This wasn’t a true crime show with carefully blurred bodycam footage. This was real life. The stench of blood was so thick, I could taste it on my tongue. Flies crawled on the exposed lungs and intestines . . .
A hand landed on my shoulder. I jerked, turned, and saw Reynald looking back at me. Next to him, Clover gaped at the body, her face pale, her eyes shocked.
My brain restarted all at once. The meaning of what I was seeing penetrated though the shock and punched me with an icy fist.
He was early. It was too soon.
Why now? Was it because of something I had done?
Oh god. I should’ve seen this coming. Everything was going wrong.
Reynald leaned toward me. “Talk to me.”
I would have to tell him. Fuck.
“Maggie?” he prompted.
“We’re in trouble,” I whispered.
Around me the crowd pressed tighter as more people came in.
We had to get out of there. I spun around.
Reynald caught me by the arm. “Slowly.”
He was right. The killer was probably nearby, watching the spectacle right now. We didn’t need to draw attention to ourselves.
I took Clover’s hand and nodded. Reynald glowered at the crowd blocking our way. Somehow, despite the tight press of the bodies, people parted before him, and we followed. A moment and we were in the clear.
I took off toward the exit, forcing myself to maintain a stable pace, with Reynald hovering over Clover and me like a hawk. We walked in complete silence, weaving through the current of shoppers, until we cleared the gates and the stone demon dog on top of them bared his fangs at our backs.
Outside of the market, I sped up as fast as I could without running. Clover chased after me. Reynald broke into what my dad used to call double time.
“What’s going on?” Clover asked.
“We have a problem,” I told her.
“How bad?”
“Very bad. We have to get home right now.”
We turned around the corner. Reynald put his arm in front of me as if he’d braked suddenly while driving and wanted to keep me from flying through the windshield. A group of riders on gray horses with white tails stomped their way down the street, two per row. They wore polished gray breastplates and cloaks the color of fresh blood. The single rider in front carried a banner on a tall spear: black, scarlet, and gold.
A carriage followed them, drawn by a single massive gray horse. Ornate but not delicate, blocky, with thick walls, it was the medieval equivalent of an armored limousine. Nothing like what you would imagine Cinderella might ride in. The curtain on the window was pulled aside, and I could see the passenger. Ulmar Hreban.
The carriage passed us. Hreban looked at us, obvious boredom stamped on his face. His gaze slid over me, and for a moment I looked straight into his eyes. They were mean, menacing, and empty.
The carriage rolled on, another pair of knights following it.
Hreban, here, at this moment, of all people. It was as if Kair Toren were taunting me. Every time I dared to get even the slightest bit comfortable, the city reminded me where we stood.
I wouldn’t take this punch lying down. I would stop this from happening no matter what it took.
We gathered in the kitchen at the big table once again.
I looked at the stack of papers in front of me. When we were cleaning, Clover and I had found a board made of soft wood. Derog used to pin the guard shift schedules to it. I put it up on the wall behind me. I would need visual aids to keep it all straight.
Reynald had explained the dead body. The faces looking at me were grim. Our world had come to terms with serial killers, but Rellas had no frame of reference. That kind of horror was raw and shocking.
