A yeargroup of children filed into the mess, preparing to start a lesson there. Mikael remained silent until the children and their sponsors passed to the far side of the hall. Elisabet’s eyes met his.
“Aldassa suspected your grandfather killed those nine men,” he said, “and that one or more of the surviving priests are here now, hunting you in some form of retribution.”
Her brow furrowed. She stared at the table between them. Her hands clenched together, knuckles showing white.
“Paal Endiren was close to you when he lived in the fortress. I suspect he knew you well enough for you to have told him what happened. When he disappeared over the border into Pedrossa, somehow this priest got hold of him and found out you’d survived.”
He was saying I suspect a great deal, which he didn’t like at all.
“Paal knew,” she acknowledged.
“How your family died?”
“Yes.”
“And that your grandfather killed those men?”
“My grandfather’s eyes were weak, Mr. Lee,” she said, a touch of exasperation in her words. She looked at him then, her hard eyes bleak.
Mikael’s hands went cold. Surely Deborah doesn’t know.
“You were only eleven years old,” he protested, thinking even as he said it that if he’d known who killed his father, he might have hunted them down himself. He’d been thirteen at the time.
She can never say it aloud.
It would amount to a confession, and he would be required to turn her over to Dahar. Now he understood why she never allowed Kai near her. Kai’s political career wouldn’t survive the stain of association with her, a vigilante who’d killed nine men. The senate—led by Lord Hedraya—would use her past as a reason to reject Kai as the king’s heir. It didn’t matter that she’d probably saved innocent lives, that her family was killed, or that she’d been a child. They would portray her as a cold-blooded murderer. She would likely be acquitted if tried, or the case even dismissed out of hand, but that wouldn’t protect Kai. And someone would put the details together. Clearly, Aldassa had come close.
Mikael heard whistling, his agitation upsetting someone across the mess hall. Mikael counted to himself, trying to stop his anxiety from clouding the ambient.
He suddenly understood Elisabet far better. He suspected that, like the worst of his dreams that he tried to bury in the back of his mind, she kept the memories of that time closely locked away, hidden even from herself—a way to stay sane.
“I saw Paal Endiren this morning,” Mikael told her. “I’m going to find him and bring him back here.”
“Let me get my rifle.”
He considered protesting, but Elisabet, of all people, should be involved in this now. He wasn’t going to make Kai’s mistake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Mikael hadn’t expected the conversation to turn quite the way it had. He’d thought he had it all figured out. Mikael fingered the butt of his pistol, trying to worry out all the changes this made in his world, and realized that, in the end, it made no difference at all. She was still the same Elisabet he’d known for years now.
She returned a few minutes later in full arms, her long, old-fashioned rifle in hand. Mikael wondered if it was the same rifle she’d had as a young girl.
“Where?” she asked.
“The old Larossan temple in the Lower Town, on Black Street. They picked him up there, and someone had to have seen where they went.”
They ended up walking down into the city and taking a cab. Since Kai was the king’s heir, a driver from the fortress would probably spill where they went should Kai ask. The last thing Mikael wanted was Kai pursuing them down into the city.
Elisabet didn’t speak on the journey. One foot braced on the bench opposite her, she performed a meticulous check of her rifle. She cleaned the barrels and then counted her ammunition. Cold seeped into the silent cab as Mikael checked his pistol and settled his knife in his sash.
The cab stopped in the street outside the temple. Mikael stepped down, hand on his pistol, clearing the doorway for Elisabet. She jumped to the cobbles as Mikael tossed up a Family credit marker. The driver palmed it and shook the reins to get the horses moving.
It was late morning, and people rushed by on the street, some stepping back when they noticed two people in Lucas Family uniforms. The traffic in the street continued to flow, though, the attention they drew a fleeting thing. They edged their way to the side of the street, pausing to wait for a street cleaner’s wagon full of the previous day’s manure to pass.
This part of the city predated the Anvarrid invasion, many of the granite buildings more than two centuries old. The streets were filthy, this particular road favored by teamsters because it was one of the wider ones in this section of town.
Mikael glanced up at the temple, as always experiencing a feeling that the tall edifice loomed over him, intent on pouncing. In daylight, the Black Street Temple showed its age. It wasn’t like the newer temples, built to mimic the palace’s wide archways and onion domes. This was more of a vault of barrel arches—pre-Anvarrid architecture. A wide stone band around the base of the temple buttressed the arches but could use some repair, particularly at the corner nearest the street. The low colonnade through which Mikael had run earlier was now inhabited by priests in their simple red tunics and black trousers, ready to lay their blessing on those myriad chimes and sell them to anyone seeking the peace they were supposed to engender.
Mikael walked up the granite steps, Elisabet behind him. “He was standing right over here.”
Elisabet came up next to him, watching his back, her eyes still focused on the activity on the street. “What was he doing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he got away from them. They had to drag him back.” He peered around that corner of the temple toward the river.
“Paal!” Elisabet bolted down the steps and directly into the traffic on the street, darting between two wagons and disappearing from his view.
Mikael ran after her, hoping he’d not be hit. Horses balked, people yelled, and the traffic halted abruptly in her wake. Mikael made his way through the stopped vehicles. Elisabet stood in front of a wagon carting barrels. She gestured for the teamster to back the horses away and crouched down. Mikael knew even before he got there what he’d see.
Paal Endiren lay on the cobbles before the wagon team. Tortured breath rattled through his mouth, a gurgling sound that Mikael recognized. He’d heard it in his dreams before—the sound his father had made as his lungs filled with his own blood.
The dark-haired young man lying on the ground looked half-starved and far older than twenty-five, like he’d used up all his days at once. His brown skin had a faint bluish tinge, and he wore a jacket turned inside out to hide its gray color—a dead police officer’s coat. Elisabet crouched next to Paal and gently touched his face. Mikael watched as Paal’s mouth moved, but no sound came forth. A froth of blood and air stained his lips.
The teamster pulled his team farther back, and Elisabet sat down on the filthy cobbles next to Paal, holding his hand. Mikael stood over them, one hand on the hilt of his sword and his eyes on the growing crowd. He knew what Elisabet waited for. It wouldn’t take long.
After only a couple of minutes, she pulled her hand from Paal’s slack fingers and glanced up at Mikael. He knelt down, placed his hands under Paal’s shoulders, and lifted. A wet, sucking sound came from the body, making Mikael’s stomach heave. Elisabet helped him carry Paal to the steps of the temple.
The driver followed, his hands quivering. “I didn’t see him. He jumped out right in front of my wagon,” he insisted.
“Pushed,” Elisabet said with a single shake of her head.
She’d been watching the street, Mikael knew. He spent a few minutes reassuring the rattled teamster and finally sent the man on his way. Two police officers in gray jackets s
howed up a moment later and began objecting to their interference.
“He’s Family,” Elisabet told them and turned away, her face pale.
The officers continued to argue until Mikael finally persuaded them to arrange for Paal’s body to be taken up to the fortress. When all was done, Mikael climbed the steps of the temple to join Elisabet, the noon hour past.
“What did he try to tell you?” Mikael asked.
“He said he was sorry.” She paused, frowning. “So where do we go from here, Mr. Lee?”
“I don’t know. Did you see someone push Paal?”
“It looked as if Paal fell, but I saw a man standing next to him, watching me.”
“What did he look like?”
“Larossan, gray at the temples, fit, forty to fifty, about your height.” She glanced at him and added, “Perhaps taller.”
That answered Shironne’s description of the priest. “Did you recognize him?”
Elisabet pursed her lips, her eyes unseeing. “I don’t . . . remember much from those days.”
He could hardly blame her for that. “I suppose we start hunting, then.”
• • •
Cerradine had hoped a note would be enough. He should have known better. Still draped all in white, Savelle Anjir walked down the hallway and directly into his office, not even waiting to be announced.
She pulled off her white scarf and twisted it in her hands. “Where is she?”
Cerradine heard panic in her voice. He strode past her and closed the door. Dahar had gone to the hospital to talk with Kassannan again, so they were alone in his office. He put his hands on her shoulders to reassure her, but she jerked away from him. “She’s safe, Savelle. Did you not get the note I sent?”
“Messine told me she was with your foster sister. Where? Where has she been all this time?”
He directed her to one of the chairs and leaned against the desk. “I’d trust Deborah with my life. Shironne is with her, up at the fortress.”
“It’s one thing for her to defy Verinne to help for a few hours, Colonel, but she’s been gone all night. No investigation is worth compromising her reputation that way.”
Anger flashed through him. She glanced up at him and he realized she’d felt it. He tamped it down. She couldn’t know. “They killed David Aldassa last night, Savelle.” He managed to say it without his voice breaking.
Her eyes closed, and she covered her face with her hands. She dealt with David every time she visited this office. “I’m so sorry, Jon.”
How many times had he heard condolences already today? “His wife is expecting another child,” he said, not sure why he told her. “They’d decided that if it was a boy they’d name him for me. David wanted me to have dinner at their house so they could tell me, but I was too busy.”
His throat hurt. He closed his eyes, trying to will away the weakness. He felt her hand brush his cheek, and then her arms came around him. He buried his face in her neck, holding her to him. Bitter tears stung his eyes.
Cerradine controlled himself after a moment, regretting that he’d forced his emotions on her. He drew back, and the hand with which she’d cradled his head stroked along his jaw. He stopped it with his own hand and pressed a kiss into her palm, grateful for her sympathy.
She stilled in his light grasp, her dark eyes wide, sparkling with unshed tears.
He released her hand and ran one finger along her brow, the dark arch like a seagull’s wing. Her freed hand wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, and he kissed her. He knew he shouldn’t, but he’d wanted to for so long. She held him tighter, caught up in his desire. He kissed her fervently, months of frustration fueling his ardor.
Only after some time did she protest, a faint attempt to push him away. “No, Jon.”
Her halfhearted resistance could be overcome easily. She was a sensitive. His emotions could override hers, making her want him as much as he did her.
And realizing what he’d just thought, he let her go.
She brushed nervous hands down the front of her white tunic. He’d managed to loosen her hair from its chignon. It fell over her shoulder, a thick, straight fall of dark brown silk in which he wanted to bury his hands.
She moved away as if sensing his weakening self-control. “I’m still in mourning, Jon.”
“He wasn’t worth this sacrifice on your part.” His breath came a little fast. He didn’t expect her to answer.
“It’s my choice, Jon.” She touched the white ribbon wrapped about his sleeve. “I didn’t realize you’d lost one of your men,” she said, “but I feared for Shironne’s safety.”
“We would never have allowed her to be hurt,” he said.
“A mother’s fears aren’t always rational. Verinne fell into spasms when she discovered Shironne missing. I had to leave Melanna and Perrin under Kirya’s charge to come here.”
He’d forgotten all of her problems in the interim. “Was your journey successful?”
She nodded. “My uncle and I reached an agreement about my father’s estate. He will pay my household expenses until I no longer need the income, and then I will turn the property over to him.”
That was an interesting compromise. It would provide for her and the girls, and she wouldn’t have to pay taxes incurred on a property sale. “Very clever.”
“Thank you,” she said. “He’s counting on my remarrying quickly, I’m afraid . . .”
He suspected his mouth was hanging open. “How quickly? Because . . .”
The office door opened and they both started. The worst timing in the world, Cerradine thought as Dahar stepped through the doorway. He and Savelle gazed at each other, both looking uncertain.
Resigned, Cerradine made the long-overdue introduction. “Dahar, I don’t believe you’ve formally met Madam Anjir. Savelle, this is Dahar.”
Seen together, one couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between them, mostly around the eyes. Dahar smiled at her. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, you know, only I didn’t know if you wanted the association.”
Savelle flushed when Dahar took her hands. He’d forgotten that she was raised Larossan and didn’t usually touch men outside her family. Then again, he was her brother. “It was a terrible scandal, my lord,” she managed.
“A minor scandal at best, Savelle,” Dahar said. “Our father was well-known for his wandering eye. You weren’t the only such child. It’s not as shocking as you think.”
She shook her head, faint traces of tears making her dark eyes shine. “You haven’t lived with the rumors, my lord.”
“Please, call me Dahar. I grew up in the same yeargroup with one of my half brothers,” he said then, surprising Cerradine. Dahar rarely spoke of the unlamented Stephan. The child of one of the king’s quarterguards, Stephan had been a thorn in Dahar’s side throughout their youth. “I do know what it’s like, a bit. Besides, it was thirty-odd years ago. If someone casts that far back for dinner conversation, they must be very bored. Khader and I would both enjoy having you and your daughters visit us. Please, give us a chance to know you.”
“A good idea, Dahar,” Cerradine interrupted. “You could take her and the girls up to the palace now. No one need know Shironne wasn’t with them the whole time.”
Dahar agreed, willing to fall in with the plan. Cerradine thought it would answer for now, at least under mild scrutiny. “It will keep anyone from asking where she was, Savelle.”
Savelle glanced back to him, brow furrowed. He’d asked her to go against her life’s training. She lifted her chin then, meeting Dahar’s eyes squarely. “I would be grateful for your help, my—Dahar.”
Dahar grinned. “You did that very well, Savelle.”
She flushed and looked down again. Her dark hair fell across her face like a curtain. “My hairpin appears to have slipped out,” she murmured.
C
erradine spotted the long ivory pin on the floor near his desk and handed it to her. “If you recall . . .”
“I remember where it is,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me . . . um, Dahar, I need to replace this.” She slipped out of Cerradine’s office, leaving him facing an annoyed Dahar.
As soon as the door shut behind her, Dahar turned and gave him an irritated glance. “What was going on in here?”
Dahar would have sensed the emotions in the room the moment he entered. Cerradine knew he hadn’t been controlling himself well at that moment. “There is nothing going on . . .”
“Hairpin,” Dahar said succinctly.
Cerradine raked a hand through his hair. Of all the times for Dahar to get prickly about something that wasn’t his business. “Take her back to her house. Pick up the two girls. It will give you the chance to get to know her.”
“I have things to do today other than socialize, Jon,” Dahar said testily.
“This chance isn’t likely to come again, Dahar. Under that soft-spoken façade, she’s as stubborn as a mule. Convince her that the scandal of being associated with your House won’t kill her.”
After brief consideration, Dahar agreed.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Dahar opened it and allowed Savelle back in. With her hair repinned and her tears wiped away, she looked elegant and serene.
“Amdiria will adore you,” Dahar said warmly. He took her slender hand and placed it on his arm. “Now, shall we go pick up your girls? On the way you can tell me all about them.”
Savelle smiled hesitantly at him, and Cerradine found himself hoping that the two of them would find some common ground.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Mikael settled on the spot he’d been standing in when the priest touched him. Their questioning of citizens near the temple hadn’t borne any fruit, and this hotel on the corner of Strait and Cadij streets was the one location he had in common with the killer. If Elisabet could spot the man, they might have a chance to stop him before he killed someone else. Then again, they could wait here for days and see nothing.
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