Page 14 of With Wing And Claw

‘No fucking clue.’ Again he let out that sharp, joyless laugh. ‘By the time we found the fifteenth corpse clawing out its own eyes, I was no longer really in the mood to go ask her. She’s taken up position in thebone hall right now. Figured you might have a better idea of how to approach her, given your history with her.’

Thysandra winced.

He was talking about the historyheknew, of course, the version of events that had earned her this cursed nickname of Demonbane. As far as the court was aware, she’d spent most of the Last Battle valiantly fighting Naxi, keeping her away from the hundreds of others the demon might have killed on the battlefield instead.

The truth …

Naked skin. Heated kisses. Yet another secret the Alliance could spread whenever they felt like ruining her reputation among her peers; she’d lived with the shame for so long that she hadn’t even realised it yesterday.

‘Fuck,’ she said, out loud this time.

‘Succinct but accurate,’ Nicanor sourly agreed. ‘Mind opening the door? I promise I don’t have anyone else with me, if that’s your concern.’

Promises were worth about as much as mud at the Crimson Court … but it didn’t make sense for him to lie if his report of events was true, and the story fit her conversation with Naxi too well for it to be a fabrication.

‘Give me half a minute,’ she said.

It took a little longer to find her favourite dress from her bulging wardrobe – an ankle-length, mulberry-coloured creation with sparkling red flower patterns stitched up along the left side. The skirts hid two niftily placed dagger sheaths. She filled them both, then opened her jewellery case and snatched out the ring that she’d worn on the day of the Last Battle as well: gold, with two razor-sharp spikes curling elegantly around her finger.

The perfect tool to slash one’s own wings, among many other uses.

Her hair was passable, she decided with a single glimpse in the mirror, and she should probably not let Nicanor wait any longer without a very good reason. She swept a last trace of down off the gold-black surface of her left wing. Pulled on a clean pair of boots on her way to the door. Drew in a last deep breath, then bracedherself and opened the lock – instinctively scanning the full length of the stairwell before she moved even an inch past the threshold.

Nicanor was alone as promised, leaning against the wall in a most decorative manner, frosty blue wings folded meticulously against his shoulders. His long, silver-white braid was unruffled. His half-smile held its usual unimpressed, derisive edge. But there was blood on the cuff of his silk shirt, and more on his leather boots; the mere fact that he hadn’t bothered to pause and restore his usual pristine appearance was in itself a sign of the greatest alarm.

His eyes slid over her in a single impassive – albeit undeniably appreciative – glance as he straightened, adjusted his wings, and added, ‘And good morning, Thys.’

She gave him a look.

‘Thysandra,’ he amended, lips curling ever so slightly into a smile that was somehow both remorseful and full of mocking amusement. ‘Or do you prefer the title these days?’

‘The title can go to hell,’ she muttered.

He sniggered and turned his back towards her as she shut the door – a request she’d made ages ago and that he’d never tried to argue against, even in the midst of their one-sided love affair. He, too, knew how to play the game at court. Trust was a currency, and one far more expensive than simple physical desire or even respect; they could be friends, allies, partners, and there was still not a single reason for him to know the mechanism of her locks.

‘Alright,’ she added in a low voice as she finished and joined him, heading for the winding stairs. The tower seemed deserted apart from the two of them, although there was plenty of shouting to be heard in the distance. ‘Any more details on what’s happened?’

‘I was alerted some two hours ago,’ he said, shifting seamlessly into his no-nonsense soldier’s demeanour as he shook his braid over his slim shoulders. ‘Took us all a while to realise what was going on, because Bereas and his friends were making the rounds and killing a bunch of Alliance sympathisers at the same time … but then one ofthemgot killed and it became clear they were not the only ones at work.’

Traitor’s daughter.

She forced herself to breathe slowly. ‘Do you know how many she killed?’

‘At least forty, from what I’ve heard so far. We may be finding more of them.’ He grimaced. ‘By the time we managed to locate her at the end of the trail of corpses, she was already making her way down to the hall.’

Good gods.

Should she have seen it coming?Shewas the one who’d spent decades studying demons – yet another doomed attempt to demonstrate her superiority over Creon and the very blood in his veins. Of course she should have realised that Naxi’s ruthless mind would always come up with some new dramatic plan to draw all the attention back to herself. A few lives lost … well, those were of no consequence, were they? Not for demons. Not for creatures that, by their very nature, could not care about anyone else’s feelings.

‘Did you find any pattern in the identity of the victims?’ she made herself say.

All the right, sensible questions. As if she wasn’t half to blame for this catastrophe herself. The Mother’s trusted do-all, looking into yet another run-of-the-mill court crime. Who cared that this time the perpetrator was the same female who’d held her as she sobbed in her cell two days ago, the same female whose pretty pink lips she’d felt in her dreams fordecades?

‘Still looking into that,’ Nicanor was saying, his footsteps inaudible against the polished tiles as they hurried down the stairs. Around them, shadows lurked in every bay and niche. ‘There must besomepattern, I figure, because she didn’t just take down everyone in her way – she seems to have entered specific bedrooms over the course of the night. The only common factor we’ve found so far is that most of them were in the army at some point, but there are plenty of soldiers shedidn’t—’

Thysandra stiffened.

He almost bumped into her, wings flaring out as he swivelled off-course just in time to avoid her. ‘Thysandra?’