additional duty-bringing to me Castellan Vail’s thoughts and words on matters of interest to the Order.”
“I’m sure, ser-”
Warden Fields silenced her with a stern look. “Of course, we wouldn’t want the castellan to know of your duties. I’d hate for Castellan Vail to think herself neglectful in making time for private meetings here at the Eyrie. She has enough to juggle as it is. So this would be between just the two of us.”
Dart’s mouth dried, and her heart climbed to her throat.
“If this is too burdensome, I’m sure we could find another page who might serve the castellan with more alacrity.”
“No, ser…”
Argent smiled again. The warden was asking her to spy upon the castellan, plying her with promises of boons while threatening to displace her from her position. All the while couching it as for the good of the Order.
“Fine, fine…so it’s settled.” He strode back to the door. “I won’t keep you from your duties any longer.”
He opened the door, and Dart slid through as soon as there was space enough for her. She came close to colliding with Master Hesharian.
“Mind the robe!” he called to her.
But Dart was already away, ducking from the mysterious master in the traveling cloak. She hurried down the hall to the next set of doors, those that opened into the castellan’s private hermitage. Though neighbors on this high level, the occupants of the two sets of rooms could not be further apart in stance and outlook.
She knocked on the door, keeping her eyes fixed to the tight grain of the stout ironwood planks, willing it to open.
Pupp simply ran straight through the door.
Lucky dog.
Moments later, Dart was paid for her patience.
“Uncle Rogger!”
Dart dashed into the castellan’s hermitage, cloak flagging behind her.
The door had barely been opened when she spotted the former thief. It had taken a startled second look, though, to recognize him. Rogger had shorn his usual ragged beard into straight edges, his peppered red hair was oiled and combed, and he wore the sashed purple robe of a learned scribe, those blessed with Grace to write letters sealed and coded with alchemies. Even all his fingers were dyed purple to the first knuckle. Such scribes could be found throughout Tashijan, especially of late.
Rogger had come in disguise.
Kathryn ser Vail rose from a seat by the crackling hearth as Dart flew into the room. She slipped a flap of cloth over something resting atop the table by the hearth. It hid an object the size of a small melon.
A third occupant of the room, Gerrod Rothkild, esteemed master and ally, remained seated, leaning over the table, encased in his usual bronzed armor.
Dart caught the whiff of some foul alchemies-then she was in Rogger’s arms. She hugged him tight to her. It had been an entire year. Too long. He chuckled at the fervency of her greeting.
She didn’t care. Of those who knew the truth about her, there were few who seemed to care less.
“Unhand me, foul wench!” he said after returning her hug.
Dart grinned and backed away.
Rogger searched around the room, then held out an arm. A bit of sweetcrackle appeared in his fingers as if out of the very air. “I think I owe someone else a greeting. Here you lice-ridden slab of mutton.” He bent, resting his other hand on a knee, dangling out the tasty tidbit. “Now where are you?”
Dart pointed toward the table where Castellan Vail stood. “Pupp is over there.”
“Ah,” Rogger said, straightening. He shared a strange glance with Castellan Vail. “Mayhap he should be away from there. Not something to be nosing, that’s for sure.”
Gerrod stirred, collected the covered object, and stood. “I will take the artifact down to my rooms among the masters. See what I can make of it.”
“Thank you, Gerrod.”
“And be careful with the skaggin’ thing,” Rogger added.
With a nod to the thief and a half bow to the castellan, Gerrod strode off with a whir of the mekanicals that drove his armor. Though Dart had never seen the man’s face, hidden behind bronze, all knew his story, how his body had been wasted by the alchemies necessary to attain the fifteen masterfields, the most disciplines ever mastered by a single man. Now he was forever dependent on the blessed mekanicals of his armor for support.
Once Gerrod was gone, Rogger waved Dart to one of the three seats by the hearth. Kathryn took the other. Rogger settled into the third, resting his heels by the fire. He tossed the bit of sweetcrackle to Dart for nibbling.
“What are you going to do now, Rogger?” Kathryn asked.
“I figured I’d stick tight at least until Tylar gets his cloak and sword back. Meantime, I’ll shed these robes, slink into the lower realms of these black halls, and listen about. Have you ever figured out who slew that young knight last year?”
Kathryn’s countenance darkened. She wore a knight’s black leathers, as if she had come in from a recent ride. Even her hair, a dark golden red, was woven into a horseman’s knot at the nape of her neck. It was one of the few ways the castellan relaxed these days, on horseback, the wind in her cloak. Rogger’s arrival must have thwarted a midday ride.
“No. And I fear we may never discover the truth.”
Dart had not seen the murder firsthand, but she had heard the tale in great detail: a knight’s body found slaughtered, sacrificed, drained of blood, alongside a pit of burnt bones. The murderers remained free.
“The trail has gone dead cold by now,” Kathryn explained. “Even Tracker Lorr has given up after spending an entire moon in the warren of sewers that drain the city.”
Rogger grunted. “And I thought my travels were harsh.”
“And now we have the abandoned sections of the city swelling with returning knights and rooms being readied for all the various guests. Any tracks we might have missed or overlooked are surely trampled, swept away, or muddied.”
Kathryn shook her head in defeat.
“So no way to pin it on One Eye?” Rogger said.
Dart knew that the castellan highly suspected Argent ser Fields in the deaths and disappearances. Especially with the warden wielding a cursed sword in his hunt for Tylar. Still, suspicions were not proof that could be brought before any adjudicators. Argent had even passed inspection by soothmancers, bloody-fingered men of fiery alchemies who could probe the truth in one’s heart.
Still, Kathryn was sure the Fiery Cross was somehow connected to the sacrifice. The fire pit, the circle of blood, and the spread-eagled man-all suggestive of some ritual with the Cross. But now they had all slipped away.
“Have there been any more disappearances?” Rogger asked.
“We’re keeping a daily roll now, especially among our younger knights. It seems Perryl was the last to vanish.”
Perryl ser Corriscan was another of their allies, a young knight new to his stripes, one who was taken from his room, leaving only a splatter of blood on his bed. Dart sensed this was who Kathryn sought more than any.
“With all the new knights arriving,” Rogger said, “perhaps a few words will slip, a bit of bragging done under the hem of a cloak. I’ll see what I can discern.”
“Be careful.”
Rogger seemed to read something in Kathryn’s hollowed gaze. “We’re not defeated yet. If One Eye is to blame, or those in his service, we’ll bring him low.”
Her expression didn’t change. “With all that’s happening beyond our walls, maybe that isn’t even for the best. Rather than looking back, seeking to place blame, maybe it is time to make peace. Shaking Argent out of his Eyrie will weaken us most when we need to be at our strongest.”
Dart’s eyes widened, shocked. She had never heard the castellan express such a sentiment.
Even Rogger was struck silent.
“No!” Dart said into the sullen quiet, remembering the artful bit of deceit and bribery just perpetrated against
