpless right now. So with your leave, I’ll be off.”
“Of course,” Satrine said.
“And you stay with her,” Dayne told Jerinne. He was out the door before Satrine could tell him that was unnecessary.
“What’s next for you?” Enbrain said, looking around a bit nervously.
“At this point, we have a lot of information, but very little analysis of it,” Satrine said. “And it’s late. I’ll return to the stationhouse, consult with Welling, and return to this in the morning.”
“Good, good,” Enbrain said, though he had the bearing of a man who wanted to say more. “Then I’ll let you get to it.” He gestured for Satrine to leave. Perhaps the more he wanted to say was to the Parliamentarian. Satrine nodded and left, Jerinne still at her side.
“Are you going to follow me?” Satrine asked.
“Are we leaving now?” Jerinne returned. “If so, then yes.”
Satrine sighed. If she was stuck with a shadow, there certainly were worse ones.
* * *
; The Inquiry session had been a particularly brutal few hours, where Miss Morad delved in a number of Minox’s past cases from the last three years, including some that he considered “unresolved.”
She then held up the file for the Hieljam case, the one that had brought him to the Tsouljan compound. The one that had launched this Inquiry.
“This is where we’ll stop, as we’re nearly at six bells. I think everyone deserves to go home, and I believe our examination of this case in particular will require fresh minds. We will resume tomorrow at nine bells.”
“Miss Morad,” Minox said. “I do have open cases, an ongoing investigation.”
“Perhaps you do,” she said, “but this Inquiry must be resolved. Your captain will handle any adjustments that need to be made.”
She packed up her satchel and went out.
Mister Olivant got to his feet, giving a slight nod to Minox. “Tomorrow, Mister Welling.” Minox detected just a slight hint of sympathy from the man, which was definitely unexpected. Perhaps this process had cracked even his resolve to punish Minox.
“Well, all that went—I’m not sure,” Cheever said.
“It went much like I feared it would,” Minox said. “Thorough and callous. Though I did think there would be witness testimony.”
“I think that Miss Morad still plans to do that. She’s first establishing the particulars from the files, which she’s clearly already given meticulous examination. I’m sorry I wasn’t better prepared to offer defense, Inspector.”
“Given that I wasn’t expecting any at all, I am not disappointed, Mister Cheever. Surprised to find you at my side, but not disappointed.”
“Like I said, I’m interested in keeping justice from being miscarried. Be that in the courts or in here, to any citizen that needs my help. Such as it is.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
Cheever offered his hand. “I will work on some motions and be better prepared, sir.” He shook Minox’s hand and went off.
Captain Cinellan was in the doorway before Minox could leave the room himself. “I apologize for this, Minox.”
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