Lorelei and Creed sat in the dim anteroom, lit only by a pair of lanterns, next to the closed doors to Marstan Lyndenfell’s audience chamber. It was just before the bright sun’s rise. Lorelei’s gut churned. Marstan Lyndenfell’s voice boomed through the doors. He was chastising Damika for Lorelei’s negligence, disregard, and sheer recklessness. He threatened to jail her until a magistrate could decide on a suitable punishment. When Damika pushed back, he threatened to have her brought up on charges as well. But Damika was a patient woman and nigh unflappable. Eventually the intensity of the discussion ebbed, and their voices lowered below what Lorelei could hear.
Creed sat on a long bench, legs out, arms crossed over his broad chest, and stared at the wood floor as if he were trying to bore a hole through it. “Llorn said the Chosen are trying to use the Red Knives?”
On the way back from the eyrie, she’d told him about the Knives’ ritual. “You’re worried about that?”
He shrugged and rolled his eyes toward the closed door. “Better than stewing about what’s going on in there.”
Maybe he was right, but she was afraid she’d lose her badge and could hardly think of anything else. “Llorn’s exact words were that the Hissing Man was trying to use them,” she finally said, “though I suppose it hardly makes a difference. For all intents and purposes, the Hissing Man is the Chosen.”
“I still don’t understand why the Hissing Man would ally himself with the Knives. Seems like he’d be the last man to do that.”
“Not if he thinks the ends justify the means.”
Creed scratched the gray stubble on his cheek. “Tell me again what Llorn said on the barrow mound?”
“He said the Holt will be theirs again, and that the day was much closer than the quintarchs thought. He said it began with the raising of his sister.”
“Implies he’s got something big planned. Any clue what it is?”
“No”—Lorelei thought back to her interrogation of the druin—“but Brother Mayhew must know something.”
“Probably worth asking when we get back. Once we sort through—”
Damika burst into the anteroom. “Up. Both of you. We’re leaving.”
They followed her into the hallway, through Valdavyn’s foyer and entrance to the broad deck outside. The pre-reckoning air was cool. A stiff wind rustled the canopy. The sky was bright in the east.
“I’m surprised we’re leaving so soon,” Lorelei said nervously as they followed Damika along a walkway.
“Yes, well, I didn’t manage it without giving up a few concessions, did I?”
“What sort of concessions?”
“Your involvement in this investigation, to start with. You are both off the case.”
“But this is important,” Lorelei pleaded, realizing she was whining.
“I’m well aware.” The suspended bridge they were crossing bowed slightly as they neared the midway point. “Marstan is, too, which is the only reason you were allowed to leave. He’s sending the constable you spoke to yesterday to Ancris tonight, at which point—”
“Shouldn’t we speak to him now?”
“Absolutely not. I want you out of here before Marstan changes his mind. When the constable comes, you’ll debrief him, then both of you will leave the matter alone, and neither of you are to have any contact with the druin.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to let Ordren question him again.”
Damika turned her head and glared at Lorelei. “I bloody well am, Lorelei Aurelius. You’re lucky you’re not in chains.”
“Praefectus, please—”
At the end of the bridge, they stepped onto a ringwalk around the citadel. Damika halted, spun about, and pointed a finger at Lorelei’s chest. “You don’t seem to realize the gravity of the situation, Inquisitor, so let me state it plainly—if Marstan even thinks you’re still on the case—and make no mistake, he has eyes and ears in Ancris—he’ll demand you both stand trial before his magistrates, and I daresay Lucran will grant the request. He’ll demand that I be brought before a tribunal as well. Stay away. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Praefectus.” Lorelei knew she needed to give her time to cool off.
Damika stomped down a set corkscrew stairs. “You’ll give Ordren whatever he needs,” she called over her shoulder, “then it’s back to your other cases.”
“What about Bothymus?” asked Lorelei. “He can’t leave until his shoulder heals.”
“I’ve made arrangements.”
Lorelei cringed at the thought of traveling through the vyrda again. “I can stay and ride him back once he’s—”
“No,” Damika said, waggling her hand over her shoulder. “We’re going to Ancris. Now.”
Lorelei hated leaving Bothymus alone nearly as much as she hated the maze, but Damika wouldn’t be swayed. They continued down through the city to the forest floor via the dragonbone lifts. The vyrd lay just ahead, ancient and imposing, threatening in ways Lorelei couldn’t even comprehend. A portly ferrywoman with bone-colored eyes awaited with a dozen travelers, ready to take the trip back to Ancris. Two other ferrymen were there as well with groups of their own, heading to other locales.
They huddled in the center of the vyrd. The lights of reckoning were muted. Faint, cream-colored flashes across the sky. The ferrywoman placed the lucerta on her tongue. Lorelei prepared herself for a return of the suffocating feeling in the maze, but as the standing stones and the forest dimmed, she felt only the gut-twisting sensation of being ripped apart and pressed back together. Then the cityscape of Ancris and the mountains beyond it came into view, and she began to relax.
As the ferrywoman and the other travelers exited the vyrd, Lorelei spotted Ordren standing outside the henge. The light of dawn in the mountains, harsh after the dimness of the forest, deepened the sullen lines of his face. “A bit of bad news, I’m afraid.”
“Well, spit it out,” Damika snapped.
“It’s Brother Mayhew.”
Lorelei’s heart began to sink.
“What about him?” Damika asked.
“He escaped last night.”
Lorelei thought Damika would throw her hands in the air in a fit of anger. Instead, she was completely calm, except for a slight twitching of her left eye.
“How?” she whispered.
“We found crushed bore beetle casings in the corner of his cell.”
Lorelei recalled the sour smell in Brother Mayhew’s cell. She’d thought it was his body odor, but now realized it was the beetles. She cursed herself for an idiot.
“The alchemysts,” Ordren continued, “think he lured them with some food, crushed them up, and formed the acid with his spit. Then ate through one of the window bars, made a rope from torn strips of bedding, and climbed down. We found tracks on the southern slope, but lost them when he entered the city.”
Damika’s chest expanded and contracted. Her nostrils flared and her breath plumed on the cool mountain air. “Out of my sight. All of you.”
Lorelei didn’t like being lumped in with Ordren, but even worse, she didn’t like losing the case to the wiry bastard. She had to sway Damika, and soon.
“Uh . . . I’m sorry, Praefectus.” It was lame but it was all she could think of.
Damika glared at her. “Get lost.”