Page 144 of Turncloak

59

• • • •

Two Dead Scarlets

The minutes Nissa spent sneaking back into Etherstone Apothecary were the longest of Auria’s life.

What if the dragonborn was caught, captured, killed?

It would be Auria’s fault. She should’ve been the one to creep through the alley entrance, and yet she knew that if it came down to the heat of the moment, Nissa would be able to defend herself, to do what needed to be done—to take two red lives and save one blue.

Auria would falter under fire. She was many things, but she was not brave.

I’m in the wrong job, she thought miserably, searching the street for a good vantage point. Maybe I’ll resign. Go back to the courts, to prosecution.

The prospect gave her a sense of relief, but also preemptive regret. She couldn’t bear to hang up the silver without any meaningful busts under her belt, to admit that her mothers were right, and she was too sensitive for this work.

She was settling into position behind a chimney on a rooftop across the street from the apothecary when her wand tip cracked.

“Et vocos, Auria Marriosan.” Nissa’s voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible.

“Here,” Auria replied, matching the volume, establishing contact.

The sound inside the shop was distant, tinny, a little crackled and weak, but a male voice was in the middle of talking.

There was only one man inside that apothecary: Filan Ferrow.

Auria had been right to suspect him.

“—need to keep the Apoth alive, otherwise the boy will never return.”

Auria’s cantering heartbeat steadied. Ila was safe for now—providing her grandson stayed in line.

“What of…the two Blood…?” came a female voice, even more distant, and Auria had to strain to pick out each word. Many syllables dropped out of earshot entirely. Ferrow must have been talking to her through his own wand, and the sound was hard to parse through all the degrees of separation.

“Both dead,” Ferrow said gruffly. “What shall I do with the bodies?”

“Skewer…and eat…like kebabs, for all I care. Ask the Apo…where…her grandson.”

Who was this woman?

The Whitewing leader? The elusive figure sequestered in the drophouse?

Ferrow grunted at his captive, “You say Relar is north with the scarlets. Where?”

Apoth Zamorin made a whimpering noise. “They went to Bellandry on foot from Lunes. Got stuck in Almere for a few days—last I heard they were in Flarence. Please, don’t hurt him, he—”

“Enough,” Ferrow snapped. Then, dropping his tone in deference to the woman on the other end of the wand line, “What’s your order?”

“Not worth…hassle of pursuing to Bellandry. Thanks to…mishap in Hamren, there’s a warrant…arrest. The second you enter a portari gate, the Vergard will…on your tail. Better to wait for…scarlets in Lunes, assuming…cross back over the border on foot.”

“Understood. I’ll make my way there and—”

“No. Stay with the Apoth. If we kill…boy has no reason to return. I’ll go to Lunes myself.”

The line to the leader went dead.

A few moments later, the sound on the end of Nissa’s wand changed subtly from the echoey quiet of a storeroom to the birdsong in the alley behind the apothecary.