But there were no souls outside that window, only the white roofs and yards below, the battlements all covered, and so too the hills and fields and the edge of town just outside the castle. Nothing moved but for the clouds that fringed the moon. It’s silver light stole into the room, and the glint of glass caught his eye. On a small table near the window rested a lantern with a candle inside, and beside it, a striker. Trey closed the shutters, then went to work with the old, iron tool. It took several tries to get the wick to ignite, but when finally it did, the room came alive where the tiny light touched. But perhaps dead things were better not brought back to life, Gildmane thought, looking on the rotting furniture: a moth-eaten mattress; warped wardrobe; chairs by the hearth who cushions there was little left; decaying firewood; and a dusty writing desk, its cover closed. Trey opened it, curious, but nothing had been left inside—not that he knew what he was hoping to find, yet he sighed, regardless. Why did I come all this way? Why did I say such stupid things to Jael? He pounded a fist onto the desk. The whole structure shook, but he couldn’t feel the impact, so cold were his knuckles. So again he struck. And again. And again. I’m such an idiot! I could’ve ruined everything coming here. And for what? He raised his fist, wet and steaming, and was about to bring it down when a foot step echoed from the stairs—at the threshold.
“What are you doing?” whispered Leonhardt. She closed the door behind her.
Trey stayed facing the desk, away from her, his bloody hand held hidden. “So, you decided to come after all.”
“I told you, I wanted us to do it together. What chamber is this?”
“The duke’s chambers,” he said. “How did you find me?”
Jael’s boots tapped softly on the floor, exploring. “You told me where you were going, and there were footprints on the roof, doors left open, noise on the stairs. I was worried someone else might hear.”
“You could scream up here and no one would hear you. My father used to invite my oldest brother for counseling. I used to try and listen from the door downstairs when I was a boy, but all I could ever hear was the guard yawning on the other side.”
“That’s right,” she said, her feet stopping at the foot of the bed. She sat, and the decrepit mattress gave a dying wheeze. “It’s easy to forget that you’re the son of a duke. In the Enclave, they’d call you a prince. At least, I think that’s what Sarah told me.”
“Who?”
“Sarah Purwynn, the one who joined with the Sisters; I swear I’ve mentioned her before.”
Trey shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Leonhardt. She fell back on the bed and it gave another gasp, it’s ancient frame creaking as she shifted side to side. “This is what you wanted to show me, then? Your father’s chambers?”
“Yeah…”
“What happened?”
“Stoltz didn’t feel like climbing the stairs.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Jael pushed herself upright. “What happened to your family?”
“You haven’t heard?” Gildmane asked, staring down at his bloodied knuckles. He extended his fingers then clenched them again The silence dragged on longer than he expected. Was she waiting for him, he wondered after a time and said, “It was sickness, just like everyone said: the duke, my mother, and all their children, dead before the autumn leaves had fallen from the trees.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That was a long time ago. I can hardly remember their faces.” He stretched his hand a few more times. The pain was faint now, the bleeding stanched.
“What were their names?”
“My mother was Elanna, and my older brothers were Elliot and Troy—the latter named after the duke, if you couldn’t tell.”
“Him and a hundred others and my father’s horse,” Jael mused.
Trey turned, curious at her mirth, but she was too engrossed in the vaulted rafters to return his look. She was after something, the wryness on her face telling him to wait for whatever bit of wit was being concocted. And so he did, but it didn’t take long for his attention to wander. Jael had donned her new surcoat, he noticed, crimson like her old one, the same snarling lion embroidered at the front—though now its jaws gnawed a Messaii cross. A better fit than her father’s, he thought. Even with excess cloth to fit over her armour, so long as she sat as she did just then, with her arms propped behind her, the sigil lay smooth, the waist cut in and the skirt flared where her hips rested on the withered mattress. She seemed like a djinn, or like a mermaid, her legs crossed, black hose half vanished in the dark.
“So what now, Captain?”
His gaze flew to her face—intent and impish.
She cocked her head toward the door. “Shall we start back?”
“Not yet,” Trey answered. “There’s something else.”
“Something else you want to talk about?”
He lifted the lantern from the desk, opened its glass cage. “No,” he said then blew the candle out.
Small breaths. Darkness.
He heard her shiver, whispered as she said, “There was something else you wanted to show me.”
Small breaths. Footsteps.
“Yes.”
Twenty-Third Verse
Adam did not dream. There was no time for his mind to sink into sleep before the Tsaazaari sands began their shaking. But the pastor's son wasn’t the first to wake. His bleary eyes opened,
