The Maiden had not gone into the garden the previous night, nor had she been in the shadowy alcoves this morning while I trained. No doubt her late-night…adventures explained her absence. She didn’t realize I knew who she was, but I imagined she’d do her best to avoid me.
However, that would soon change—hell, it should’ve changed already.
But our plans got delayed when I received word from Jericho that she hadn’t shown in the garden just before dusk.
What had prevented her from going into the garden?
Had she been caught upon her return to the castle? I didn’t think so. Jansen hadn’t mentioned it when I saw him earlier. He would’ve heard if the Maiden had gotten herself into trouble and relayed the information to me.
I tore my attention from the ancient willow. The damn thing fascinated me. Atlantia had none of those trees that I could recall. Stars blanketed the sky as I walked the castle’s inner wall, scanning the grounds below.
Impatience made my skin as tight as hunger did. The garden was empty, and it shouldn’t be. The only signs of life were in the courtyard near the stables, where Lieutenant Smyth currently berated a group of guards for something as irrelevant as unpolished boots. As if the Craven or any other enemy would notice someone’s footwear.
My attention flicked to the white mantle draped around Commander Jansen’s shoulders. He stood with a few Royal Guards outside one of the halls. The doors were open, the bright light shining out. From the wall, I could see groups of servants huddled together. That wasn’t something I saw often. The Teermans were notoriously demanding when it came to their servants. If one wasn’t actively busy, they knew to appear as if they were.
None simply stood around. Something had occurred.
A tall, dark-haired figure strode out from the hall, dressed in all black.
My eyes narrowed as I gave the male’s pale, handsome features a once- over. I didn’t know much about this Lord, but I knew his name.
Lord Mazeen.
And he wasn’t alone.
The equally dark-haired Duchess Jacinda Teerman walked beside him, dressed in some frock of cyan blue. The Ascended was beautiful, no one could deny that, and when she smiled, she almost looked mortal. Alive.
Compassionate. She was better at faking than most. Nearly as good as their Blood Queen, but her eyes were as cold and soulless as the rest. Three Royal Guards followed them.
I came down the inner steps, keeping to the shadows of the wall as the Duchess and Lord Mazeen reached the group near the door. Jansen and the others bowed, the former’s movements stiff. I smirked, slipping behind a wide pillar on the main-level breezeway. I didn’t have to get too close to hear them.
“We’ve searched the entire grounds, Your Grace. As His Grace
requested,” Commander Jansen said as I leaned against the cool stone. “We have found no signs of a Descenter or an intruder of any type.”
They were looking for a Descenter? I knew Jericho hadn’t been spotted.
He would’ve alerted me if that were the case.
“Someone must have been here,” the Duchess said as the Lord hung back, her voice deceptively soft. “That neck didn’t break itself.”
Behind her, the Lord let out a low laugh.
“I would think not,” Jansen replied, his tone all politeness and professionalism. “But no one saw anything. We’ll question those assigned to the main floor once more, but I doubt their answers will change.”
“Descenters are as clever as they are violent, Commander Jansen. You know this.” She looked up at the Commander, her hands clasped primly at her stomach. “We could have them working among us right now, as our
guards or in our home.”
They most certainly could. They did. Though I had no idea who they spoke of, nor why a Descenter would attack who I assumed was a mortal.
Contrary to what the Ascended claimed or liked to believe, though I wasn’t aware of all their plots and ploys, they didn’t often attack others, even those close to the Ascended.
“And if any are, we will discover them,” the Commander assured her, so genuinely I almost believed him. “But I’m not sure if a Descenter is
responsible for this attack.”
“What do you mean?” the Duchess said, her brows knitting as Lieutenant Smyth crossed the yard to join them.
“Did you…?” Commander Jansen cleared his throat, appearing unwilling to ask what he needed to. What a consummate actor, he was. “Did you see the body, Your Grace? Or hear of her condition?”
“I saw her body briefly.” She tilted her head, sending curly raven hair spilling over one shoulder. “Long enough to know she is no longer of this realm.”
“There were puncture wounds on her throat,” Jansen shared. “Deep ones.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid as the Duchess feigned shock—and she was definitely faking that gasp if there were fucking bite marks on the woman’s throat. The broken neck now made sense. The woman’s blood had probably been drained, and her neck then broken to ensure she died before
she turned Craven within the castle walls.
“I’m sorry to be the one to share this news with you,” Jansen said, knowing damn well there was no way she’d missed that, no matter how briefly she’d seen the body. “A Descenter would have no reason to drain a mortal of blood.”
“No, they string bodies from trees,” Lord Mazeen spoke. “Like one of them did to Lord Preston at some point last night.”
My lips curved up in a smile. So, he was found before the sun got him.
That gave me savage satisfaction.
“But that doesn’t mean they can’t make it seem like someone else is culpable,” Lieutenant Smyth suggested, proving exactly what a fucking imbecile the man was.
“Unless someone was running around with an ice pick or another small, sharp object, I find that unlikely,” Jansen replied dryly.
Lieutenant Smyth huffed. “I’m just saying it’s not impossible.”
The Duchess stared at Jansen for long enough that wariness brewed in my chest, but her expression smoothed out. “No, it’s not, but it is unlikely. That leaves us with only one other suspect.”
Them?
“An Atlantian,” Smyth surmised—incorrect yet again.
Because outside of my ass, no other full-blooded Atlantians were roaming anywhere even close to the castle. Besides that, we could drink from mortals, and sometimes it happened during heated, passionate moments, but mortal blood provided no sustenance. It wasn’t something we sought out.
“The Dark One,” the Duchess whispered. Oh, come the fuck on.
Jansen’s expression was devoid of emotion as he said, “We will check the grounds once more, Your Grace.” He turned to Smyth. “Alert the Rise and City Guards to be on the lookout for any signs or evidence of the Dark One having arrived in Masadonia.”
Lieutenant Smyth nodded, then bowed to the Duchess and Lord before hurrying off to do just that. The man walked as fast as his knobby legs would carry him, all too eager to do the Ascended’s bidding.
All too happy to ignore the obvious and spread falsities that would inevitably lead to innocent people being accused of crimes they had taken no part in nor had any knowledge of. Because he knew exactly what the Ascended were. They didn’t hide their true natures from the upper crust of the Royal Guard. I’d learned that from my time in captivity in the capital.
After all, those within the Royal Guard usually disposed of the bodies when the Ascended drained them, leaving them to turn Craven outside the city walls.
But this was how they operated, blaming their crimes on Descenters, the Dark One, and Atlantians. They gave the people something to fear so they didn’t look too closely at them. I eyed Smyth as he climbed the Rise.
Mortals who aided in the Ascended’s deception were a unique breed of evil fuckery.
“We must make sure something like this doesn’t happen again,” the
Duchess said to Jansen, putting on an act for the other guards who flanked
the Commander. Ones who were unaware of the truth. Hopefully, she would have this same conversation with the other Ascended since one of them had ended the woman’s life. “It must be safe for the upcoming Rite. But most importantly, it must be safe for the Maiden.”
The Maiden.
I stiffened.
“Of course. She is far too important,” Jansen answered, this time speaking honestly. “Her safety is always paramount.”
Except that none of them, not even Jansen, realized how close she’d come to harm last night.
They parted ways then, Jansen turning his head slightly in my direction.
He either sensed my presence or saw me. There was just a slight upward turn of his lips before he disappeared inside Castle Teerman.
Duchess Teerman and Lord Mazeen went in the opposite direction, heading toward the gates leading to Radiant Row. Neither they nor their
guards were aware of me as they neared the spot where I remained hidden in the shadows.
I stiffened again.
My gaze fixed on the Lord and narrowed as he passed. Most Ascended had the same scent, but Lord Mazeen smelled different tonight. Beneath that stale-sweet scent they usually had was a hint of jasmine, iron, and… something else. It wasn’t the flowery smell or the faint trace of blood that I picked up from him that caused my hand to tighten around the hilt of my broadsword, and it should’ve, considering what they’d just been discussing. It was the sweeter, slightly earthy scent that caused my nostrils to flare and a low growl to rumble from my chest. He carried her scent on him.
The Maiden’s.
Soft, quick footsteps came from my left as I watched the Lord disappear into the night.
“Hawke?” came a soft voice. “Is that you?”
Dragging my focus from where I last saw the Lord, I turned to see Britta inching her way along the wall.
“I thought I was well hidden,” I answered.
“It is you,” she said, her arms folded tightly over her chest. “I saw you from up there.” She tipped her rounded chin to one of the windows on the second floor. “I thought I’d say hi.”
Tamping down my irritation, I smiled as her scent reached me. It was tart. Lemony. My gaze drifted over her willowy frame as she drew near.
How I hadn’t immediately recognized it wasn’t her last night was beyond me. It was likely due to my needing to feed. Our senses weakened when we went too long, but damn. Britta was a beauty, but she wasn’t anything like
the Maiden.
“Something happen tonight?” I asked, using the interruption to my benefit.
Several flaxen curls bounced from below the edges of her cap as she nodded. “There was a death.” One hand went to her slender throat. “A…a murder.”
“That’s what I heard.” I glanced at the gates. The Lord and Duchess were long gone. “Was it a servant?”
“No. It was Malessa Axton.” Britta lowered her voice and stepped in close enough that we nearly shared the same breaths. Considering how quietly she spoke, the latter had little to do with what she said. “She is the widow of one of the merchants and fairly close to Lady Isherwood.”
“Was she here with the Lady?”
Britta shook her head as she leaned in, her chest brushing my arm. “As far as I know, Lady Isherwood isn’t here tonight.” Her head tilted back as she looked up at me with cornflower-blue eyes. “Mrs. Axton was alone…”
The way she trailed off told me she knew more than what she was saying. But, then again, Britta always knew a lot about everything.
Except for the Maiden.
When I asked Britta about her, she had very little information to share.
That was no different than any other person, but how did the Maiden get her hands on Britta’s cloak?
I angled my body toward her, noting how her breath caught as my arm dragged across her chest. I dipped my chin, watching her lashes sweep down. “I heard a Descenter was at fault.”
“I don’t know about that.” The hand at her throat lowered. Her fingers curled around the collar of the maroon uniform the servants wore.
“Because she wasn’t alone?” I pressed.
“No.” Reaching out with her other hand, she fixed the strap of my
baldric that didn’t need fixing as she drew her lower lip between her teeth. Her lashes lifted. Little flirt. “I heard she was in one of the sitting rooms with a Lord.” Her finger lingered on the strap that crossed my chest. “The chamber she was found in. Her neck was broken.”
“And she was drained of blood?”
Her pert nose scrunched. “I hadn’t heard that. Only about her neck.” Swallowing, she drew her hand back. “Her blood was drained?”
“That’s what I heard, but I could be mistaken,” I added, not wanting to disturb her. “Do you know what Lord she was with?”
“Lord Mazeen,” she answered.
I took a breath. “I don’t know much about him.” That was all I said. I fell quiet, giving her the opportunity to elaborate.
Britta took it. “He can be…very friendly,” she said tentatively, cautiously. The servants, even her, knew better than to speak ill of the Ascended. Her throat worked on another swallow. “Some would say a little too friendly.”
I liked that he smelled of the Maiden even less. “Is this something you’ve had personal experience with?”
“I tend to make sure I’m very busy when he’s near.”
“Clever girl,” I remarked, and she gave me a grin. “Is he at the castle often?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Not any more than the others, but he is usually with the Duke. They are good friends.”
Duke Dorian Teerman.
That Ascended was part ghost. I rarely saw him.
I couldn’t outright ask Britta if Lord Mazeen was often too friendly with the Maiden. “And does he show the same…attention to others in the castle? The Duchess? Ladies or Lords in Wait…?”
“I don’t know, but he seems to have little awareness of personal space with whomever he comes into contact with,” she said, her smile strained as she gave a visible shake of her head. Pretty blue eyes met mine once more. “Will you be visiting the Red Pearl soon?”
My smile was a little more genuine. “Perhaps.”
“Good.” She stepped back, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. Good evening.”
“Good evening,” I murmured, watching her make her way back into the castle before returning my gaze to the gate, having no intention of returning to the Red Pearl anytime soon.
Or keeping an eye out for Britta.
Which made little sense. Britta was a good time, and sometimes, like tonight, her chattiness came in handy. But the idea of that kind of a good time left me…disinterested.
My gaze flicked to the garden wall, where the Maiden should’ve been tonight. Now, I knew why she was absent.
But I didn’t know why the Lord, who was likely responsible for what had happened with this Axton woman, smelled of the Maiden.
