Page 75 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER FORTY

brEYLA

“ G et up,” a gruff voice commands.

I turn my head to find Darian standing in the doorway, an annoyed look plastered across his face.

“I don’t answer to you, General,” I say flatly.

He huffs in irritation, crossing the room to where I sit by the fireplace. Dressed in full leathers, winter cloak, and strapped with weapons, he looks ready to face battle.

“You do today.” Darian folds his arms, eyeing me up and down. No doubt he’s assessing my pathetic appearance. “Prince’s orders, you’re helping me with an investigation.”

Ayden had ordered me to assist this prick?

“Whatever,” I mumble, turning back to the fire.

The chair tips forward unexpectedly, dropping me on my ass on the hard marble floor.

Pain spikes through my hip as I cast a scowl his direction. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You mean other than the fact that I’m being forced to include an invalid in official court business?”

“Fuck you,” I hiss, throwing him a crude gesture for good measure. “I’m not an invalid.”

He shrugs, not even bothering to meet my eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I move to my feet, rubbing my hip to assuage the sore flesh. “Was dropping me on the floor necessary?”

“Yes.”

Infuriating male.

“It hurt.”

He levels me with a look of utter boredom. “Your feelings are not my concern.”

“Obviously,” I deadpan.

“Get changed.”

“Or what?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You're sorely mistaken if you think I won’t drag you outside in your nightgown.”

“I detest you,” I say, glowering at him.

“The feeling is mutual.”

I finally relent, turning for the door that leads to the bedroom, only to find an outfit already laid out on the bed.

Black leathers folded neatly beside a fur-lined cloak and matching gloves. They’re black with gold stitching running along the seams. They remind me of the cloak I’d purchased as a Solstice gift for Elijah. The one that now sits untouched in a chest at the foot of my bed.

When I return, dressed and sullen, Darian is waiting exactly where I left him.

“Let’s go,” I grunt.

Outside the castle doors, horses wait, along with Ryder and Zion.

“Good morning, General,” Ryder says.

“Morning,” Darian and I reply at the same time.

Our eyes connect, a look of mutual irritation on each of our faces.

Zion chuckles, and Ryder shakes his head.

“What investigation does Ayden deem above your expertise?” I ask, fighting a smirk, as I swing into the saddle.

Ignoring my insult, Darian replies, “Four bodies have turned up over the last month. All male, all with their throats slit.”

“Is there anything linking them?”

“Other than their proximity to the castle? No.”

“Where are we headed now?”

“The fourth body was only discovered this morning.” Darian swings into his own saddle and adjusts the reins. “We’re on our way to speak with his widow.”

I nod in understanding, and we fall into a comfortable silence as we make our way through town.

Twenty minutes later, we arrive at a modest home located in the middle of the city. Two stories overlooking the square, painted deep green with white shutters.

The door opens to reveal a pretty female with blonde hair and mossy green eyes. She distantly reminds me of the brothers, Oren and Talon, from Ayden’s counsel.

“Greetings, General,” she says politely to Darian before turning to me. “Princess. How may I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mariel. We’re here about Holt.” He smiles grimly. “May we come in?”

She nods, stepping aside to let us inside.

Two small heads peek from around a corner as we enter the home. Sandy blonde hair and green eyes stare up at us.

“Children, go to your rooms, please.”

Reluctantly, they disappear down the hall, doors slamming behind them.

Mariel gestures toward the sitting room. “Would you like to sit?”

“Thank you,” I say, settling into the chair closest to the fire. “Your children seem to be handling things well, all things considered.”

Mariel stiffens, taking a deep breath before answering, “Yes, well, it’s hard to miss someone you barely know.”

I nod in sad understanding.

Darian clears his throat. “When was the last time you saw Holt?”

“Three days ago.”

“Is it normal for him to be away for several days at a time?”

Mariel offers us tea, taking a sip of her own. “Business usually takes him away from home for weeks at a time. He is, was, a textiles merchant.”

I remain quiet, studying the female as Darian continues questioning her. She’s well put together, her eyes holding a certain sadness, but not the grief I expect. Her cream dress is perfectly pressed, not a wrinkle to be seen. Golden hair is twisted neatly in a bun, not a single lock out of place.

This female is more composed on the day her husband was found dead than I’ve been since Elijah died.

Grief is a fickle mistress.

“Do you know of anyone who would want your husband dead?” Darian asks.

“I’m sure any number of his business rivals would love to see him gone. But dead?” She shakes her head, taking another sip of tea. “No, I can’t think of anyone who would have a reason for wanting him dead.”

There’s a yellow tint to the skin beneath her eyes and a strange stiffness to her posture. Her breaths are shallow and more rapid than most.

It could be a looming panic attack.

“Do you know what your husband was doing at the pub last night?” Darian continues.

“Not the faintest idea,” Mariel replies airily, her voice cold and indifferent. “I just hope he settled the tab before he died.”

I get the notion that she might have an idea why he was there, but I doubt it has any relevance to solving his murder.

“Thank you, Mariel. We’ll let you know what we discover. If you think of anything else that might be of importance, please don’t hesitate to find me.” Darian stands, the rest of us following suit. “My condolences to you and your children.”

Mariel nods curtly, her lips pressed in a thin line.

Once we’re back on our horses, Darian turns to me. “Did you notice anything?”

“She was rather calm for a grieving widow,” I muse.

“Indeed. What are your thoughts?”

My brows shoot up. “You’re asking for my opinion?”

“Despite my personal feelings toward you, I cannot overlook the way your mind works.” Darian kicks his horse into a slow trot. “You proved yourself when you spotted the pattern in the poison attacks.”

“Ryder, Zion, did you hear that?” I lift my voice. “I need witnesses for the first time Darian has complimented me.”

“I assure you it will never happen again,” Darian says, rolling his eyes. They’re such a piercing shade of blue, I find it hard to look away.

“To answer your question, he beats her,” I say bluntly. “She doesn’t look like a grieving widow, because she’s not one. She’s a relieved widow.”

“That’s a bold assumption to make,” he challenges.

“There was a healing bruise under her left eye. It was faint, but there. Her posture was too rigid. I know a cracked rib when I see one.” I explain, pulling my hood tightly around my head to keep out the winter wind. “Then there was her overall demeanor and her comment about the kids.”

He lifts an eyebrow, urging me to continue.

“I don’t know that he hurt them, but he certainly never loved them as a father should. No one in that home was particularly sad about his loss, and I think that says a lot more about him than it does them.”

The edge of Darian’s mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile. “How astute of you.”

“You already know all of this?” I ask in disbelief.

She’s a cousin of Oren and Talon. Their parents are friends with mine and like to give them updates about anything to do with their family,” he explains, pulling his hood up to block out a gust of wind. “She hides it well, but yes, he was a violent male.”

“Good riddance,” I mutter. My brow furrows. “Why did you bring me if you already knew all that?”

We’ve already made it back to the castle walls when he answers, “It wasn’t my idea, remember? That was all Ayden.”

“Then why did he?”

He shrugs. “My guess? He was tired of seeing the ghost of you and knew that I’d provoke you out of whatever stupor you were in.”

“My best friend died ,” I say quietly. “I’m allowed to grieve.”

“You’re right. You are allowed to grieve. But you aren’t permitted to just give up on living.” He holds my gaze, challenging me to disagree.

“Well, I’m still living, aren’t I?”

For the first time in weeks, I feel the acidic burn of anger rising in my throat. It’s painfully scorching in comparison to the emptiness that has consumed me until today.

“No, Breyla.” Darian shakes his head. “Until now, you were simply existing. It’s up to you to decide what you do from here.”

And with that, he leaves me standing in the courtyard, debating whether to return to my chambers or follow him just so I can punch him in the face.