Durgan let Rylan fall to the floor, and Lorelei felt some small amount of relief to hear Rylan draw breath.
“Inquisitor . . .” Durgan stepped across the cell toward Lorelei. “Your man and I were just having a bit of a chat.”
Lorelei backed into the hall. “I’m warning you, don’t come any closer.”
“Sorry you had to see that, love.” He lunged at her.
Lorelei stumbled back and stuck out her rapier, hoping to slow him down, slicing his forearm, but he slapped the blade avoiding its tip. She drew her poniard with her free hand, but Durgan charged. He grabbed the basket hilt of her rapier and wrenched it from her hand and tried to grab her wrist but she wriggled it free.
Durgan forced her backwards, slamming her into the door to Marion’s office, then he smashed his massive forehead on the crown of her head.
She winced, opened her eyes again, and saw two of Durgan’s big ugly mugs in her blurred vision.
He pressed her against the door. “Never should have come sniffing about, girl.”
She blinked and blinked again until her vision cleared. Then she stomped on his right foot. He growled and pressed his face so close to hers she could smell the rot in his teeth. “Nice try, bi—”
She stomped on his foot again, with the corner of her heel. He grimaced and looked down at his foot. She pulled her right hand free, spun away, and stuck the point of her poniard into his side.
His eyes went wide. She pushed the blade deeper, and he staggered backward, swinging a backhand to her jaw that snapped her head sideways, then he collapsed onto the stone floor, pressing his hands to the wound in the side of his gut, leaving her standing there holding the bloody poniard.
He coughed, raised a bloody hand, and stared at it in disbelief. “Ahh . . . you fucking bitch!”
The door behind Lorelei started to creaked open and hit her in the back. She stepped around Durgan, and Marion walked into the hall. “Stone and scree, what’s going on here?”
“Durgan got tired of his cell and went for a fucking stroll,” Lorelei said. “Where were you?”
“On evening rounds, as I’m supposed to be.” He stared down at Durgan, who was curled up and moaning loudly. “How—”
“Never mind that for now.” When Durgan suddenly went quiet, Lorelei looked over and saw his eyes were closed and his body had gone slack. “Go fetch a nun and see if you can save this bloody idiot.”
Marion looked ready to argue, but he nodded and rushed away.
Lorelei’s thoughts raced. Who’d let Durgan out? More importantly, why? What had they hoped to gain by killing Rylan? If she left Rylan in the Crag now, whoever had let Durgan out would try again.
She ran back to Rylan’s cell, crouched beside him, and shook his shoulder. “Rylan?”
When he didn’t respond, she tried again, but he was still out. She was just wondering if she should get him to the infirmary—a place just as dangerous as the dungeon, maybe even more so—when lightning flashed through the small window. A deep, rolling thunder followed. Rylan flailed his arms and then opened his eyes and gasped for air. Then he looked around the cell, wild-eyed.
“You’re safe.” Lorelei held her hand out. “Can you stand?”
He lay his head down on the filthy floor. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, we need to get you out of here.”
“Where are we—”
“I’m not sure yet.” She helped him to his feet.
She led him from the cell, past Durgan’s unmoving form, and into Marion’s office. On a hook were Marion’s tricorn hat and oilskin coat, still dripping with rain. She made Rylan put them on.
In the hallway toward the exit, they passed Marion and a nun. Marion put out a hand to stop them. “Where are you taking him, and in my bloody coat?”
“Never you mind, Marion. That big cretin back there seems to be bleeding all over your hallway. Go check on him. Let me worry about Rylan.” Durgan was likely a dead man, but she needed Marion to remain occupied for the next few minutes.
Marion hesitated, then let them pass.
Lorelei took Rylan out the front of the Crag into the courtyard. Two guards in mail and red tabards eyed her from the doorway to the stables. Rylan seemed to shrink into the oilskin coat, but they went back to their conversation when Lorelei led him purposefully to the front gates.
They walked down the muddy road toward the city.
“Why are you doing this?” Rylan shouted over the downpour. He was shivering so much his teeth chattered.
“Because I need answers,” she shouted back, “and I can’t very well get them from you if you’re dead.”
She thought he might argue, but he didn’t. They crossed Barrowdown Bridge and were making their way along a narrow street when Rylan looked up at the buildings and said, “Are we going to your home?”
She was surprised he remembered. “We are, and it’s my mother’s home as well, so try to pretend you’re not a piece of shit.”
“I think I can manage.”
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant. I’ll be a good boy. I promise.”
Lorelei’s mother was in the tiny kitchen peeling potatoes when they walked through the front door soaking wet. “You’re back early—” To Rylan she said, “Well, hello there.”
“Mother, this is Rylan.”
Adelia’s eyes widened. “Rylan . . .”
The two had never met, but Adelia knew quite a bit about Rylan already. Talking through things had always helped Lorelei to sort things out, and the recent mysteries Rylan was wrapped up in had needed a lot of sorting.
“Rylan, this is my mother, Adelia.”
“Pleased,” Rylan said with a bow. “I apologize for dripping all over your kitchen.”
“It’s only water.” Adelia set her knife and the half-peeled potato down on the counter. “I’ll fetch some clothes and make you some tea.”
She put a kettle on the stove, then bustled up the stairs. When she came back down, she was holding an overlarge work shirt, overalls, and thick woolen socks. She handed the clothes to Rylan. “These should fit well enough.”
Rylan opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, “You’re too kind.”
“They’re dry clothes, not blessings from Alra.” She pointed to the nearby bathroom. “Now go change before you catch your death.”
While Rylan changed in the bathroom, Lorelei went upstairs to her own room. She thought about putting on her spare inquisitor’s uniform to keep things formal, but chose a pair of old trousers and a thick sweater instead. Soon enough, she and Rylan were sitting on couches, facing each other across the sitting room table. Their clothes were drying near the fireplace.
Adelia returned with two mugs of fragrant lavender tea. “I’ll leave you to talk.”
When she left, Lorelei sipped the tea and asked. “How’s your neck?”
“Better,” he said, even though it was dark red and even purple in places. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
She shrugged. “I could hardly have him killing my key witness, could I?”
Rylan smiled halfheartedly. “Spoken like a true inquisitor.”
Lorelei paused and then said, “There’s something going on in this city, Rylan, and I need to find out what. You’re going to tell me.”
Rylan ran his thumb over the lip of his mug, then stared into the steaming tea, as if he was trying to read his fortune.
“Lives are at stake,” Lorelei pressed.
The rain lashed against the windows, a dull, monotonous hiss.
“I didn’t start the fire,” he said at last.
“But you were you in the library. A woman died that night. Kellen was stabbed.”
“I’m not a murderer.” He raised his cup to his lips, but instead of drinking, said, “I’m no assassin.”
Lorelei wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “I didn’t say you were.”
He seemed disturbed, almost angry. “Kellen had my uncle killed.”
“Your uncle committed a crime.”
“A crime in the eyes of the empire only. Uncle Beckett never hurt anyone. He adored dragons and he wanted to share that with me. He was no enemy of the empire.”
“Forgive me, Rylan, but none of this is convincing me you’re innocent.”
“I’m telling you so you’ll understand. I was offered a chance for revenge. I accepted, thinking it was what I wanted, but when I got to the library, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He shrugged. “I’ve never killed anyone.”
“This offer . . . That’s why you came to Ancris?”
Rylan shook his head.
“Then why did you come?”
“I doubt you’ll believe me about this, either.”
“Try me.”
“Aarik Bloodhaven wanted me to find out what Master Renato knew about Korvus Julianus’s disappearance. Aarik was on to some project of Llorn’s, and he wasn’t sure who knew what.”
“Aarik is dead.”
“Yes, and when Llorn took over, I came to Ancris hoping to learn more about what he was doing with the Hissing Man.”
“So tell me, what have you learned?”
“Nothing concrete, but enough to be worried about what it means for the Holt and for Ancris.” Rylan paused and set his mug on the table. “Maybe we could talk to Master Renato directly. Learn what he knows . . .”
Lorelei wasn’t sure she should tell him just yet, but she decide it might help. “Master Renato is dead.”
“What the—”
“An accident in the shrine. Creed and Ash are there now. Or they were.” Rylan lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, so she continued, “Help me with something. If you were here to learn about Renato, how does the chalice fit into it?”
Rylan dropped his gaze to the wooden table between them. “Raef asked me to steal it.”
Lorelei tried to keep her composure, but her mouth fell open and she struggled with what to say next. “You know, for a man who says he’s not a Knife, you seem to deal with them an awful lot.”
“I know how it must seem, but Aarik was trying to make peace. I came here hoping it might still be reached, even after his death. And the chalice . . . Raef played me. He used Kellen’s death as bait so I’d steal the chalice for him.”
“Okay, but why?”
Rylan shrugged. “He said Llorn wanted it because the Hissing Man wanted it. I’m guessing he was planning to use it as leverage, or to pay back a debt.”
“I need to see it, Rylan. Where’s the chalice?”
Lorelei knew it wasn’t a particularly easy request. Rylan would basically be admitting he’d stolen the chalice, but it was why Lorelei had waited so long to bring it up. She’d wanted soften him up first.
Rylan glanced out the window. The rain was barely a drizzle, and a bit of the setting bright sun shone along the horizon. “I arranged for it to be sent to the Holt.”
“You sent it ahead on your dragon . . . ?”
Rylan paused a good long while, then nodded. “Her name’s Vedron.”
She understood his reticence—she wouldn’t want to admit to a bond with an umbral dragon, either—but that was the last thing she was worried about. “Can you summon her?”
He shook his head. “Not from here. I need to be close to do that.”
“That presents a few difficulties, as you might imagine.”
“Such as?”
“You’re wanted for Ezraela’s death and Kellen’s injuries, not to mention the fire.”
“I told you, I didn’t start the fire. And it was the Hissing Man who killed Ezraela.”
“I believe you, but it isn’t up to me.”
“Then come with me. You could say I’m in your custody and you’re collecting more information. You wouldn’t even be lying.”
“Yes, well, there’s a problem with that as well.”
“What?”
“I’m not exactly in a position to be taking you—or anyone, for that matter—to gather information.”
Rylan tilted his head. “Why not?”
She told him pretty much everything she could. “Tyrinia Solvina wants my badge, and unless I unscrew things up, she just might get her wish.”
Lorelei’s gut churned, but Rylan seemed distracted. “The chandler,” he said, “you said he seemed confused. ‘A bit hazy,’ as you put it?”
“That’s right. Why?”
Before he could say more, someone knocked on the front door. Lorelei’s heart started racing. “Wait here.”
She picked up her poniard from her belt near the fire, took the steps down to the entryway, and opened the door. Ash and Creed were standing there only slightly dripping. Behind them was Praefectus Damika.