Right, Zel.
For some reason, I keep linking the girl to whoever followed us earlier, and gut feelings shouldn’t be ignored. Does someone want to make the Faith, the High Priestess, too obvious of a suspect, so that I have to rule her out? It’s a puzzle inside of a game, but I will be victorious.
As has become customary, Terrance gives the dinner toast, and Medea’s page plays the lyre in the corner. With only four senators, Julian, Kerasea, and myself at dinner, the music fills in the empty spaces.
We are nearly done with the second course when servants and two sentries sprint down the hall.
I turn in my seat.
Medea holds up a hand for her page to stop playing. The music ceases instantaneously.
“What was that?” she asks.
All of the senators, Julian, and Kerasea turn and stare.
I rise out of my chair and walk to the doorway. “What is the meaning of all of this?”
The older woman I nearly killed today stops, catching her breath.
“There is a fire, Praetorian,” she says.
“Where?” I look up, but there is no smoke. Nor can I see any fire from the windows.
“The woodshed,” the woman clarifies. “We are trying to put it out now.”
Julian catches my eye as my heart stops. That’s where we buried the bodies.
He rises from his chair and meets me by the door.
“What is happening, Commander?” Senator Paolo asks, spinning his ring.
“Apparently, there is a fire outside. I will go offer my assistance.” Julian pauses as he takes in their expressions. “Not to worry—the fire cannot spread to the palace, but it is best to put it out.”
Julian walks straight past me, and I fall in line beside him. His family, like many nobles, made their money in fire insurance and fire brigades. His is second largest in the capital behind Verhardt’s.
“Guard the senators and the High Priestess. No one in or out,” Julian says to the sentries.
“Yes, Commander,” they say.
“I don’t suppose this fire is accidental,” I say as we race down the hall.
He raises his eyebrows. Certainly not with the recent snow.
We break into a jog until we reach the kitchens. As soon as we are out of the delivery door, the scent of burning wood hits us. The woodshed is fifty yards away and engulfed in an unnaturally bright blaze.
“Definitely not accidental,” Julian murmurs.
The servants stand around, occasionally tossing a bucket of water onto the blazing fire before they run all the way back to the kitchens for more. The water smokes and sizzles but does nothing in such small quantities.
“Form a line,” Julian says. The authority in his voice carries over the crackling blaze and the panicked sounds from the servants. “Someone stand by the sink to fill the buckets, another by the door, and so forth until you’re near to the shed. Constantly move full buckets down the line and pass the empty ones back. The strongest man should stand closest to the fire. Do it now.”
As Julian organizes the servants into a makeshift brigade, I run to where we buried the bodies. I raise my arm to shield my face as I pass close to the fire. The heat from the inferno is immense, the dry wood inside fueling the blaze.
I cough, the thick smoke sticking in my nose and throat. Embers float high into the night’s sky.
I scan the area. The two mounds where we put Eyo and the cook are gone. All that’s left is trampled wet grass.
Impossible.
