Rylan sat across from Ash in the imperial coach as it trundled up Palace Road. The wheels changed from clattering to drumming as they traversed a wooden bridge over a creek. The scene at the shrine had been tense, but as worried as Rylan was over it, Ash seemed in a full-on panic.
“I’m terribly sorry about what happened,” Rylan said to him. “It makes me wish I’d declined your offer.”
“Yes, well”—Ash continued to gaze out the window—“I seem to recall working pretty hard to persuade you.”
“Will Renato go hard on you?”
Ash shrugged. “Probably not in the short term. We’ve fallen behind on the renovation. He can’t afford to lose me now. But later, yes. Renato is a proud man, and for good reason. He wants the work done cleanly, efficiently. He hates complications, which I’ve just delivered to him in spades. So yes, when the work at the shrine is complete, I’ll be scrubbing scum from beakers and collecting stinkweed from the gullies for some time. He may even block my bid for my master’s clasp next year.”
“I’m sorry, Ash. I feel responsible.”
Ash smiled half-heartedly. “We can share the blame, if it helps.”
“It would at that . . .”
As they rode higher up the mountain, more of Ancris came into view. Golden lights twinkled in windows. The palisade’s dome glimmered faintly over the official buildings. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the palace. Rylan knew this was his last, best chance to speak to Ash alone. “I need to confess something, Ash.”
Ash considered him. “Two in one night.”
“Yes, and over the same subject, I’m afraid. The real reason I made that clumsy attempt at getting to know you was to get you to introduce me to Master Renato. The business with Korvus has people in Glaeyand worried. We both know the Red Knives killed him for knowing too much.”
Ash shifted on the bench as if he suddenly found it uncomfortable. “There’s hardly a mystery here. Korvus went too deep into Red Knife territory.”
“Then why torch his apothecary? Why do it when they knew his wife would be there? I know Master Renato visited Korvus the day before he left. I’m trying to find out if Master Renato knows something, because if he does, he may be in danger.”
The words seemed to sober Ash. “Do you really think he could be in danger?”
“Absolutely.” And Rylan meant it, though not for the reasons Ash might suspect.
As they passed over the drawbridge and through the palace wall, Ash seemed to deflate. “I don’t wish to share Renato’s secrets, but if it’s true, about the danger and all . . .”
“What are you getting at?”
“When news of Tishana’s death reached Ancris, Master Renato was distraught to the point of distraction. I thought it was because he was worried about Korvus, that he was holding out hope his old colleague was still alive. Now I wonder if he was worried about himself. A few days later, I overheard him talking with a journeymen about a journal Master Korvus had given him, apparently to get his thoughts on the survey. To get a second opinion, as it were.”
Rylan felt like the world had just turned upside down. “Master Renato has one of Master Korvus’s journals?”
“If he hasn’t burned it by now.” Ash opened his mouth, closed it, and started again. “Assuming he hasn’t, it’s likely in a strongbox he keeps in his office. I can’t ask him anything right now, after what happened at the shrine, but I know where he keeps the key. Give me a few days, and I’ll see if I can take a look at it.”
Rylan didn’t need Ash to look at the journal—he’d take a look on his own—but he needed to make it seem like he did. “Thank you. I’d be in your debt.”
The coach jingled to a stop, and the two men entered the palace. After a brief good night, Ash took the stairs up to his room, and Rylan headed toward the infirmary. The palace was quiet, the privy council having long since concluded. At the infirmary, Betheny was snoring much more heavily than before. Almost too heavily. He squatted beside her and felt her pulse. It was weak and slow. He opened her eyes—she didn’t even move—and found them red around the edges. A poison, perhaps. More likely a soporific.
He stood up and looked around. The curtains over the window at the far end of the room billowed in the nighttime breeze. They hadn’t been open when he’d left.
“We’re alone,” he said. “You may as well come out.”
After a brief pause, the curtains parted and Raef stepped down from the sill. Why he was here, Rylan had no idea.
Rylan walked slowly toward him while scanning the shadows for other intruders.
“We’re alone,” Raef said.
Rylan motioned to Betheny. “Was that really necessary?”
Raef smiled. “You think I’m going to let her eavesdrop on our little talk?”
Rylan stopped in the aisle near the foot of his bed. “She was already unconscious.”
“Maybe,” Raef said. “Maybe not.”
“What are you doing here, Raef?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“The King of the Wood begs to differ. You were seen speaking to an inquisitor in Glaeyand. Now you’re in Ancris by special invitation.”
Rylan had to take care. Raef was no longer a mere lackey in the Red Knives. He was Llorn’s second in command, his enforcer. “I spoke to the inquisitor in Glaeyand because she got the quintarch’s indurium hurt. I’m here for the same reason. Bothymus got cranky after his fight with Fraoch and needed a bit of tending.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re here?”
As far as Rylan knew, Llorn didn’t know about the connection between Korvus and Renato. Had that changed? Was Raef trying to catch him in a lie? After considering, Rylan doubted it. The one-handed thug seemed merely distrustful, not angry.
“Quintarch Lucran will be in my debt if I heal Bothymus,” Rylan said. “You don’t think that’s worth coming to Ancris for?”
Raef shrugged. “Perhaps. Since you’re here already”—Raef reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a small, linen-wrapped package—“we’ve got another assignment for you.”
“What kind of assignment?”
“Llorn’s grateful for what you did with Morraine’s wisp.” The package was square, roughly two fingers to a side. Raef tossed it onto Rylan’s bed. “He wants to reward you.”
Rylan snorted. “And in what way is dumping an assignment on me a reward?”
Raef pointed to the package. “Open it.”
Rylan nearly refused, but his curiosity won out. He picked up the package, tugged at the twine, and unfolded the linen. Inside was a small vial of clear liquid and a cube of red, chalky substance. Crainh. It was a deadly poison derived from the lucertae of auburn dragons. When activated properly, it produced a miasma that spread quickly, killing anything caught in it. It was expensive, more than pure indurium, but favored by those who could afford it because, though it smelled noxious while active, the odor dissipated quickly and the powder itself was consumed entirely, leaving no trace. Though auburn dragons were very rare, a number of Red Knives were bonded to them.
Rylan folded the linen over the vial and the crainh and held it out toward Raef. “Like I told Llorn, I’m not a Knife, and I’m certainly no assassin.”
“You don’t even know who the mark is.”
“I don’t care who the mark is. I’m not doing it.”
Raef continued as if Rylan hadn’t spoken. “Tomorrow night, you’re going to sneak into the imperial library in Ancris and leave that shit in a room set aside for a historian.”
“Why would I assassinate a historian?”
“Because you are going to steal a bronze chalice. It’s being delivered by an archivist to the aforementioned historian.”
“What’s so special about it?”
Raef shrugged. “The Hissing Man wants it. Llorn wants it first.”
“As what, leverage of some sort?”
“None of your business. Get the bloody chalice. The historian dies. The archivist . . .” Raef shrugged again. “That’s up to you.”
Rylan shook the package. “I already said no.”
“What if you knew the historian hasn’t always been a historian?”
Rylan snorted. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me he was an inquisitor.”
Raef smiled. “Good guess. You’re smarter than you look.”
Rylan’s throat tightened. He knew where this was going. He knew the identity of the historian that Llorn, for whatever reason, wanted dead. Part of him didn’t want to confirm it, but he couldn’t help asking. “His name?”
“Kellen Vesarius. Or, as he was known when he wore the white shield, Inquisitor Kellen.”
The name played in Rylan’s mind. He was the inquisitor who’d petitioned for Beckett’s burning and wanted Rylan burned with him to set an example. If Beckett hadn’t blurted out Rylan’s birthright, Rylan would be a scorch mark on a burning deck.
Rylan had dreamed of Kellen’s death. It had taken him years to let go of the anger, the hate. He’d vowed not to kill as the empire killed, but to leech power from them instead. To weaken them in order to benefit the Holt, the Kin especially.
Rylan unfolded the cloth and stared at the red, chalky cube. The more he stared at it, the more the old hatred filled him.
“You see, Rylan?” Raef said with something between a smile and a snarl. “We can be friends. We can look out for one another.”
“Ancris is Blythe’s territory. Why didn’t she bring it?”
“Blythe is . . . indisposed.”
“If you hurt her . . .”
Raef chuckled. “We’re not like the empire, Rylan. We don’t throw away our own, not without good reason.”
“Then where is she?”
“She’s staying above Hollis’s shop in Slade. She hasn’t taken Aarik’s death well. She’s on the lace again.”
Brightlace, the hallucinogen that had nearly killed her years ago.
Rylan shook his head. “And you’re letting her?”
“For now . . . Llorn’s giving her time to grieve. Get the chalice for us. Bring it to Hollis’s shop. You can talk her then. Help get her back on her feet.”
It seemed odd that she would stay at Hollis’s. Hollis stayed as far away from Red Knife business as he could, which made Rylan wonder if he’d been coerced. Blythe’s relapse was also worrisome, but Rylan couldn’t worry about either of those things just then. He stared at the crainh and the vial, trying to decide, but then he remembered the orange flames, Beckett screaming, Aunt Merida wailing . . .
“Tell me about the library . . .”