“Oh?” Aeduan lifted his chin at that. “And the Emperor is willing to pay for it?”
“Quite well.” Yotiluzzi’s finger jabbed back into Aeduan’s face. “And I will reward you well if you can track her—”
In blur of speed, Aeduan gripped Yotiluzzi’s finger and wrenched the old man close. “I will go straight to the Emperor myself, thank you.”
Yotiluzzi’s anger vanished. His mouth bounced open. “You work for me.”
“Not anymore.” Aeduan dropped the old man’s finger—it still had grease on it from breakfast. Aeduan was hardly clean at present, yet that slimy bit of butter made him feel truly dirty.
“You can’t do that!” Yotiluzzi cried. “I own you!”
Aeduan pushed into the house. Yotiluzzi shouted after him, but Aeduan was soon out of earshot, jogging through the opulent hallways, up the two flights of stairs, and then finally into his tiny servant’s room.
All of his belongings were in a single bag—for he was a Carawen monk, prepared for everything and always ready to go.
He rifled through the sack, searching for two items: an extra stiletto and a paper with a long list of names. After stowing the stiletto in his squeaking and still-damp baldric, Aeduan examined the list. There were only a few names not struck through.
One at the bottom read, 14 Ridensa Street.
Though Aeduan already knew what his father would want—for Aeduan to join the Emperor, find the Truthwitch, and then keep the girl for his father’s growing army—it had been several weeks since Aeduan had last updated his father. Much had unfolded as of late, so Aeduan would visit this Voicewitch at 14 Ridensa Street when he found a spare moment.
Aeduan wouldn’t mention the Nomatsi girl, though. He’d been careful to keep his first life-debt hidden from his father, and he was even more determined to keep this new one a secret too. A girl with no blood-scent would only open questions.
Aeduan didn’t like questions.
Ignoring the way his wet salamander cloak rubbed, he hefted his bag onto his shoulder and without another look, he left the room he’d called home for the past two years. Then he wound his way back through Yotiluzzi’s mansion. Servants reared out of his path as he descended, and Yotiluzzi still bellowed from his library.
As Aeduan walked onward, he was pleased to find he’d left a trail of muddy boot-prints throughout the house.
Sometimes justice was all about the small victories.
* * *
When Aeduan arrived at the Doge’s palace some half-chime after leaving Yotiluzzi’s home and bathing in a public bathhouse (thank the Wells his old scars had stopped bleeding by then), he was shocked to find that the gardens in which he’d faced the unexpected battalion were now nothing but charred plants and wind-carried ash.
He shouldn’t have been surprised; there had been a raging fire when he’d left.
Dalmotti guards and soldiers crawled everywhere, and none paid attention to Aeduan. When he reached the entrance hall he’d fought through the night before—which was now exposed wall beams and smoldering embers—one guard did step into Aeduan’s path, though.
“Stop,” the man ordered. He bared his teeth, stained with soot. “No one in or out, Voidwitch.”
Clearly this man recognized Aeduan. Good. He would be all the more easily frightened.
Aeduan sniffed the air, knowing his eyes swirled red as he did so, and latched on to the man’s blood-scent. Salty kitchens and baby’s breath. A family man—too bad. That made him off-limits for violence.
“You will let me in.” Aeduan lifted a single eyebrow. “Then you will escort me to the Doge’s office.”
“Oh, will I?” the man scoffed, but there was an undeniable wobble in his throat.
“Yes, for I am the only person on this continent who can find the girl named Safiya. And because I know who kidnapped her. Now, move.” Aeduan jerked his chin toward the hall. “Tell your superiors I am here.”
As Aeduan knew would happen, the guard hurried off. After several minutes of waiting (and staying occupied with a running count of the men around him), the guard returned with the message that yes, Aeduan could be escorted in immediately.
Aeduan followed the family-man/guard, his attention on the damage from the night before. At least half the palace was completely burned through. The gardens were even worse. Any plants that still lived were coated in ash.
When Aeduan finally reached the Doge’s private chamber, after being scrutinized by twelve sets of guards—one for each nation present in the room, it would seem—he found a safe-haven upheaved. The room of lush red carpets, ceiling-high shelves, and glittering crystal lamps was clearly the Doge’s personal space, yet now it was invaded by people of all ages, classes, and colors—while soldiers in all manner of uniform marched about.
The nut-skinned Illryans cowered beside the door, clearly wishing they could get back to their mountains in the south. The wispy Svodes clumped near the window, their gazes aimed north, and the Balmans passed around what looked to be a wine jug. Lusquans, Kritians, Portollans—each nation clung together.
Yet notably absent were the Marstoks. In Aeduan’s quick scan, he saw no sign of Empress Vaness or her Sultanate.
Nor did he see the Nubrevnans.
Soon Aeduan had found the Emperor of Cartorra, pacing beside a long desk, his arms flying in all directions and his shouts rattling the crystal. The Dalmotti Doge, stuck on the receiving end of Henrick’s bellows, sat stiff and twitchy behind his desk.