“Is it a geist?” Raed spoke directly into Sorcha’s ear—suddenly worried that whatever had attacked him on the boat had found him again.
She paused in the tumult, and her eyes unfocused as she concentrated on the world that only the Deacons could see. “It is hard for me to tell—I need Merrick.” She sounded annoyed, then her head flicked around. For a second Raed thought he heard the younger Deacon’s name repeating in his skull—a whisper that made his skin crawl.
Before he could wonder on the strangeness of that, Sorcha darted down the remaining stairs, pushing aside the womenfolk as if they were not even of the same species as her. Raed wouldn’t let her get out of his sight, however; he followed in her rather rude wake.
Outside, the courtyard garden was all lush tropical foliage and hanging exotic flowers. It was not laid out in the northern fashion with symmetrical design. This was a little slice of luxury from the jungles in the eastern part of Arkaym—where there was more rainfall. It did, however, have a white gravel path, so he and Sorcha dashed along it, following the universal call.
“Alarm! Alarm!” It was the hue and cry that every citizen of the Empire was called upon to answer. The palace guard would quickly come running.
They rounded a large ficus tree and found themselves at the scene of the disturbance. Three guards stood among this beauty and looked down at a scene of utter horror. This was the center of the pleasure garden, marked with a delicate marble fountain—and perfumed by exotic honey scents.
At least, that was how it should have been. At first glance it was hard to tell that the bodies lying there had been human. Blood was everywhere: splattered against the beautiful fountain, pooling in the white gravel and covering the bodies.
“I need those torches closer!” Sorcha’s Deacon training brought so much command to her voice that these men did not question. They moved, but she had to snap, “But not
The nearest guard, young and with barely a beard on his face, turned whiteheard the div>
Raed knew the look from green sailors, and apparently so did Sorcha. “And Unholy Bones, if you need to be sick—go do it elsewhere!”
Handing his torch to his colleague, he trotted off to do as bidden.
“Stay close,” Sorcha whispered somewhat redundantly. As a Deacon she would not be questioned, whereas he, an unaccompanied male, would probably be killed on sight. He certainly wasn’t going to just wander off.
“I’ll do my best,” Raed muttered, feeling utterly useless but somewhat relieved that at the moment the Rossin was silent.
After the guards lit the scene a little better by planting their torch spears in the gravel, Sorcha waved them back. Despite the difference in Chiomese and Vermillion Deacons, the guards did so—most likely they were grateful to have someone else to defer to.
Leaves on the other side of the garden rustled. The guards, naturally jumpy, nearly sliced Merrick in half as he stumbled out of the bushes.
He blinked at the pair of swords leveled at him before calmly brushing them aside with the tip of one finger. With all the situations they had been thrown into, Merrick had always shown the kind of center and focus that the Order specialized in—a graveness seldom seen in one so young.
The Deacon nodded to Raed, though his barely buttoned shirt and badly fixed cloak were evidence that he too had been caught unaware. “What do we have, Sorcha?” Merrick asked.
Crouched over the bodies, she glanced at him with dark humor. “I could be wrong—but I am fairly sure it is murder.”
One old woman and one young lay spread in the white gravel of the garden, their blood staining it as red as spilled wine. Their throats had been ripped out with savagery—more than enough to kill them. And yet their murderer had gone much further. Their chests and bellies had been cut open. The final outrage in this bizarre display was that the killer had placed their organs between their legs. The smell was awful, even in the sweet- scented pleasure garden.
“No hearts.” Sorcha poked delicately at the mound of organs. “The hearts are missing.”
“And this blood is still very fresh.” Merrick’s eyes darted around the scene, with the slightly glazed look that signaled the use of Sight. Raed was impressed the young Deacon had managed to keep his dinner down. “And such ritual is usually the domain of someone possessed—it could even be an attempt to open a gateway to the Otherside.”
The guards, already jumpy, spun around to peer into the shadowy corners of the jungle gardens. “Geists,” one whispered, “like last time.”
“Last time?” Sorcha’s head jerked up, her blue eyes fixing on the slightly older guard.
Under such a concentrated gaze, stronger men had given in—and this poor old sergeant had no chance. “More deaths—last week—but in the city,” he choked out.
The Young Pretender thought of the creature that had attacked him in the river—but that had been miles away.
“Wonderful.” Sorcha’s voice indicated it was anything but.
Raed considered himself as much an expert on geists as anyone outside the Order—having one living inside him had given him a unique insight. It did look like the work of someone possessed; since geists could not affect the world directly, they usually had to take on flesh already made to wreak ruin in the world. Even his own Curse, the Rossin, had been forced to link himself to a bloodline to both survive and make its presence felt.
“Merrick?” Sorcha looked up at her partner. The young Deacon’s eyes continued to flick around the garden— even as a shadow of a frown began to darken his brow.
Finding Fraine would be so much easier with their power to aid him. The meaning of this double murder and how that fit with his sister’s kidnapping, that was what frightened him. A pit of possibilities yawned before him.
Sorcha and got to her feet. Deacons were always so damned inscrutable that Raed was forced to ask the question that the spooked guards were all wondering. “So, is there any geist activity?”
“Not that we can see,” she replied—though no further words had passed between her and her partner.
“Who are these ladies?” Merrick gestured down to the victims. Raed wasn’t entirely sure of the fashions of the Court of Chioma, but one glance at the richness of their dress and the coils of jewels on their wrists and necks was answer enough. These were not some unlucky serving girls.
“Meilsi and her daughter Rani,” one of the guards choked out, “from one of the best and oldest families in Chioma. Good, kind ladies—who would do such a thing to them?”
The Deacons had no answers; in their profession they must be often asked that question.
“I thought you could see everything?” Raed said to Merrick. “How can someone slay two women and then disappear without you noticing anything at all?”
The young Deacon let the accusation roll off him but closed his eyes one more time. “Still no geists, and I can feel every human in this palace, but none with blood on their hands or murder in their hearts.”
It was exasperating—but it was the way of the Deacons. Raed, having learned to rely on non-magical senses, gestured to the guards. “Stay still.”
The gravel in the center of the garden was churned up, covered in blood and gore and of little use, but as the Young Pretender stepped carefully beyond that, he saw quickly with the eye of a man trained to hunt from childhood that there was one set of footprints that did not belong to them or the victims.
“As far as I know”—he beckoned Sorcha over and pointed to the line of footsteps—“geists do not leave trails.”
A little smile tweaked the corner of her full lips. “Not usually—but I won’t be disappointed if it is just a madman.”
“We’d better be quick about it.” Then Raed turned and fixed the guards with a stern look—the look of disappointed royalty. “Protect your Prince’s women—better than you have already done tonight.” Could his own sister have been better protected? Could her guards have been a little too lax in their duty?
With those bitter thoughts, Raed spun on his heel and followed the trail. It was a blessing that careful gardeners had raked the gravel so precisely and regularly—possibly only a short time before the murders. The power of Princes was for once working for the Young Pretender.
