The Noble and the Nightingale, page 5
She tossed them in all directions as Juno screamed from the hall.
“Juno?” She hurried around her desk, kicking one of the legs in the process. With a curse, she half spun and grabbed for the doorjamb. Juno ran into her, and they had to embrace to keep from toppling.
“What is it?” Adella asked, keeping hold of her, her own heart picking up speed.
“Ser…serrah…” Spittle flecked Juno’s lips, and her eyes were so wide, the dark irises seemed lost in the white. Adella smoothed a few strands of hair off her cheek, but Juno panted with harsh little breaths, eyes straying to Dolores’s open door. Adella let go and stepped in that direction.
“No,” Juno said in a shrill whisper. “No, serrah, no, no!” But she backed into Adella’s office, her hands up as to ward off devils.
Adella’s heart now thundered in her ears, but she made herself keep going. If there was something dangerous in there, it would have come out already.
Or so she told herself. She walked slowly, ignoring questions from down the hall where others had come out to see the fuss.
Adella stopped in the doorway, finding nothing amiss in the chairs, the desk, the window. Dolores’s messages crinkled underfoot before giving way to the rug. Adella took a deep breath and stepped farther in. If this turned out to be about a spider or something, she would give Juno such a dressing down that—
A pale arm extended along the floor from behind the desk, the fingers curled against the rug as if pulling toward the window.
Adella couldn’t breathe, tried to speak, but her mouth had turned to sand. Still, she made herself take those last few steps. As an orphaned teenager, she’d had to investigate many a scary sight or sound for her sisters’ sake. She could do this, too.
“Dolores?” she whispered, but she knew she wouldn’t get a response. She leaned over the desk. Dolores lay prone, her head turned to the side, pale eyes and mouth open and shocked. Her other arm was folded beneath her, a hint of her hand showing just where the blue and cream carpet bore a ghastly scarlet stain.
The world tilted sideways. Adella staggered back, swallowing her rising bile. Voices came from the hall. Concerned faces swam in and out of focus in the door. Adella had to get away, to run and hide as she’d always wanted to when she’d patrolled the house for burglars or ghosts. She stepped toward the door and grasped the jamb, ready to push past the gawkers and bolt.
Juno’s bleak face peered at her from the back of the crowd. Tears glistened on her cheeks. That wasn’t right. If she wanted to rise through the ranks in government, she had to learn to conquer her emotions.
Dolores had said that many a time.
And the best way to teach was by example.
Adella took a deep breath. First lesson: one must create the space one needed, if only in one’s mind. She held up a hand to halt the questions and took another breath. “Fetch the sentinels. Dolores Vega is dead.” When they stared, she drew herself up and did her best to incorporate the authority of her office into her stare. “I do believe I just said that the ambassador to the Firellian Empire is dead. Fetch the sentinels.”
A few people hurried off. Second lesson: each task had to be seen as nothing more than a series of steps. That was one step down. Now for the next.
Adella held the door against prying eyes and intruding feet. It wasn’t enough that Dolores was dead. The blood might mean she hadn’t died a natural death. An accident? How? Falling on her damned letter opener? She’d never been clumsy, and she wouldn’t take her own life. That meant…
Gods and devils, a murderer in the Bastión.
For all her thoughts about suppressing her emotions and despite the faith shining in Juno’s eyes, Adella would have fallen if the doorjamb hadn’t been holding her up.
✥ ✥ ✥
When Bridget saw the square was more crowded than usual, she cursed, thinking she was missing one of Sarras’s many festival days. She would have been here early if she’d known. She already planned to be at the square at dawn and long past dusk on the oligarch’s shared birthday celebration a few weeks from now. A musician could make a bundle from the throngs of partiers and their alcohol-inspired generosity.
But no one was laughing or carousing today. Everyone clustered in little groups, speaking in low voices and casting nervous glances at passersby. Bridget crossed to where some of her fellow nightingales stood together. They weren’t even bothering to play for the nervy crowd.
“There you are,” Videl said, breaking out of the group. She’d been up and away before Bridget had even awoken. “Did you just get here?”
“I had a late night. What’s up?”
“I had a damned late night, too, and I wasn’t the last person to hear there’s been a murder in the Bastión.”
Tightness seized Bridget’s chest. Adella? What were the odds? No, no it couldn’t be. Could it? What if Firellian hunters had found Bridget, had seen her with Adella, and then—
Baxter would have said, “Get ahold of yourself. Use your head for more than a hat rack.”
She took a deep breath. “Who?”
“I heard it was someone important,” Videl said.
“One of the nobles,” another singer said as the group shifted. Bridget couldn’t remember her name.
And her heart wouldn’t stop pounding for her to try to remember. “Which one?”
“I heard it was an oligarch,” the singer said as she twisted the blond braid that lay over her shoulder.
“Don’t be stupid,” Videl snapped. “The sentinels wouldn’t leave everyone standing out here if an oligarch had been killed.”
“Oh yeah?” Tomas, one of the tambourine players, crossed his arms and lifted one dark eyebrow. “What would they do instead?”
Videl blinked her pretty blue eyes, then shrugged. “Round people up or something.”
Tomas snorted, and he and the others fell to quiet bickering about assumed procedures in the case of murdered leaders.
Bridget nearly yelled at them to shut up. “Does anyone know any actual facts?” she asked loudly.
“Why do you care so much?” Tomas asked.
“Oh gods.” Videl gasped. “You brought a noble to the Donkey last night.”
The group scrutinized her anew. “Did you…kill her?” the singer asked, then turned bright red when Bridget glared.
“Sure,” Tomas said with a smirk. “Bridget took a noble to a dive bar in a dark, crowded part of town, then afterward, sneaked with her into the heavily guarded, well-lit Bastión to murder her.”
Bridget was glad she hadn’t had to say it. But relief bloomed in her from Tomas’s words. “Did anyone say when it happened?”
“Last night,” Videl said. “Or so one of the cleaners said. They found the body this morning.”
The ice around Bridget’s heart began to melt. Adella had been with her most of last night. But by the devils, what if she’d decided to go back to work instead of home?
“I’m sure it wasn’t her,” Videl said softly. “She looked much too smart to…” She paused, no doubt sensing the lack of sense in her words. For once.
“Look,” Tomas said, nodding toward the Bastión. A ripple went through the square as everyone turned.
A group of people in the crisp, dark blue uniform of sentinels came down the wide steps of the imposing hulk of a building. They surrounded a few others dressed in the scarlet livery of the oligarchs’ staff. Those carried a cloth-covered stretcher between them.
Bridget’s chest tightened again. What if that was her? They hadn’t known each other well, but that made it worse. It meant that a wealth of possibilities had died along with a light as bright as Adella.
Another figure followed the stretcher, this one in the black and gold robes and elaborate headdress of the mages’ guild. The mage turned halfway down the steps and held out a hand, beckoning someone forward.
Another person stepped from the shadows of the columns.
Adella.
Bridget breathed out slowly. She started walking in that direction as Baxter said, “You won’t make it. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”
But Adella looked so small and pale, as if she’d suffered a shock while wearing her mother’s clothes. And Bridget could help, if only with a comforting hand, and they’d kissed and promised to see each other again, and—
“Hold it,” a stern voice said.
Bridget blinked at a humorless looking fellow in the pale gray uniform of the city constabulary. A ring of them separated a crowd of nobles at the feet of the stairs from the regular riffraff gathered behind them.
“I need to get through,” Bridget said.
The constable nodded at her mandolin case. “Got an important concert in the halls of government today?”
“No, I…” She forced herself to be calm, to look relaxed. The more composed she seemed, the easier it would be to get what she wanted. She took in the constable’s smirk and the slightly cruel gleam in his blue eyes. He wouldn’t be motivated by pity, and there were too many other constables nearby, including a grouchy-looking sergeant, to offer him a bribe.
Time to find another way.
Bridget shrugged. “There’s a noble in the crowd there who might want to…have me nearby in this time of crisis. That’s all.” She kept her eyes half-lidded and wet her lips.
The constable snorted. “A nose-in-the-air rich piece having some scruffy nightingale like you on the side? Don’t make me laugh.”
His language was a little coarse. That was good. She could be crude, too. She leaned closer and gave what Baxter called her best smolder. “I could do more than make you laugh, thief catcher, were I so inclined. My noble doesn’t keep me around for my music.” She smiled slowly. “And she’s had me on more than just one side.”
His ears went a little pink, and his lips parted, his entire posture saying he’d love any smutty details if nothing else.
Bridget glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening before she offered those details, but she really wanted to make sure the sergeant was watching. Oh yes, that hatchet face had turned in her direction, and its expression said he ate dereliction of duty for breakfast.
Perfect.
“Which noble?” Bridget’s constable asked breathlessly.
“I can’t give you a name,” she said teasingly. “How about a list of birthmarks and favorite positions?” She eased to the side, forcing the constable to look away from the sergeant. Staying a little low, she leaned in as if to whisper in his ear.
“Durango!” the sergeant bellowed on cue.
The constable turned, belting out a squeaky, “Yes, serrah!”
Bridget eased behind him at the same time and into the crowd on the other side. She stepped through in a sliding method Baxter had called a slither, where the spy tapped arms or shoulders, causing their target to turn one way while slithering past the opposite side. It worked well, and within moments, she was near the front of the crowd. The stretcher had been loaded into a hearse, and two sentinels took their places on the back while two others sat behind the horses. A few more had turned to where Adella was still speaking to the mage.
Bridget paused. The sentinels wouldn’t even bother to engage her in conversation. They’d just clap her in irons if she tried to get past. She kept her gaze locked on Adella and held back the urge to wave, silently pleading for her to turn, turn, turn—
She finally did, and her face seemed to light up when Bridget caught her eye. Bridget couldn’t keep from beaming as Adella gestured her forward. She passed the sentinels with an ease she never would have accomplished on her own.
She had a thousand questions for Adella but restrained herself to, “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Well, no.” She sighed and mashed her lips together until they went white. “Sort of. I’m happy to see you.” She squeezed Bridget’s arm and smiled. The mage cleared her throat, and Adella’s smile turned a little wry. “Bridget, allow me to introduce my sister Gisele.”
Bridget turned to a young woman with the same friendly face as Adella. She smiled from under a headdress that made it look as if she had two twigs sticking straight out of her hair, except the twigs were made of gold and had jeweled ornaments hanging off the ends. The chain that hung across her forehead had little gems dangling from it, too. Those were something like trophies, if Bridget remembered right, and Gisele had quite a few for being so young. Bridget bowed, but any charming words died in her throat as one memory in particular assailed her. The central ornament of Gisele’s headdress had two small gold sections, the lower one only awarded to spy hunters.
Chapter Five
The entire morning had become a chaotic whirl in Adella’s mind, a parade of faces, many of whom she couldn’t remember. Dolores’s staring eyes had kept popping into her mind behind those faces, making her flinch.
Now she was standing on the steps of the Bastión, breathing deeply in the fresh air, and it had helped clear her mind a little, just as Gisele’s presence did.
And then Bridget had appeared like a calming wind. She’d smiled comfortingly when she’d first shown up, but now she stood rather stiffly, no doubt uneasy under Gisele’s scrutiny or from standing in the eyes of a crowd when she wasn’t performing.
At the realization that they were currently being observed by much of the city, Adella let go of Bridget’s hand. When Bridget glanced over, Adella whispered, “I’m not embarrassed. I just don’t want to share you with a bunch of nosy busybodies.” And the nobles who also worked for the government were even busier at being nosy than most.
Bridget gave her a tight smile, but it seemed as if she understood.
“What now?” Adella asked Gisele. “Are you going with…” She couldn’t bring herself to say, “the body.” “Her?” She nodded toward the hearse.
“Now that I’ve finished with the room, yes. I just wanted to dawdle as long as I could to avoid taking the rest of these wretched steps.” To most, it had probably appeared as if moving around the room was all she’d done, her investigative powers being mental and affecting her senses. Adella knew better. The magic she’d used in the office had taxed her, and she’d done a lot of kneeling besides. Gisele had been reading the auras of those who’d recently visited Dolores. Everyone left a colorful trail wherever they went, but only mages could see it. Gisele had matched the auras of Adella, Juno, the cleaners, and an abundant remainder that were probably from Cristoff. She’d found no others, but she’d also said that a good mage could disguise someone’s aura.
“Doesn’t matter,” she’d said, nodding to Adella. “I’ll sniff them out, fear not.”
Adella squeezed her arm again now, as proud as she was worried. “Thanks, baby sis.”
Gisele made a little growling noise, a warning to not get too sappy, or she’d do something embarrassing.
Adella sighed, well-acquainted with that noise.
And the sort of things that came after it.
Still, Gisele gave her a sympathetic look. “You’ll be all right? Going home?”
“Gods, no. I’m now the ambassador to the Firellian Empire, lucky me.” She sighed, feeling anything but fortunate. “There’s a lot to do.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be aces. You always are.” Gisele winked, then glanced Bridget’s way. “Now that you have plenty of help, you’ll be even better.”
Adella felt too tired to be embarrassed, but her cheeks warmed anyway. “Go earn your keep, charlatan.”
Gisele grinned as she started down the stairs. “Love you.”
“And you. Mind your feet.”
Gisele barked a laugh but made it downstairs unaided until she reached the carriage that waited behind the hearse. She let a sentinel hand her inside, the only assistance she usually allowed. Adella was glad the mages’ guild had their own carriages so Gisele didn’t have to walk the city in pain.
She touched Bridget’s hand again. “Would you like to come in?”
Bridget seemed to start out of a dream. “Do you want me to?”
It was at the front of Adella’s mind to say no, to point out that Bridget surely had more important things to do than comfort her. She didn’t want to be needy, but gods and devils, she was also too old to pretend she didn’t want help. “Yes, please.”
“Let’s go.” Bridget’s smile was warm, and she proved adept at steering them through curious crowds, politely repeating that the ambassador had important business, and if anyone needed to converse with her, they would have to make an appointment.
The excuses seemed to confuse everyone, stopping the nosy spectators in their tracks. Adella clung to Bridget’s arm, and they soon made it back to her office with only a little fuss. She shut the door on the world and leaned against it. When Bridget offered the further safety of her arms, Adella took a step forward, but a sniffle from the corner made her turn.
Someone was on the floor. Adella’s heart leaped into her throat again, and she began to back away. “Who—”
“Serrah?” Juno stepped into the light of the candelabra on the desk.
Adella took a deep breath as her heart settled again. It wasn’t another body. Everything was all right. “Juno, what were you doing on the floor?”
Juno nearly leaped into her arms. “I’m sorry, serrah. I’ve been hiding like a coward. I kept bursting into tears when the sentinels questioned me. They think it was Cristoff that…” She mashed her lips together and pulled on a strand of hair that had escaped her crown-like braid.
Adella nodded. She’d also considered Cristoff as the murderer, but she didn’t want to say so now. Juno and Cristoff were friends, perhaps more, and she clearly didn’t consider him a killer. But if he was innocent, what had become of him?
In addition to her untidy hair, Juno’s face nearly shone with tears and was red and puffy even in the meager light. She had a handkerchief balled in one hand and couldn’t seem to stop sniffling.
Adella’s heart went out to her. “You’re in no state to be here, Juno. Go home.”
“No, serrah, I can’t leave you alone.” She cast a hopeful glance at Bridget, though.
“I’m not alone, as you can see. Go straight home. And try not to worry about Cristoff. The authorities will find him.” What they might do with him depended on what he had done. She took Juno’s chin in hand. “If he contacts you, come straight to me. I’ll help him.” Help him speak to the sentinels, but she didn’t point that out, either.
