VIII

“Sir Cedryk,” Dantera said. “Put two of your men on the trail of the invitation letter.

“Yes, my lady.”

“I also want the south stair entry guarded by no less than four of your men. And no one splits off from the others. Going in groups of twos is no longer effaceable.”

He nodded.

After exhaustively explaining the situation leading up to Cypia’s death, Yoreno wasn’t certain what to even do now. He had just beeb knighted tonight. He was an adventurer, not a City Watch investigator like some of the other men in the room.

“We can track this killer,” one of them suggested.

“I’m already on that quest,” Yorinius interrupted as he entered the room.

“Yorinius!” Dantera said. “Where have you been?”

“I was in the ballroom,” he said. He glanced toward Yoreno, then back to Dantera. “I was speaking with Sorika Cranelia.”

Yoreno frowned. “Why?”

“I had her give me her potions.”

“Owl Eye?” Yoreno asked as he lurched from his chair.

Yorinius looked at him for a moment. “Yes.”

He opened his hand. There were two of the vials of the golden liquid there. “I’m no tracker he said. “But even I know we need a piece of that killer, some blood, a strand of hair or a scrap of clothing.”

“Do we have anything?” Dantera asked.

“Nothing,” Yoreno said, his spirits dimming.

“Dammit!” Dantera hissed through her teeth.

Something came to Yoreno, then. “It doesn’t make sense,” he ventured.

“What doesn’t?”

The question came from Emiro Sheir, lead inspector of the City Watch. The man had an ominous look to him, almost birdlike, his beady eyes framed by spectacles with silver wires.

Yoreno looked at him. “If the killer wanted to disrupt the festival, then why hasn’t he?”

“Has he not tried?” Yorinius asked.

“It would seem like it,” Yoreno said. “But why not lob a destructive spell into the ballroom? Why not rush through the crowd and indiscriminately attack people? There are more effective ways to end this festival than slowly picking castle guards off.”

“Perhaps he does not wish to be caught?” the inspector supplied.

Yoreno shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re giving this killer too much benefit of the doubt. I saw him. Twice! The second time he could have easily killed me. It’s like he wanted me to tell the tale of what had happened. He’s playing with us.”

Dantera smiled. “You are very right, Yoreno. I think that this man has a particular hatred of Aevalin—perhaps knights in particular. I am proud of you.”

“I don’t feel you should be.”

“We all fail,” she said. “All of us. No matter how strong or capable we are. Cypia died as an adventurer and you should not blame yourself.”

Yoreno nodded as his eyes inadvertently found the carpet.

“So,” Yorinius said, pacing through the room. “We go back to our original assertion?”

“That this killer,” the inspector said, “is after a specific target. The king, perhaps?”

“Yes,” Dantera said.

“But he knows of the situation,” Yoreno said. “His Majesty is swarming with King’s Guard. Getting close enough would be difficult and if he even managed it, striking the king would be a death sentence.”

“He didn’t seem afraid of death, did he?” Dantera asked.

“No,” Yoreno said, shaking his head. “No, he almost seemed like he was enjoying himself.”

“Is he a man or a beast?” Yorinius asked.

“He’s a man,” Yoreno said. “I’m certain of it now.”

“How?” Dantera asked.

“I just am. He’s a man. A sadistic, cultist, a—“

“A cultist?” Dantera interrupted with a graveness in her tone. “Why did you call him that?!”

“I… I don’t know,” he said. “I’m just using whatever epithets come to me.”

“Exactly!” she said. “Could this man by a Schuarist?”

“Oh please,” inspector Sheir said. “The Grand Bastard has been dead nigh on eight-hundred years now. There are no Schuarists left.”

Dantera rounded on the inspector. “Then it would please you to know we fought a group of cultists on the Isle of Morr calling themselves Schuarists. We have the confession of a prisoner we took.”

“So a group of dark mages thought it novel to call themselves by that group,” he protested. “That does not them make Schuarists!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yorinius said. “The facts are that we recently ran into cultists, and now we’ve run into this killer.”

The inspector crossed his arms. “I don’t see the correlation.”

“Perhaps there isn’t one,” Yoreno said. “We don’t know. We can’t know now. It was just an idea. But we should keep our minds open.”

The inspector made a sound of disagreement, of disdain. But the matter was then dropped. Yoreno was correct—it didn’t matter now, and perhaps Dantera saw that, despite her belief that the Schuarists were indeed operating out in the wilds of the world.

Even after seven-hundred years.

They were never going to catch this killer, he thought. Even now, they had no idea who he was, where he was. He could have been in the very room, listening to their every word even now.

“Yorinius,” Yoreno said.

“Yes?”

“I need to speak with you.”

“Say what you have to say.”

“In private.”

“No,” Dantera said. “No one splits up.”

He looked at Dantera then, his anger and frustration rising. “I said in private.”

Regarding Yoreno for the longest time, she finally nodded without a single word. Yorinius, clearly seeing her acquiesce, said nothing.

Yoreno turned around and trailed out of the room—out of their makeshift headquarters where they had lain out a large map of the castle over the table.

Once they were alone, Yorinius asked Yoreno what was so pressing that they should be alone.

“I’m taking a risk,” Yoreno said. “But it’s onc I feel I must take.”

“What risk?”

“The risk that you might be the killer.”

Yorinius looked at him with astonishment, his eyes widening. Then he said, “Tell me your plan.”