Page 143 of Turncloak

“No, Marriosan.” Auria’s surname sounded like a whip-crack from Nissa’s forked tongue. “Not everything out of my mouth is a personal attack. We followed the rules. You worship at the altar of rules. Surely that brings you some comfort.”

“Well, it doesn’t,” Auria retorted, disturbed to find that it was true. “And I’m surprised that you, the great bender of rules, were content to simply walk away.”

Nissa rested the back of her head against the wall, tilting her face toward the sun and closing her eyes. The kohl on her eyelids was smudged from a long night. “If I’d been working alone, I would’ve killed the Bloodmoons. Claimed self-defense. But you were there, and I didn’t want you to have to lie to cover my back again.”

Auria stared at her colleague, processing the audacity. It went against the oaths they swore both upon entering the Silvercloak Academy and graduating from it. “You would’ve killed them?”

A shrug, almost petulant. “Better them dead than the Apoth.”

Auria physically recoiled. Such a statement was both unlawful and wrong.

Wasn’t it?

From nowhere, her mother Lulí’s voice drifted through her mind.

It is believed that only those of great honor, those whose goodness runs all the way to the bone, are made dragonborn.

Perhaps the dragons had a different moral code. Perhaps they served a greater good, not a rigid set of rules. Perhaps they recognized that ruthlessness, that savagery, that willingness to sacrifice and avenge, in Nissa.

A small part of Auria—a very, very small part—thought that maybe her dragonblooded colleague had a point. If Auria had to decide whom she’d rather perish in the next quarter hour, it would not be the innocent Apoth. And yet her choices, her fervent belief in the law, would likely lead to a different outcome.

She found herself openly crying, legs shaking so violently she was moments from crumpling. “I once overheard my mother worrying that I was ‘too sensitive to be a detective.’ I think maybe she was right.”

Nissa saw the second Auria fell and caught her.

Muscled bronze arms steadied Auria, and she folded into the goldeneyed mage she had once despised. Auria’s face pressed against the ridge of Nissa’s shoulder—she was a few inches taller than the Eqoran—and she wept over the lapel of Nissa’s cloak, their torsos pressed together, Nissa’s heartbeat remarkably steady compared to the frantic cantering of Auria’s.

“I think your sensitivity is what makes you a great detective,” Nissa murmured into Auria’s hair, not exactly cradling her, but just…holding her. Steadying her body, her spirit. There was no softness in her tone; she spoke matter-of-factly, as though reporting a plain truth. “If every detective were like you, this city would be a far better place.”

Some small, childlike wound in Auria smoothed over at the words. They stood like that for a few moments, and it did not feel strange or unnatural. Just warm, safe. Anchoring. Eventually Auria’s sobbing slowed, her legs grew more solid, the pressing nature of the situation re-dawning on her.

“Why do you smell so good, by the way?” Nissa muttered, as though irritated that this were the case.

The shock of the question wrenched loose a laugh, of all things. Auria pulled away, sniffing and wiping her slick cheeks and nose on her cloak sleeve. “I love perfume—my preferred form of pleasure. I wear a new scent every day to keep them fresh, potent enough to fill my well. Last night I chose varouli and fyrr from a perfumier in Marayat.”

Nissa smiled, and it was slightly unsettling, like seeing an alleycat tap dance. “Reminds me of home.” She cleared her throat a little awkwardly. “Anyway, if the Apoth is killed…it will be a terrible, terrible thing.” She took a deep, tormented drag on the joint, which she’d somehow kept lit during their embrace. “But your detective’s instincts were right to leave the bracelet. Her death will be evidence, whether against Filan Ferrow of the Whitewings or the two Bloodmoons. It might finally secure some arrests, give you grounds to raid the drophouse on Fallow Grange.”

“I know,” Auria replied miserably. “But people’s lives are worth more than evidence.”

Nissa sighed. “You don’t want to leave, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

Nissa dropped her achullah to the cobbles and snuffed it out with the heel of her boot. Auria couldn’t even bring herself to lecture about littering. “I spotted a back entrance I could slip through without alerting them to my presence—if you want me to see what’s going on. To step in if they move to hurt Apoth Zamorin.”

Auria blinked at her in astonishment. “You’re deferring to me on this?”

“The Whitewings were your case before they were mine. I’m following your lead.”

“But it’s not just the Whitewings, is it? It’s the Bloodmoons too. They both have the Zamorins in their fists. And we’ve been ordered not to work the Bloodmoons. The lawful thing to do would be obey that command. To simply listen and gather evidence against the Whitewings. Hand it over to our superiors who have the authority to act.”

Nissa shrugged. “Your call.”

Judge Nercan’s words echoed in Auria’s mind; his acknowledgment, even as a highly esteemed honorary of the court, that sometimes lawful and right do not overlap. His argument in favor of the latter.

She thought, once more, of the old woman’s hazel eyes, and of her grandfather.

Auria nodded once, resolute. “Go. I’ll watch the front. And if either the Whitewings or the Bloodmoons attempt to harm the Apoth—do what you must.”