abdomen, stroking it softly as suffering moans whispered from within him, wailing for release. 'Surely you cannot think to protect the circle of skulls for all that they have done?'
'What all have they done?' Jinn asked, calming himself and playing along, easily sensing the dark lie in Sathariel's offer, making what truth he could glean shine all the brighter.
'The details are none of your concern, but consider, with their plans and schemes ended, have you any idea how this city might change? Who can know what all they have orchestrated in three centuries?' the angel replied, rising from his seat to float just above the floor. 'In any case, they will trouble this city no more, and they shall face a reckoning within the House of Thorne.'
Jinn hid a smile and eased himself forward once again, sword rising. Sathariel had shown his hand, using lies to tell the truth, illusions of sincerity to display his true desires. Though Jinn saw through the angel's double-speak, he would allow the deception and use it to his advantage.
'Let me consider your offer. Just release the girl,' he said evenly, just desperate enough to sound genuine as he took a careful step forward, his sword responding with renewed waves of fury that banished all traces of hope of seeing Variel again.
'Of course, take your time, deva,' Sathariel replied and let the rope slide through his fingers.
Jinnaoth dashed across the room, leaping for the rope as his blade cut a wide arc through where the angel had been. A blur of wings and shadow streaked into the air, disappearing through the window with a thunderous roar of beating wings. A step too late, Jinn cursed, the rope slipping through his fingers. Unbalanced, he tried to turn as the girl fell from the rafters, but could not reverse his momentum.
Her body made no sound as it struck the floor, and the rope faded into an insubstantial mist, leaving only a dirty dress, settling lightly, the angel's illusion revealed. The stolen blade fell still in Sathariel's absence, leaving Jinn light-headed and flushed. He leaned on the cushioned chair for long moments, staring at the place where Sathariel had sat, disgusted at how close he'd been but still heartened by the small measure of control he'd earned by the confrontation.
He knew the angel sought to use him. And Jinn decided that he would allow himself to be used. But the next time he encountered the angel, he planned to have his own stolen souls to barter with.
Commander Tavian strolled down Mendever Street amid long shadows stretched between shafts of yellow- gold morning light. Broadsheet criers ran excitedly through the streets, taking their corners for the midmorn rush, fresh broadsheets slung under their shoulders after selling through the early editions. The smell of baking bread, made sharp by the cold snap in the air, wafted everywhere, mingling with the familiar scents of the city.
Tavian drew his heavy cloak tight over his shoulders, suppressing a shiver and casting a withering glance at the nigh-ineffectual sun. He much preferred the spring and summer, never quite getting the knack for the winter patrol. He sneered as Swordcaptains Aeril and Naaris rounded a corner after him. Aeril drew in a long breath and rubbed his hands together, practically ignoring the warm cloak hanging loosely over his shoulder.
'Fine day, Comma-eh, Tavian,' Aeril remarked as they avoided the thicker traffic of Mendever Street.
'Cold day, Aeril. Bitter, bright, and spiteful day,' Tavian replied, keeping an eye peeled for more of the ward's Watch, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rorden
Dregg in the press of bodies passing by. 'I trust our other men have their orders?'
'Aye, sir-I mean, yes, they've been instructed to observe and report only,' Naaris answered. 'Though I have a feeling even if we were in full uniform, we might not be noticed…'
He gestured west, but Tavian was well ahead of the observant officer, noting the carriages lined up along two estate walls, some already laden with locked chests. Servants worked feverishly, hauling various items back and forth through the gates as hired guards stood by. Tavian had been told that once, well before the Spellplague, Sea Ward during winter was a veritable ghost town, nobles and the wealthy abandoning the area for homes elsewhere. The howling winter wind off the shoreline was not entirely unbearable, but those with enough gold had never had to bear what they could afford to avoid. In more recent times, the practice was mostly unheard of, especially among the newer families, not as loose with their coin as in times past.
Others with coin to spare seemed intent on staying put, their hired bodyguards reporting for duty and standing sentinel at ornate gates.
At the corners of the next intersection, two crowds had begun to gather, pausing to talk in low voices as the shouts of competing broadsheet criers echoed above the din of business as usual.
'Eighteen massacred in Sea Ward!' one cried.
'Wealthy blood on Sea Ward streets!' another added as customers crowded the lads, each vying to read the scandalous headlines first. Dozens were sold in a matter of breaths, the smiling boys stuffing coins into their satchels. Buyers stood by in small groups, poring over the tale and conferring with worried faces before racing away, lost in the tide of crowded streets.
'Torm's blessed fist!' Tavian swore quietly. He clapped Aeril on the shoulder. 'Buy one of those broadsheets before they're all gone!' he said, backing out of the street. He crossed his arms as more full carriages rolled by, wealthy socialites riding with their valuables. 'What in the Abyss is going on?'
At a second glance, as he absorbed the shouted headlines, he noted the lack of patrons in the eating establishments and the concerned looks of other shop owners as potential customers passed them by with barely a glance. Such was the frantic pace of it all that Tavian half expected to find similar scenes playing themselves out all across the city, business as usual forgotten in the mad dash to escape being the next victim or, he mused, the rush to gawk at the next body found.
Aeril returned, winding through the crowd, already reading the broadsheet.
'Two families slaughtered last evening, sir,' he said, scanning the print for details. 'The Loethes of Ivory Street and the Sedras Family off of Breezes Cut, along with six as of yet unidentified men in Watch uniforms. The bodies were marked up, but Watch commanders have made no comment yet on the details of the crimes or any possible suspects.'
'So much for keeping this quiet,' Tavian grumbled, absently tugging at the end of his beard. 'Go. Get your uniforms and a sharp blade. Sea Ward is out at least one patrol; we can help with that. We'll gather the others at midday and have the Watchful Order in the ward by gateclose.'
'Lucian Dregg appears to be missing, sir,' Naaris said, reading over Aeril's shoulder. 'He was last seen outside the Loethe manse, dueling an unusual man in the street.'
'Well, it's not all bad news, then,' Tavian replied under his breath. 'Off you go. Meet back here within half a bell.'
The swordcaptains joined the tide of bodies as Tavian lingered, carefully crossing the street, drawn by the sound of children. As worried parents oversaw the packing of their carriages, the children played in the street, turning in circles and singing within the imposing and jagged shadow of an older house, nearly overgrown by the creeping vines of a once-impressive garden.
Tavian shivered as they sang.
Roses in the garden, roses in the hail,
Roses on the window, roses on the wail,
Roses 'round your neck, nine sterns shorn,
Roses on the floor in the House of Thorne!
SEVENTEEN
NIGHTAL 22, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
Jinn awoke to the fading voices of the whisperers as they passed through Seawind Alley and away to unknown places. Unintelligible words drifted at the edges of a blurry dream, and he wondered for a moment what they had said to him, but the dream was gone, and only the stale scents of the sewer remained. Though Briarbones's lair sat at the top of an incline and remained fairly dry, the worst of the extensive maze of sewers flowed a mere short walk away. Jinn had no fear of his clothes becoming soiled, but he wondered if his nose would ever recover.
Quessahn slept in the corner opposite him, eyes darting beneath their lids as her breath came shallowly, her
