Chapter 9 #2
Alek flinches. “She’s dead?” His hand flicks down his front in the gesture of the divinities.
Casimir’s pine-green eyes have widened. Stavros’s broad shoulders flex as if he’s bracing for the answer.
There’s only one I can possibly give. “Yes.”
Benedikt sags against the shelves, the cockiness of his stance deflating.
Alek’s lips part, but no sound comes out. He takes a few steps backward to sink into one of the chairs around the central desk and drops his head into his hands.
Stavros works his jaw, his eyes outright blazing, his hand clenching around the grip of his sword.
But when he speaks, his voice is as coolly confident as ever.
“Those gods-damned wretches. They’ll regret every drop of her blood they spilled ten times over.
We’ll see how much they like their sorcery then. ”
“If we’d gone with her instead of letting her carry out her investigations alone…” Casimir says in a thin voice. His rosy skin has faded to a sickly pallor.
Benedikt snorts, though he still looks sick himself.
“As if any of us were ‘letting’ Jules do anything. She wouldn’t have let us expose ourselves that way.
” His pale gaze flicks to me again with sharper focus.
“Assuming the imposter is telling the truth and not spinning a lovely tale to hide her own wrongdoing.”
Alek’s head jerks up. The combined weight of four hostile stares sets my skin crawling.
I grimace at them. “Why would I have done anything to Julita? I didn’t even know her before the moment I found her.”
Stavros cocks his head, considering. His gaze flicks away and back to me. “The conspirators could have paid you off.”
“Paid you to spy on us too,” Benedikt adds, warming up to his theory. “Very clever.”
“I wouldn’t have taken a job like that,” I say. “And I haven’t told you everything yet. I came to talk to you in the first place because— This is the part that sounds insane. When I was trying to help Julita and she died, somehow or other, her soul… passed into me.”
Stavros’s eyebrows arch. Casimir blinks, peering at me more intently as if he thinks he might see a glimmer of the woman he obviously cared about through my flesh.
Benedikt barks a laugh. “Now that’s a story for the ages! We’re getting a real tall tale.”
I catch my teeth on the verge of gritting. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. How else would I have known how to find you? Do you really think Julita would have given you all away just because someone threatened her?”
Julita lets out an indignant huff. Really. They should know me better.
Alek starts to shake his head, but Stavros rakes his gaze over me. “She was made of strong stuff, but that doesn’t mean she was infallible.”
I glare at him. “Well, if I was lying, don’t you think I’d have picked a less ridiculous lie? Look, she’s with me right now. You want proof? Ask me anything only she would know, something no interrogator would possibly have thought to find out from her. It shouldn’t be hard to confirm.”
I have the impression of Julita clapping her hands together. Yes. Excellent idea. They can’t deny that.
My shoulders are starting to ache from how tightly my arms are restrained at my sides, but I hold myself still with as much patience as I can muster. The men glance at each other in silent deliberation.
Casimir has knit his brow. “Have you ever heard of a partial ghostly possession, Alek?”
Alek’s mouth slants at a pensive angle. “No. Nothing like what she’s talking about has come up in any of the records of unusual magic I’ve searched out.”
Stavros sighs. “She’s right—there’s an easy way to find out. Let’s see… Something only we would know, that has nothing to do with our investigations so it wouldn’t have come up in questioning. How’s this: What did she tell Aleksi about his mask the last time we were all together?”
That’s easy, Julita says immediately. He should get himself a silver one made. It’d set off his skin wonderfully.
That’s the kind of conversation she was having while plotting to reveal a deadly conspiracy?
My voice comes out dry. “She thought he should get a silver one.”
The men all go nearly as still as they did when Alek asked whether Julita was dead. Benedikt gives a low whistle.
Before he can speak, Stavros holds up his hand. It’s obvious he considers himself in charge of this bunch even if he isn’t rallying armies anymore.
His gaze bores into mine. “What color dress was she wearing that day?”
Interesting that he paid enough attention to what she was wearing that he’ll be able to judge the answer.
I wouldn’t have a clue what I’d had on any given day of the week if I didn’t always wear pretty much the same thing, but Julita is clearly diligent about her fashion choices.
It was the lavender purple one with silver beading on the sleeves.
Then, in a conspiratorial hush as if she thinks he might overhear her otherwise, That’s his favorite.
I meet his eyes steadily. “Lavender with silver beading on the sleeves.”
Alek pipes up in a stiff voice. “What book did she suggest Casimir should pick up?”
Honestly, how much proof do they need? The latest volume by Willam of Ockarton on musical theory.
“Willam of Ockarton’s most recent book about musical theory.” I slide my gaze over each of them in turn. “Do you really think anyone would have thought to ask her about all this before they killed her?”
“No,” Casimir says quietly. He steps closer, hesitation muting the grace of his lithe body. But as he stares at me, hope kindles in his eyes. “Jules? You’re really here?”
Oh, Cas, Julita murmurs in a tone so fond my gut knots up. All at once, I feel like an intruder in my own body. Tell him I’m sorry. I thought I’d taken every precaution…
My voice comes out rough. “She’s apologizing because she thinks she mustn’t have been careful enough.”
Benedikt has pushed off the shelves to take a better look at me. Alek’s gaze is fixed on me too, his expression a mix of awe and incredulity, as if he can’t wrap his head around the idea that the woman he appears to have adored ended up in a person like me.
Stavros takes a step back like he needs to get a wider view—or maybe he’s giving the other men room to study me. His fingers flex around the sword’s hilt, and then he shoves it into the scabbard at his waist.
“Have you tried to let her out?” he asks.
I give him a pointed look. “I didn’t even let her in. It just happened—I have no idea how. And she hasn’t tried to leave yet, as far as I know, because if her soul passes on at that point, there’ll be no way for her to communicate with you.”
Julita stirs in my head. Are they going to untie you already? You’re technically my guest—in any case, you’re doing me an immense favor. They really should show better hospitality.
My lips twitch upward of their own accord, and Alek’s eyes harden again. “Is something about this situation funny to you?”
I give a brief, humorless laugh. “Not particularly. But Julita’s concerned about your manners. She’s a little put out that you still have me tied to a chair.”
Something flashes across Stavros’s face too swiftly for me to identify, but my remark must sound like the Julita he knows. He strides forward, unsheathing his sword again, and severs the rope just below my shoulder so the whole coil falls away.
I shake the loops off and spring up from the chair, my nerves jangling with discomfort at the restraints. But I don’t move very far. This situation still feels far too volatile.
“You have to understand,” I say, before the conversation can become any more awkward, “I’m helping Julita because she made a good case, and I don’t want to see scourge sorcerers running rampant.
But there’s only so much I can do. You needed to know that they killed her, and I’ll answer any other questions you have for her.
Then I’m going to leave, and she’s going to leave—like her soul normally would have in the first place. ”
“That’s fair,” Casimir says softly, although he looks haunted himself.
Stavros clears his throat with a hint of a scoff. “You want to get back to your life. However much of a life you have if your ‘business’ happens in Slaughterwell. You’re obviously not noble-born. What’s your real name, and what exactly is your business, hmm?”
I itch to make up a story, to claim some typical fringe career. But the men have already shown they’ll go to great lengths to confirm my honesty.
If I want them to believe me enough to get through this conversation properly, I have to actually be honest.
I set my hands on my hips. “My name really is Ivy, and my business is mostly making sure I stay alive. I scavenge what I need.”
“Scavenge,” Stavros repeats sardonically. “That sounds like a polite way of saying you take what doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t seem as if this is the first time you’ve posed as someone you’re not, either. If you’re planning on taking advantage of the situation and running some other con—”
“That’s not what I’m here for,” I interrupt, getting reacquainted with the desire to stab the infuriatingly arrogant man. “If I’ve ever lifted a thing or two to get by, it was only what was necessary and from people who could afford the loss.”
I’m not going to give him a full accounting of my activities in the fringes. For all I know, he’d find my wealth redistribution tactics nearly as offensive as my magic.
As it is, a mocking edge creeps into his voice. “So you’re a thief. Of all the people to find Julita—”
“Julita was cautious,” I interrupt. “I’m sure you all know that. She wouldn’t have shared her secrets with me if she’d seen any reason to distrust my motives.”
Casimir glances at the former general. “She’s right. Does what she did before really matter? She brought Julita to us—we should be grateful.”
Alek dips his head in a jerk. “We need to find out everything she can tell us from Julita about the people who came for her.”
Stavros sighs but motions for me to go ahead.
Finally! Julita mutters.