Lorelei headed toward the trees with the others, and they soon reached their horses. Vashtok suggested searching for the Hissing Man on horseback, but everyone agreed they’d pushed their luck far enough. They’d head to the Crag and send a team of constables to scour the area.
They put Aarik and Brother Mayhew on Creed’s mare and tied their hands to the saddle horn. Aarik had bruises and cuts on his face. Brother Mayhew had a nasty gash and a goose egg on his forehead. It was hardly surprising. Ordren was a scrappy fighter, and Vashtok was a terror with fists and blade. Creed rode with Lorelei.
As they made their way through the forest, Aarik rode silently, staring straight ahead. Brother Mayhew, sitting behind him, seemed angry at first, but when Ancris came into view, the look of anger faded. The way his eyes darted toward the temple on Evalarus, the domed structures of Golden Meadows, and the palace on Mount Blackthorn made Lorelei wonder if he’d ever been to an imperial city. Most druins hadn’t for fear of being persecuted.
Lorelei brought her horse even with Aarik’s as they crossed the Wend over an old stone bridge. “Seems a bit strange, the Knives and the Chosen making nice.”
Aarik said nothing.
“Aren’t they your sworn enemy,” Lorelei continued, “and you theirs? What could the Hissing Man offer that would make you betray your own people?”
“I would never betray my people,” Aarik said.
“Then why meet with the Hissing Man?”
They rounded a low hill and entered the city proper at Slade, not too far from Tomas’s chandlery, and Aarik lapsed into stony silence. A bend in the street led to a square with a tall palisade pillar at its center. Practically invisible from a distance, the palisade’s shimmering curtain arced over the city and Mount Evalarus.
“Sounds like Llorn went around you to make this deal,” Lorelei said to Aarik, “almost as if he didn’t trust you to do the right thing.”
Again, silence.
“The Hissing Man mentioned a sample. A sample of what?”
When they received no response beyond an angry glare, Creed, bouncing in the saddle behind Lorelei, said, “Silence buys you nothing, Aarik. Tell us what you know and I’ll mention your cooperation to the magistrate myself. You might live instead of being burned at the Anvil.”
“And live a slave in some treeless corner of the empire?” Aarik snorted. “I’d rather face the fire.”
He said no more after that, and soon they were approaching a large hill and the fortress known as the Crag. Its watchtowers, curtain wall, and central keep had all been built with utility in mind. From afar, it looked like it was just another part of the hill. Once the primary defense for an imperial outpost, then a garrison for the city guard, the Crag was now the inquisitors’ headquarters. As they approached the stout gates, a horn sounded from the tower.
Vashtok stood in his stirrups. “Vashtok the Mighty has arrived with fellow inquisitors Lorelei, Creed, Ordren, and Nanda. Let all within the fortress know we have found the King of the Wood and are bringing him in for questioning.”
Ordren rolled his eyes. “Your head’s not going to fit through the bloody gate you keep that up.”
Vashtok chuckled as he lowered himself back down.
The doors clanked and groaned open. By the time they rode up the courtyard path to the main door, men were peering out the windows at them and a crowd had gathered around the steps. They dismounted and led Aarik and Brother Mayhew down a long hall; the gaoler, seven inquisitors, and a handful of constables stood before the entrance to the stout iron door that led to the holding cells.
“Now that’s what justice looks like,” said the gaoler, a rail-thin man named Marion.
Inside, Ordren broke away and headed toward the Pit, where the bulk of inquisitors had their desks. “I think you girls can manage things from here.”
No one argued. Like manure on the soles of one’s boots, Ordren was unpleasant and likely to leave a trail of shit.
In the dungeon, Creed led Brother Mayhew to one cell while Lorelei brought Aarik to another.
“I’d like an audience,” Aarik said as she was closing the door.
“Who with,” Marion cackled, “the bloody quintarch?”
Aarik ignored him and looked at Lorelei. “I’d like to speak with Imperator Lyndenfell.”
For a moment, Lorelei was speechless. “Why?”
Aarik shook his head. “Just ask him.”
Lorelei blinked, unsure where to take the conversation from there. “I can’t promise you anything here and now.”
“I am promising you. He’ll want to speak to me.”
The appeal was so unexpected and heartfelt that Lorelei actually found herself wondering if she should request that word be sent to the imperator. But then she remembered who she was dealing with. “You can make the request of the magistrate at your hearing.”
She left and headed toward Marion’s office. She’d no sooner arrived than Praefectus Damika, a stout, bleary-eyed woman, entered the room. Her dark skin and heavy accent marked her as having come from the Fire Plains west of the Whitefells. She wore a swallowtail coat, part of her uniform, but her rumpled civilian clothes beneath it. She was tough as old leather, and had an iron will.
Lorelei, Creed, and Marion followed her back down the hall to the cells. She shone a wisplight into Aarik’s cell and stared at him. She did the same with Brother Mayhew, then they returned to Marion’s office.
“You two,” she said to Lorelei and Creed, “come with me.” She pointed to Nanda and Vashtok. “You two go to the Pit. Get writing while everything’s fresh.”
Vashtok’s eyebrows shot up. “Why am I supposed to do paperwork?” He wagged a finger at Lorelei and Creed. “It’s their case.”
“Were you or were you not the one bellowing that Vashtok the Mighty had captured the King of the Wood?”
Vashtok shrugged. “A bit of bluster for the lads at the gate!”
“I don’t care what it was. Get started. Creed and Lorelei will be by soon enough to finish things up.”
Vashtok shook his head and left, mumbling to himself. Nanda gave Lorelei a flat stare for a moment, then she squeezed Lorelei’s arm. “Good hunting, indeed.” She followed in Vashtok out of the room.
Creed and Lorelei followed Damika to her office. Surprisingly, Ordren was already there.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said to Lorelei. “Wouldn’t you want to hear the details from the man who played the most pivotal role in tonight’s little adventure?”
Creed barked a laugh. “Pivotal? You just happened to be around was all.”
“Enough,” Damika said before Ordren could make some snide reply. “Tell me all of it. Start to finish.”
Damika headed around her desk. When her back was to him, Ordren sneered at Lorelei. She ignored him.
Lorelei gave Damika the broad brush strokes of the escapade, from their surveillance of the chandlery to Tomas’s sudden arrival at the Tulip to their capture of Aarik and the druin.
“I don’t understand,” Damika said, leaning back in her leather chair, “why would Tomas give them up like that?”
Slightly irritated, Lorelei cleared her throat. “As I said—”
“I know what you said. You really think he’d be angry enough to betray Aarik?”
“If Aarik really did send Llorn to kill him, sure I do. What choice did he have?”
“He could’ve run.”
“True,” Ordren chimed in, “but how far would he have gotten on his own?”
“He’s right,” Lorelei said, shooting a glance at Ordren she hoped would shut him up. “Tomas may have thought we could keep him alive if he talked.”
Damika considered, then knocked her knuckles on the edge of her desk and pointed at Lorelei and Creed. “You two go find Tomas. I want to know what he knows.”
“And Aarik?” Lorelei said.
“We’ll let him stew overnight. Ordren can begin questioning him in the morning.”
Lorelei could hardly believe her ears. “Ordren?”
Ordren smiled his shit-eating smile. “The Praefectus knows a good interrogator when she sees one, dearie.”
“Don’t dearie me!” Lorelei spat, then turned to Damika. “He’s just going to beat Aarik until he gets answers.”
“So long as I get them”—Ordren shrugged—“where’s the harm?”
“It’s torture! Aarik will just tell you what he thinks you want to hear.”
Damika raised her hand. “I’m giving the task to Ordren. Concentrate on finding Tomas.”
Lorelei was about to press when a ruckus broke out in the anteroom. Virgil, Damika’s diminutive assistant, called out. “I’ll fetch her immediately, Your Holiness.”
Creed and Lorelei exchanged a look. Damika raised her eyebrows. Even Ordren seemed a bit shocked. The honorific holiness was reserved for the illustrae, which meant Azariah Andrinus had arrived in person.
Virgil opened the door. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, Praefectus. You have a visitor.”
“I heard.” Damika waved her hand. “Send him in.”
Virgil stepped back, and Azariah entered the office, wearing a white robe and an ivory mask. Virgil’s hand was trembling as he closed the door behind him.
Azariah was a tall, imposing man with a regal bearing. His ivory mask covered the upper half of his face. Thin strips of gilded wood fanned out above his forehead like sun rays. Though it had no actual eyeholes—illustrae saw with second sight—the outline of eyes had been etched onto the ivory, giving Azariah a detached, dispassionate air.
He seemed to fix his stare on Damika. “You’ve taken two men into custody,” he said, “Aarik Bloodhaven and a druin of the Deepwood Fens. Deliver them to me, that the Church can make them answer for their crimes.”
Of all the things Lorelei thought he might say, that was probably the last. Creed looked shocked as well. How had Azariah found out about them so quickly?
Damika stiffened. “The two men have been detained by my inquisitors for crimes against the empire. By law they’re ours to deal with.”
“That would be true had the leader of the Red Knives not ordered the burning of five Alran temples. Ten of our clergy died in those fires. Dozens more were wounded. I will not abide a blasphemer of the goddess’s teachings, much less someone who hopes to erase their very existence, to escape Alra’s justice.”
“Evidence points to Llorn as having set those fires,” Damika said.
Azariah shook his head. “And you think Llorn would have acted without Aarik’s blessing?”
“Your Holiness, Aarik is wanted for bringing illicit drugs into our city. I ask that you let us keep him. We’ll give the Church all the access it requires.”
Were the history between the inquisitors and the Church amicable, Damika might simply have handed Aarik and Brother Mayhew over. But the relationship had been icy for generations, ever since the time of the Holy Rebellion, when the Church had attempted, through force, to replace the empire’s quintarchs with men and women more sympathetic to the Church. The Praefectus was assassinated the first night of the rebellion. Other inquisitors had subsequently been murdered. It had led to an acrimonious split between the quintarchs’ inquisitors and the Church. Surely the last thing Damika wanted was to appear weak in the eyes of Quintarch Lucran.
“Those burnings were not merely a desecration of the Church,” Azariah continued. “They were an insult to Alra herself”—he raised two fingers and moved them in a circle—“may her memory abide. The Church will have them both. See to it.”
Damika was no woman to be bullied, but even Lorelei had to admit the request wasn’t unreasonable. Aarik was likely linked to those burnings. Were Lorelei in Azariah’s place, she’d probably demand he be brought to the temple for trial as well. Yet she hoped Damika would stand up to him. The Church’s idea of a trial was to torture its victims and cleanse them with dragonfire. If Aarik was taken from the Crag, Lorelei would never see him again . . . unless the Church decided to make his burning public.
Damika likely figured she could explain it well enough to Quintarch Lucran so she wouldn’t lose his confidence, but Lorelei felt a golden opportunity slipping away. Something big was happening in Ancris. Why else would the Chosen and the Red Knives be meeting in secret? “Your Holiness,” she said in a rush, “the Church may have jurisdiction over Aarik, but not over the druin.”
The tall illustra appeared to look down the nose of his mask at her. “He is a Red Knife.”
“Forgive me, Your Holiness,” Lorelei said, “but we don’t know that for certain. And there is no evidence linking him and the fires.” Azariah clenched his teeth. Lorelei wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but she continued, “By order of the imperial decree regarding inquisitor affairs, Brother Mayhew must remain with the Office of Inquisitors.”
It seemed the best option. She appeased the Church by giving up Aarik, and keeping Brother Mayhew would show Quintarch Lucran that she hadn’t caved to Azariah.
“You can have Aarik,” Damika said, rapping her knuckles on the desk. “The druin stays.”
A moment passed in silence. Then Azariah boomed, “Lorelei Aurelius.”
She had no idea he knew her name. “Yes, Your Holiness.”
“Daughter of Cain, one of our city’s finest inquisitors.”
“Correct, Your Holiness.”
“Be more like him.” Then he turned his painted gaze back on Damika. “Bring Aarik Bloodhaven to me at the gates. Now.”