It had to be about Drogan. Knot in his stomach, Rikard held the door wide, inviting him in. “Of course. Though fair warning, the servants are asleep, so I have nothing to offer in the way of refreshment.”
“Not necessary.”
They sat in the receiving parlor. The guard produced a folded dispatch from the case at his hip and held it out, Zenith’s seal visible. Rikard took it and slid a claw under the seal, breaking it so he could skim the document inside. It was what he expected. A report about Drogan’s body being found, his identity confirmed.
His throat convulsed. “Drogan,” he said, and his voice contained all the shock of a gargoyle learning his childhood friend was dead. “When did it happen?”
“The body was discovered in a ravine two days ago by a returning hunting party. I understand you knew him well.”
He nodded. “We’ve been friends since we were hatchlings.”
The guard shifted on the human-scaled chair to relieve the pinch of his wings behind him. “The Zenith has ordered a formal inquiry. I’m speaking to everyone in Drogan’s circle. A formality in your case, Nadir, given your personal circumstances”—hiseyes drifted to Rikard’s bound wings and tactfully away again—“but the record requires it.”
“Ask your questions.”
“Where were you six nights ago?”
“Here. My wife went into labor that evening. The birth was difficult.”
The guard nodded, scratching notes onto a wax tablet with a bone stylus. “And the nights preceding?”
“The Nadir’s office, tending to business. Home, tending to my mate.” The lies were comfortable. “If you need further confirmation of my alibi, I haven’t flown in five years. The masons can attest to my inability, should you doubt it.”
“Understood. As I said, this is only a formality.” The guard adjusted his harness and stood. “My condolences for the loss of your friend, Nadir. Drogan was a decorated veteran. The Tower mourns him.”
“As do I,” Rikard said heavily, and showed the guard out.
In the following days, the Zenith’s investigation moved swiftly. Lucan was questioned next. He’d been camped with Drogan, alone. He’d been the last to see Drogan alive. He hadn’t reported Drogan missing when he’d returned to camp and found it empty. Rumors flew on moth wings and Lucan was arrested and thrown in the gaol to stand trial for his friend’s murder.
Rikard visited Lucan in a holding cell in one of the subterranean levels of the Tower, a windowless stone room with an iron-grated door and a roost that looked like it had neverbeen scraped. Lucan perched on it, his curly hair unkempt and a wild look in his eyes.
“I didn’t kill him,” he said before anything else.
“I know.” Rikard sat on a stool the guards had provided, the bars between them. He’d asked for privacy, and the guards had granted it, because the Nadir’s authority carried some weight. “Why did you not report Drogan missing?”
Lucan gave a frustrated growl, tail lashing against the roost. “I thought he was off whoring! He didn’t reportmemissing while I was fucking my way through the brothel, did he?”
“What do the investigators say to that?”
“They don’t believe me. The moths have been carrying some mixed-up story of our last few meetings at the tavern. My relationship with Carlijn. His distaste for humans. The Zenith’s investigators think I killed him over a female.” Lucan laughed, but the sound was hollow, scraped clean of its usual music. “Over ahuman. The irony is exquisite. Drogan would never touch one, and I just rid myself of one.” He gave a bitter laugh, and Rikard had to grit his teeth not to say anything about what Drogan had done to Hanna.
“I can provide you an alibi,” he offered instead.
Lucan looked up sharply. “You weren’t there. You couldn’t have been.”
“No. But I can say I sent you on a confidential errand for the Nadir’s office, and that is why you do not have an alibi for the time of Drogan’s death.” He held Lucan’s gaze. “But I have a condition.”
“Of course you do.” Lucan rolled his eyes. “Fine. What do you want from me? Coin?”
“Claim Carlijn as your mate. Acknowledge the child as yours.”
Lucan’s expression grew cold. “You’re blackmailing me?”
“I’m offering you a gift. Your freedom and your honor. One of them you’ve lost. The other is trapped in a cell. You can have both back, if you want them.”
“If I claim Carlijn, my parents will disown me. I’d lose everything. My family. My roost. My name.”
“You’ve already lost your name. The moths are calling you a murderer. Which reputation would you prefer: the gargoyle who killed his friend, or the gargoyle who loved a human woman enough to take her as a mate? Who loved his child enough to give it his name?”
