Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Desmond
Desmond eagerly volunteered to keep tabs on Falliare that night.
Not that Emmeline could, given that her presence was required at the evening event for the tournament—a fact they were all very disgruntled by considering there’d been a murder today.
Valyn City Guard didn’t seem nearly concerned enough.
Myrella was consumed with deciphering more about the Endasi scroll, and Fates knew Roremar wasn’t getting out of the barracks tonight even though he was cleared of charges. Lola was heading there after Rocarri’s event to keep him company and had promised to take a guard with her.
Desmond, though, would go stir crazy in that tiny room he and Myrella were renting. His magic was restless in this city, and all his thoughts were trained in one direction.
Instead of giving in, he crept after the Temple Master in the slums of the Twelfth District. Among the alleys crawling with mangy animals and people in worse shape, Aldryn Falliare’s prim appearance stood out. He didn’t even bother to hide it.
Desmond scoffed to himself as he followed Falliare past a row of brothels and various dens, shattered glass and the crumbled butts of rolled herbs crunching beneath his boots. He peered into a window at the end of the street, trying not to make it too obvious whom he was stalking.
This one was a tattoo shop with a large crack in the center of the glass. Despite the exterior, there was a crowd inside. All of whom appeared high out of their minds, smoke crowding the low ceilings.
A cart rattled past, stopping to unload some cheap imports at the back door of an apothecary. Desmond shuddered to think what drugs might be laced in those shipments, especially after what they’d seen on Lyra.
Falliare didn’t stop at any of those establishments, though.
He kept on walking to the vineyards sloping down and away from the city, many of the vines bare and untended. Desmond did his best to keep a few rows away without losing the Temple Master, exceptionally wary of being caught.
Shouts echoed from deeper within the vines, but not the kind of a warrior being sacrificed. These were all innocent, frolicking through rows of grapes after a night of drinking, smoking, or fucking.
Fates, he hoped there wasn’t anyone fucking in the vineyard. He didn’t need to see that right now.
Desmond walked behind Falliare for so long, he was almost wondering if their suspicion had been wrong and the Temple Master was wandering aimlessly.
Then he smelled the blood.
He would’ve rather found someone fucking.
Desmond pulled to a stop, nearly gagging over the overwhelming scent.
He pulled his tunic up over his nose to get a breath of cleaner air, counting to three.
Then, crouching low, he snuck in the direction Falliare had gone, stopping when he could see the scene through the gaps in the vines and hear their voices.
“Closer this time,” whoever Falliare was meeting said. Desmond didn’t recognize his voice, but he didn’t know many people in this city.
“What was the error now?” Falliare asked.
“Hard to know for sure,” a different voice answered. This one was a smooth rumble. The kind that brokered power. “The stars were brighter between these two. They were certainly in place, but perhaps not in primal positions.”
“Neither went mad this time?” Falliare mused.
The same cloaked form answered, “No. I think I have fixed that problem. We needed to adjust some coordinates and the angles of the bodies.”
Nothing they said made a lick of sense to Desmond, but he memorized it all. Shifting the vines aside slowly to create a small window, he took in the scene.
And he was nearly sick.
They’d managed to kill both victims this time, unlike the attempt in the sanctuary. Three cloaked figures stood over the corpses, but he couldn’t be sure if any of them were the same as last time. His mind had been pretty wrecked with how strong the Aevollon incense was.
The three of them and Falliare studied the bodies, faded clouds of incense dispersing into the air above.
Blood covered the earth in the small clearing, and the forms were both topless, symbols etched into their chests once again.
These were slightly more detailed than the last—or maybe his head was clearer—but still, it was difficult to tell what it was supposed to be.
On the woman, a set of jagged lines had been carved on her sternum. On the man, a symbol that almost resembled an arrow.
And neither were tattooed as the twelve-pointed stars on Lyra had been. These were brutally carved.
Whatever this was attempting to do, it clearly hadn’t worked again.
Was it connected to Dryvius? Maybe Emmeline was right and Falliare was the one responsible for the recent murder.
He had all the evidence at hand. If he learned what Dryvius was after, perhaps he wanted to take it for himself.
Maybe these rituals were trying to find the missing piece from Dryvius’s.
That still didn’t explain the substance coating Roremar’s ring or what Falliare bought at the sanctuary on the docks. Regardless, at least they had one answer from Desmond’s excursion tonight: the second attempt wasn’t successful, but they were getting closer.
“You have two more for tonight?” Falliare asked.
The cloaked forms nodded. “Already dead, but we can try. It may still work.”
“Bring them.”
Desmond didn’t stay to watch.