Reaper

Chapter 3: Seaward Docks

Ava stepped back onto the Crux's seaward docks, relief mixing with unease. Lamplight pooled on rotting boards, gilding the backs of lump toads, fat kings residing over coiled rope and discarded fish heads. Usually slow to move, the nearest creatures leaped and plopped away as Tythorn secured the punt.

A freedom she envied.

Looking to the tumble of lean-tos and shops on the shore, she felt the eddies in her gut become fully fledged nerves. Firelight glowed behind closed shutters, bakers and others rising before dawn. Voices floated in from the swamp behind her, night fishers bringing home their catch, ready for the morning markets.

She had an hour left, if that. As much as she wanted to help track down Columbine Sol-Sky's killer, her night's work was over.

She moved to join Tythorn as he finished with the boat's moorings. "If you intend to question Hellebore about local non-Whym practitioners, I'll leave you to it. You'll get more information out of her in private, I would think."

Tythorn turned. Little of his features escaped his hood's shadow, but she found his gaze in the poor light, could trace the taut line of his lips. Not something her weak human eyes should have been able to do. Nor should she have wanted to linger on the last—a mouth that slowly tilted up at one corner.

Warmth touched her cheeks—fleetingly. Reality reasserted itself with a shiver. The elf might have a pretty face, but a person not beheading her on sight was no reason to favour them.

The inquisitor's gaze took on a wry light. "If you are concerned any business with Hellebore might require privacy, Longbane, you would be mistaken. Neither one of us is particularly bashful, and I'm sure you'd make a valuable contribution to the proceedings."

More heat rose, unwanted imaginings with it. Ava gritted her teeth. She'd never thought she'd meet an elf with a sense of humour and was starting to wish she hadn't. That barely there smile; the laughter in what should've been a bloodless stare. The elf made it too easy to forget the destruction he could bring down on her and others.

Not something she could ever afford to do. Not now, as he smiled down at her. Not in a few days when the Whym queen's High Inquisitors arrived.

Ava felt all warmth leave her skin. "Last I heard, Hellebore was keeping the company of a high elemental. I doubt such an individual would appreciate an interruption if they're still enjoying her company." Like all of the queen's people, such an individual could, on a whim, immolate even Tythorn.

"Ah, Lord Grymshrike of House Shu." Tythorn's smile took an edge. "Yes. He'd prefer exclusivity, if only to fortify his pride. I expect at age one hundred and seventy, he's making good use of Hellebore's joint-limbering, invigorating potions."

"Sounds like business a lowly human would be wise to steer clear of." Ava stepped back, eyes tracking to the dank streets of the Crux. Relief that she'd soon disappear into them mixed with dread. Dawn, its approach, crept across her skin, bleak and inevitable. "I'll head back to my lodgings, talk to a contact of my own on the way, someone else who might have information on the local covens. We can compare notes tomorrow night." She willed the elf not to request her presence earlier than that.

"Who and where is this contact?"

"Another Death Warden. A styg witch who fell out with her fellow death worshipers decades ago. She'll be at the cemetery, working with the Bones Keeper, preparing the night's dead for their tombs. While you apply your charm elsewhere, I'll find out what she knows." Ava made to go—halted again as Tythorn moved with her.

The elf stopped next to her, a pace too close, but there was no teasing light in his gaze now, just grim consideration. "If your colleague is no longer part of a coven, how much will she know about the current activities of her brethren?"

"More than they would find comfortable is my guess."

An elegant eyebrow lifted. "Count me intrigued."

"Don't be. There's nothing mysterious about a bitter old woman with axes to grind. Milrag's been stirring up gossip and trouble between the local covens for years. Almost everything she says will be a lie or distortion, but she has no loyalties to keep her silent. If there's real dirt, my money's on her sharing it."

Tythorn swept out a lustrous sleeve. "Lead the way."

Ava felt her stomach drop to her boots. "You're to see Hellebore."

"A conversation best delayed. Not only can I live without a lecture from Lord Grymshrike about how to run my life, you're correct that Hellebore and her ilk will likely not be forthcoming. Better I have some background before questioning them. Some local insights, perhaps even leverage. Let's meet this spiteful colleague of yours."

Heart a hard beat, Ava looked to the dark streets she'd hope to disappear into—alone and well before the light hit the city's waters. She'd been lucky to survive the night, the inquisitor's focus on far more important matters than a human ill at ease around Whym. But if she remained in his company, that luck would not last.

"There a problem, Longbane?"

Stomach tightening its knots, she dredged up a weak smile. There was no problem—yet. Not for an hour or so. Although, given the nature of the individual they were about to see, it would be truer to say there was no problem as long as the elf had strong protection wards and a tonic to numb his nose and sensibilities. "Just promise me you'll resist the urge to burn out anyone's tongue or behead them."

Tythorn's lips twitched before he arranged his face into more earnest lines. "For you, Longbane, I shall be the picture of restraint."

Ava's mouth went dry. The inquisitor's words—the weight on the second—woke more than a little paranoia. She forced it down with a hard swallow. "Just remember you promised that."