She was probably no more than five feet in stature, but what she lacked in height she made up for in attitude.
“Kaius,” she greeted me, pursing her lips at my presence. “He is waiting for you in the study.”
“Thank you.” I stepped around her, laying a single kiss on her head.
“You look good, Kaius,” her voice called to me.
I turned to look at her over my shoulder. She had a devious smirk on her face.
“Does it have to do with that new stray Astoria dragged into your world?”
“Nolan needs to learn when to shut his mouth,” I groaned, running one hand over my chin.
Maia chuckled. “Don’t be too hard on him. I am very persuasive.”
“And we all know it.” I shook my head once before heading to the back of the house, where Alaric’s study was located. My steps sounded against the marble flooring, each one reminding me I didn’t belong in this house of horrors.
The corridors of the old house were like a time capsule of the Knights’ history. Photographs of the early days, my father’s bright smile shining through the glass as he stood with Alaric, one arm slung over his shoulder in a brotherly way. Before the power got to their head and they were just a band of misfits who wanted to rule the world. Before the greed, power, and money got to their heads.
I stepped through the study’s open door, where Alaric Camberly was waiting for my arrival. The room was large, with shelves so tall they needed a rolling ladder to reach the top. The air smelled of leather, cigar smoke, and something sharper, almost medical—crushed herbs and the faint tang of arsenic. Even in the summer heat, he had a fire crackling in the stone fireplace.
Alaric sat in the armchair across from the fire. His dark hair had gone completely silver, patches of it missing from where it had fallen out. Deep creases sat around his mouth and eyes, their marks earned from making decisions no man should make. His shoulders were broad, his posture unbent despite the weight of sickness and age. A thin oxygen tube sat below his nose, one of the only true signs that he was still dying from the cancer he had obtained from his obsession with poisons. Alaric Camberly wasn’t just Vince’s father. He was the last man you’d ever want to owe a debt to—the last man you’d ever want to betray.
“Kaius,” he said, voice low and monotone. Some might take that as a sign that he was no longer dangerous, but I knew better. “I was hoping to see your face soon.”
“I figured it was time.” I took the chair opposite him, the leather worn and smooth, the seat slightly too low. Subtle reminders that this had once been my father’s seat across from this man. “Figured waiting around wouldn’t change anything. I know you still have spies who report back to you.”
His steel eyes studied me for a moment before he spoke again. “They aren’t spies when they are reporting to a man who gave them the power they have now.”
“I assume you know about the hemlock?” I asked, ignoring his jab. He never wanted me to be the leader of the Knights, saying I was too soft for it. Alaric nodded once but did not say anything further. “Nolan and Vince are out for blood. They want names.”
A faint twitch pulled at his lips, though it wasn’t from amusement. “That hemlock was stored in the basement for a reason. My son is meticulous in accounting for it. The Knights had kept that stock for one purpose and one purpose only—to send a message that leaves no room for interpretation. When something like that begins to disappear, it is not by accident. It is intentional.”
“I’ll handle it,” I said, my voice clipped.
“See to it that you do,” Alaric replied, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Firelight caught the silver Knight’s ring on his finger, the grail mark glinting like a watchful eye. “It is best to move the supply soon, even if it is just the hemlock. Missing poison isn’t the only shadow moving in our house.”
“You think someone is planning something?” I narrowed my eyes at him. I thought in getting rid of Oscar we had smoked out the rat in the club, but maybe he had been working with someone else.
Alaric’s gaze held mine. “The Spade family massacre…you remember the official story given, yes?”
I didn’t blink. “Yes. I remember.”
“The truth rots under it,” he said flatly. “The Spades were allies of the Knights, if you could call us that. We both had a mutual respect for each other, but didn’t let the other overstep their bounds. They were the keepers of things too dangerous to scatter in the wind—records, names, debts owed by powerful men. When they were annihilated, it wasn’t a random vendetta. It was surgical. Someone knew exactly what they wanted, exactly what they were taking. And they thought they would get away with pinning it on the Knights.”
I leaned back, keeping my expression blank, but inside, pieces I hadn’t known were connected were beginning to shift into place. “You think whoever is taking the hemlock is tied back to the massacre?”
“I think in our world…” Alaric’s voice dropped to almost a growl. “Coincidence is a fairy tale for children. If someone is willing to steal from our supply, they are willing to betray the whole order. Maybe even kill to avenge it.”
The silence was thick in the air as I watched him take a deep breath before continuing, “And betrayal in our world is a death sentence.”
The flames in the hearth popped, sending sparks flying through the air. I didn’t move, mind racing a million miles to try to put together who would be willing to risk everything to unravel the Knights. The hemlock wasn’t just stolen. It was taken with intent. If the Spades’ destruction and this theft were connected, it meant the rot Alaric feared wasn’t just under the surface—it was in the bones.
I stood, but the elder Knight’s voice cut through the air before I could turn. “You’ve got your father’s fire, boy.”
His voice was quieter now, and I could hear the dying man hidden under his words. The one he tried to hide from those of us who visited. Alaric continued, “But fire burns whatever it touches, friend or foe. Choose carefully where you set it.”
I turned on my heel, not looking back at the man as I left. But I carried his words with me like a knife hidden in my back. Whoever had taken the hemlock had just moved themselves from a shadow in the corner to a name I’d be writing on a grave.
