Relief flooded my lungs.
Coughing, Ferris pressed a hand to his side and sat up on the cot. “I didn’t think you could heal.”
Alistair shook his hand and stepped away. “Quinn’s much better, admittedly.” His eyes flicked to me. “Satisfied?”
“Isn’t Ferris one of yours?” I asked. “Why are you asking me?”
“I thought it was obvious.” Alistair tossed Ferris a roll of gauze. “I mended the worst of it, but you'll die in the night if you don't tend to the rest."
Ferris caught the gauze and shot Alistair a sour glare. Shoving past the Solheart, I snatched the bandages.
Ferris had run after me, worried for my safety, though he’d been the one bleeding. The least I could do was tend to his wounds.
Alistair hummed behind me. “You’re not afraid I’ll slip away?”
Ignoring him, I set to work, but Ferris laid a hand over mine. “Go get your answers. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not making you tend to yourself,” I said.
A silken caress wrapped my wrists, yanking the bandages from my fingers. It was wind—barely perceptible save for emerald streaks hidden in its stream.
“As Agendra learned,” Ferris said, catching the gauze. “You can’t stop me.”
Sighing, I stepped away. “I’ll be back soon.” Grabbing Alistair’s elbow, I pushed him through the door.
After we’d left the commander’s manor, Agendra had shoved us into an abandoned cottage at the edge of town. He was pacing the perimeter, watching for trouble, and trying to come up with an explanation.
Not a soul in the city would like what I’d done.
Alistair walked ahead of me into the foyer and leaned against the window. “Ask away. A deal’s a deal.”
His hand curled around his blade.
Akemi had cared about honor. Did I?
Palming my own blade, I stood opposite him. “Who killed my brother?”
“Straight to the point, hm?” Alistair flicked his wrist, summoning his radiant blade. “You’ve focused on Quinn and me because of this, I presume? It's not a technique you’ll see many from Forlaith use.”
“Why?”
“Because I came up with it. Most Solhearts don’t fight or learn magic—they don’t have a need. And Brightspears aretrained with specific techniques.” He spun the floating blade. “I taught a few people magic. Quinn was one of them.”
“Who were the others?”
“Nora, for one. A shadow living within shadows—nobody you would know, and honestly?” Alistair dismissed the blade. “I’d be stunned if she was your target.”
A woman? Could the shadow have been female? I closed my eyes and pictured them, dancing with practice and grace, a skilled swordsman.
“And the other?” I asked, opening my eyes.
Alistair’s face twisted into a scowl. “Paragon Reese Tiernan.”
“You trained the Paragon?” I blinked in disbelief. “Why would he?—”
“Kill his Emperor?” Alistair leaned off the window and stalked toward me. “You have no idea who that man really is. No one does.” He stopped a pace away. “I’ve never met a better killer. A lust for blood runs through his veins.”
I stepped back. The Paragon had not seemed like an assassin in the night.
