Blood sprayed, soaking Fester’s shirt, sheets, blanket and Valek’s sleeves. A hot metallic smell filled the air along with the stink of excrement and body odor. The shine in Fester’s eyes dulled as all color leaked from his skin.
Valek stared at the dead man. No regret pulsed inside him. Just a deep feeling of satisfaction.
He wiped his blade and hands on Fester’s blanket. Then he removed the statue from his pocket. The figure resembled Vincent. He placed it on Fester’s still chest before Valek climbed out the window. Sliding the pane back into place, Valek descended the wall. The compound remained empty at this time of night. The soldiers patrolled only the outer perimeter.
Before he had reached the stable, he had stripped off his shirt and thrown it into one of the still-smoldering burn barrels. Then he had washed the greasepaint from his hands and face. Slipping back into the stall, he had donned a clean shirt and reclaimed his spot on the hay bales.
No sense running away and tipping them off about the culprit. Better to stay and watch and learn all he could about Captain Aniol.
Hedda had called it hiding in plain sight.
A sudden notion jolted Valek from his memories. Maybe the reason he couldn’t determine Maren’s whereabouts was because she’d been hiding in plain sight all this time? No. Maren had a distinctive stride, and he’d have spotted her by now.
The reason must be because the Commander was up to something. And the only thing that he wouldn’t inform Valek about or include him in was something big involving Sitia. Something that would ruin their diplomatic relationship if the Sitians found out.
Valek didn’t know what was worse, the Commander not trusting him or the fact that more trouble between the two countries could lead to war.
16
JANCO
The Black Cat Tavern was everything a tavern should be—long bar with plenty of stools and bartenders, big tables for groups of rowdy soldiers, pretty servers who knew how to handle drunken customers, and little nooks around the edges for hosting private conversations. Plus the ale was to die for! Just the right blend of hops and barley and—
“Janco! Are you paying attention?” Ari asked.
“Sure, chief. Me and Little Miss Assassin are going to go undercover, and—”
“Not you—Gerik and Onora.”
Janco shook his head. “Not happening.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause we can’t trust them together. And, as much as I’ll miss you, Ari old boy, I’m gonna take one for the team.”
Ari rubbed his face. They sat in their favorite nook—the farthest from the door and the deepest in shadow. Onora refused to order a drink. She’d leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed as if they were going to jump her. As if. The grunt sipped his ale, pretending to be relaxed. Except he gripped the glass hard enough for the muscles on his forearm to pop. Impressive pop, though.
“I know better than to ask, but...take one for the team?” Ari set his mug down.
“All your plans are swell, really they are, but they’re not gonna work. The same people who recognize us are gonna spot Sergeant Grunt here right away. We need to come at this from a different direction.”
Understanding lit Ari’s eyes. “Sitia.”
“Yup. I’ll take the young pup south and you and the grunt do all the typical stuff we do to find information—interrogate the prisoners, follow the leads—so it looks like we’re investigating.”
“We have to determine a potential location of the smugglers first. The border’s over a thousand miles long with lots of small Sitian towns nearby. And you’ll need a good disguise. They know you in Sitia.”
Janco pished. “The least of my worries.”
“And what’s your biggest worry?” Onora asked, speaking for the first time.
“My mother. I’m supposed to visit her. It’s been forever and she’s not gonna be happy.”
She huffed in disbelief. “I can kill you in your sleep and you’re worried about your mother?”
“You won’t kill me.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause Valek scares you. While my mother... Nobody scares her.”
* * *
After their meeting, Ari and Janco returned to their office in the castle. Half the size of Valek’s, it contained two of everything—desks, chairs, filing cabinets. One set was neat and organized, and the other set was Janco’s. Valek had left a huge stack of reports from his spies in Sitia on Ari’s desk. They scanned through the latest ones. Concentrating on the information from the towns close to the Ixian border, they searched for anything out of the ordinary.
After a few hours, Janco’s head ached with all the mind-numbing details. “Listen to this... Forty-three citizens attended the town meeting along with four officials. They voted to install a statue outside the town hall. Seriously? This is what our spies think is important?” He tossed the report on the messy pile with all the other useless data.
“This one dutifully records the entire conversation between two wives of two low-level aides in the Cloud Mist Clan. They talked about a woman named Melinda, who was in labor for three days and had triplets.” Ari snapped his shut.
They worked for a while in silence. Janco’s vision blurred as he skimmed an inventory list in a factory in the Moon Clan’s lands—spare wagon wheels, hitches, nuts, bolts, drying racks, rollers, glass bottles, tubing... As he was about to close the file, an item jumped from the page. A barrel full of leaves.