Spinner of Lies

in their own residences.

Then again, Demascus supposed, normally noble houses were not shot through with vampires. The bylaws and traditions of a secret vampire house probably had more than a few oddities, beyond the obvious bits about nightlife and grave dirt. And anyway, Ethred apparently hadn’t yet been brought into the fold; the cloudy light wasn’t bothering him in the least. Instead of burning to a crisp, he only squinted when a shaft of sunlight broke through the overcast and fell into his eyes.

“We’re here to see Kasdrian,” Demascus announced.

“Impossible,” snapped Ethred. “Lord Kasdrian is indisposed. You’ll have to make an appointment. And maybe not even then. I don’t recognize you. Come back in a tenday.”

“Not going to happen, blister,” said Riltana.

Ethred glanced at the windsoul. His eyes widened. “You’re the one who took the paintings!”

“Listen,” said Demascus, “We’re not on your stoop selling sugar cakes. We’re here because we just witnessed Lady Ascension fall. We have one of your stolen Whispering Children; we’d like to return it. So go tell Kasdrian or whoever you need to that he damn well better get indisposed!”

Ethred wiped his brow. Maybe he’s younger than Jaul after all, Demascus thought. The Norjah genasi looked behind him into the darkened foyer, swallowed, and said, “Come in. Wait here. I’ll … um, I’ll get someone.”

They entered a paneled room fitted with a single lantern burning on the side wall. Strawberries, apples, and pomegranates dripped in languid profusion from a smorgasbord of platters on a long table. Demascus breathed in the heady aroma.

Ethred shut the door and drew the bolt. Then he tugged three times on a leather cord dangling from the ceiling. Demascus strained to hear a distant bell or some other kind of reaction, but sensed nothing. And he saw no obvious exits. Apparently, Ethred disliked the lack of response. He tugged three more times on the pull, faster this time, as if he was desperate.

“I don’t like this,” said Chant.

Demascus agreed. He rounded on Ethred. “Explain to me exactly what’s going on, because otherwise we might jump to conclusions.”

“I summoned a … senior member of the family, as you asked. If I’d tugged just once, or cried out, or remained silent, this room would now be flooded with … countermeasures.”

The charm in Demascus’s hair, the one his prior incarnation had been given by Oghma, gave a tiny shiver. Ethred was lying.

“What’s he mean by countermeasures?” said Jaul.

“He means,” the pawnbroker said, “poison gas, a pit beneath our feet, maybe a volley of arrows from hidden archers. Something like that. You probably saw similar in Raneger’s private rooms.”

Demascus interrupted, “A senior family member, Ethred? Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

The genasi licked his lips and his eyes darted. “The countermeasures-you’d already know if I’d activated them. They’re a torrent of flesh-eating scarabs that pour in from those high vents. They eat anything alive or dead. Except they’ve been conditioned to avoid anything that smells of the Norjah bloodline.”

“Don’t overestimate the beetles’ discretion,” a new voice said.

Ethred jerked his gaze to the ceiling, and he gasped.

The formless voice continued, “We’ve lost more than a few of the family to scarab frenzy. Bear that in mind next time you signal for their deployment, young one. Lucky for our guests, and maybe lucky for you, I was awake and monitoring the entrance. The beetles will go hungry for a little while longer.”

“You little rat-snuggler!” Riltana yelled at Ethred.

Ethred ignored the windsoul. His wide-eyed regard was riveted on the empty ceiling. “Forgive me, Lord Kasdrian!”

With a whisper, the cramped ceiling swung sideways to reveal a vast, arch-supported chamber. Candles in the thousands twinkled in niches that climbed the chamber’s curving walls. Bats chased fluttering shadows high above the windowless expanse. The entrance foyer in which they stood was revealed to be a lowly pit. A figure in porcelain-white robes lounged on a prodigious stone chair-as much sarcophagus as furnishing-that was perched on the pit’s edge.

“Lord Kasdrian?” said Demascus. He stilled his instinct to reach for his weapons, his Veil, or a sliver of shadow.

“That’s me,” said the figure. His features were hidden beneath a white hood, but faint red glimmers marked his eyes. “And you’re Demascus, newcomer to Airspur and friend to Riltana the windsoul. Perhaps you should pick better friends. Have you come to collect the reward I posted on her and spare your own life?”

“I’ve come to return what I took,” Riltana called up. “None of this is his fault.”

The white-robed figure focused his eyes on Riltana. “Demascus defended you. And between you, you killed several Norjah enforcers beyond the recall of even their graves. Lady Ascension witnessed it. The deva will share your punishment.”

“Lord,” said Ethred, his voice small. “They say Lady Ascension fell.” The figure stiffened.

Oh great, thought Demascus. Maybe I shouldn’t have let that detail slip. “Lord Kasdrian, we’re not your foes. We’re here to return what was taken, and to offer apologies. It was not Riltana’s intention to bring strife to your home. But I’m afraid it’s true; Lady Ascension is no more, though it was not through our doing.”

The figure slumped. But not in grief, as Demascus first thought. Kasdrian threw off his hood, and the pale genasi features, overly developed canines and all, were writ large with relief. “That’s the first good news I’ve heard in months,” he said, then laughed. The echoes chased the bats around the high columns.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t she your agent?” said Demascus.

“Lady Ascension was thrust upon me. She was a conniver, an agent of another power. I’d have slain her myself if I could’ve gotten away with it cleanly, without her peers being the wiser.”

“The Rune Court,” said Chant. ‘Who’re they?’ I asked the lady, and she as much as confirmed the court is part of the Twisted Rune. Which I’ve heard of, even though they’re supposed to be secret …”

Kasdrian let his regard fall on the pawnbroker. Chant blanched.

Demascus raised his hands. “We don’t really care, do we, Chant? No, we don’t. Good enough that we haven’t further hurt our relationship with House Norjah. Right?”

Chant nodded. The pawnbroker’s insatiable thirst for secrets made him a good ally, but right now he was antagonizing a stranger with his incessant questions.

Kasdrian studied Chant with narrowed eyes a moment longer. “If you don’t know, I’ll not be the one to enlighten you. Let’s just say that with Ascension’s death, and your return of the paintings, perhaps we can come to an accord.”

Riltana said, “I only-”

“Show the nice noble the painting, won’t you, Riltana?” said Demascus. If Kasdrian saw one, he might take the news better that they didn’t have both.

The windsoul nodded. She made a wide gesture, and suddenly clutched the ornately framed painting she’d shown Demascus in the shadow tower. She angled it up so the lord of House Norjah could see the figure illustrated on the canvas.

“The Thief,” said Kasdrian, “Always the one most likely to be stolen. Because it wants to be.” He sighed. “But I’m glad to see it back where it belongs.”

Riltana leaned the painting down by the wall, face toward the wall. Ethred shuffled over to protect it.

Kasdrian appeared in the foyer pit, between Riltana and Demascus. If not for the breath of dank air that blew Demascus’s hair back, the deva would have thought Kasdrian had stepped between shadows instantaneously. But no-the vampire was just fast. Faster than Lady Ascension. Too fast to see. Faster even than me?

“And the other missing Whispering Child?” said the noble, his red eyes on Riltana.

“Interesting story, that,” said the windsoul, sidling away, but finding her back against a paneled wall. “I didn’t take it.”

“Which is interesting,” continued Demascus. This close, he appreciated that Kasdrian was tall. At least six and a half feet. “Because Riltana was lured here, having been told she’d find something in House Norjah’s gallery she’s been hunting. Lured here by someone called Madri. Do you know her?”