A Beast's Tale: Act 1 (His Maid)

Chapter 88

 I was unbuckling my sword belt, ready to change into my pajamas for the night, when my door flew open and Jin burst into my room.

"Chevalier! Come quick!"

"What is it?" I asked, buckling my belt as I followed him into the hallway. He was walking at a fast clip.

"Sariel. Cyril just found him in the woods near Ivetta's place. He's lost a lot of blood, and Cyril said he was muttering something about Obsidian and Gilbert. Cyril brought him here himself, in case something confidential slipped out. The physician's on his way." Jin glanced at me. "Don't worry. Cyril put the guards on high alert when he left, and he's on his way back to Ivetta's house already. She's fine."

Not necessarily. Sariel's public face as a court minister belied his physical capabilities. He was an expert fighter, adept with any weapon or no weapon at all, and besting him required equal or greater skill or, more easily achieved, superior numbers. It sounded as though someone had ambushed on his way back to the palace with whatever knowledge he'd obtained. But Cyril had found him alone, which meant he'd escaped his pursuers. Had they given up the chase? Or had he surprised them, and he'd never been the intended target?

He was sitting on his bed when we arrived, pale-faced and sweaty, taking a swig from a bottle of ale as the doctor disinfected the largest of several bloody gashes. His glasses sat on his writing desk and his ruined shirt was on the floor, but he still wore his black leather gloves. Scars covered his lean, well-muscled torso and arms. He grimaced when alcohol touched the open wound.

"That's enough," he said to the physician. "I'll finish bandaging it myself."

"No, you won't. It needs sutures," the doctor insisted.

"Later."

"Now."

"Talk," I told Sariel. The old doctor would keep his mouth shut, and he was as stubborn as a mule. He was already threading a needle.

Sariel sighed and took another fortifying swallow of ale. "My contact found the name: Raine. Viktor Raine. He recently joined a small group of Obsidianite rebel soldiers camped in the wilderness across our northwestern border. They're the ones who recruited those boys. Raine was an officer in the Obsidianite army until his family fell out of favor years ago. My contact doesn't yet know what happened, but they were all executed—in theory. Viktor escaped."

"Viktor Raine. I've never heard of him. What about you?" Jin asked me. I shook my head, and he turned toward the door. "I think I'd better get Gilbert. He might know something about this guy, and he's being surprisingly cooperative right now."

"Turn around," the doctor interjected.

Sariel hadn't reacted while the doctor sutured the gash, but he winced now with the simple movement of turning his back to the doctor. I noted dried blood along his hairline at the base of his skull.

"My contact confirmed something I'd already suspected," he continued. "Raine first targeted you, Prince Chevalier, simply because every officer worth his salt in the Obsidianite army knows Rhodolite will be easier to take if you're out of the way. There was nothing personal about it. Ivetta was an afterthought. When Prince Gilbert came here, he saw an opportunity to avenge his family and broadened his scope. But then something changed. It almost seems as though Raine has shifted his focus toward Ivetta."

"He knew her mother."

"Or her family. Before she became queen of Garnet, Evelyn Romanov was an Obsidianite noblewoman. I believe this removes all doubt about Ivetta's identity."

"Tilt your head down," the doctor interrupted. "I want a closer look at this head injury. How long were you traveling on foot in this condition?"

Sariel took a long swallow of ale, and then he didn't so much as tilt his head forward as he let it drop. Exhaustion tinged his sonorous voice. He was becoming paler and shakier as he spoke. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. I don't even remember losing my horse. I remember the information I received from my contact, and then I remember running through the woods, but everything in between..."