Or worse.
Severn labored under no illusion. If a nebulousworseexisted, he was not the man to stop it. He had neither the knowledge nor the power; he had the will, but will was not, had never been, enough. Will alone had not saved Elianne’s mother. If anyone could save Elianne, it was Lord Nightshade.
Lord Nightshade chose to meet him. In possible retaliation for the message and Severn’s refusal to speak directly with the mortals who served Nightshade—in name at least—he had chosen to meet Severn at night. By the south well. The well itself was relatively safe during the day. Nowhere was safe during the night.
Barrani, however, wandered at will at night; the Ferals did not terrify them. Ferals were cunning but seemed constantly hungry—a feeling with which Severn could identify. Theywerestupid enough to attack Barrani; they weren’t—even in a pack—powerful enough to survive their stupidity. It was almost as if they were mortal and not of the shadows across the fief’s interior borders.
Severn approached Nightshade. When he was three yards away, he fell to his knees. This allowed him to bow his head, to school his expression.
“Rise,” the fieflord said, as if this abasement was both expected and irrelevant. “You are not familiar with the subtleties of court gestures, court language; I will dispense with them for now. For this one evening—and from you—formality is neither required nor desired. You will not be considered lacking in appropriate respect.”
Severn rose. He kept his hands loose but by his sides. He had daggers—the guards had not removed them—but they were irrelevant when confronting Barrani. Especially this one. Severn suspected that the lack of inspection was due in large part to that fact: relieving Severn of weapons somehow implied that Severn could be a threat.
He had rehearsed on the way here. He had composed his opening statement, his story, the answers to the questions he thought might be asked. The cold blue of Barrani eyes made remembering any of them difficult. He gave up on them.
“Are these murders happening in any other fief?”
The guards closest to Severn stiffened but didn’t cuff the side of his face or force him to his knees; Lord Nightshade had made clear that he would consider very little impertinent.
“That is an interesting question. It is not the one I expected, although I confess I had little in the way of expectation. It was made clear to me that you were both mortal and young.”
“And you expected I’d have nothing to offer.”
“I considered my presence a reward for your boldness. It is not often that I am...called out of the castle. You are not wealthy; you are not owned; you bear no sign that would indicate you serve one or another of the petty factions that trouble my streets. Even did you, none would have information of interest to me in specific.” His smile was gentle. His voice was not. “If you bore me, if you have wasted my time, there is a penalty to be paid.”
Severn did not blink.
“Because it is an interesting question, and the answer would not otherwise be difficult to obtain, I will answer. No. These deaths have only occurred within Nightshade.”
“What do the marks on the bodies mean?”
Silence, then. Night made the color of Barrani eyes appear darker than they were, or at least that was Severn’s hope. “Marks?”
He knew that this was a misstep, then. “There’re rumors—”
“Are there? I seldom trouble to listen to rumors. Tonight is a rare exception. I would hear your rumors, boy. In detail.”
“The rumors say there are marks on the victims.”
“Ah.” He glanced to the left, and the Barrani guard standing there detached from his lord’s side. He approached Severn slowly. Severn, however, held his ground. His glance flickered once to the guard, but he forced it to return to the fieflord’s cold expression. He had known that there would be a risk; even delivering the message had caused bruises and cuts.
“And do the rumors say much else about these so-called marks?”
He drew a shallow breath before responding. “They’re black. They cover the arms and legs of the victim; possibly the back. Some people say they’re words, writing.”
“Rumor is seldom so accurate.”
Severn forced himself not to shrug. While shrugging was a gesture that served in place of many different replies, it would not help him here. He doubted that the fieflord shrugged. Ever.
“Where did you see these marks, boy?”
A pause, then. But not a long pause. “The body of a child in the southern block. Her name was Tina.”
“You are lying.”
Severn did not deny it. He waited.
“I will ask again while you consider the wisdom of your choices. Where did you see these marks?”