Chapter Two
Hands seized Winifred from behind. They pushed her down, and she fell with a startled yelp onto the slimy ground. The bag of donuts spilled from her grasp. Pain resonated through her body, with a dagger of pain lacing her jawline.
“What are you?” a voice growled. Knees pressed into Winifred's back. The cold touch of metal rested against her ear. With a start, she realized the man wore a mask. One with a long snout. “I've been investigating rumors of the Cult of the Sun for several months now. And you leave the alley where one of their suspect entrances are. Not the first time you've been there, either, little palace slime. So what are you?”
Winifred attempted to control her terror. Hard when the weight of one of the Kanthian gods pressed her down. Because only the gods wore masks. “I'm sorry, sir!” she croaked. “I have a mother! I go to see her on occasion. She lives in that little street.”
“You think I can't smell a Golubrian? You may have red hair, but you've got that roundness to your face, that pinched edge to your eyes. Last time I checked, Golubrians weren’t welcome here. Not after what you did to one of ours.”
“Did what to what? Sir, I've lived here my entire life. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a palace servant. Please, sir, don't hurt me!” Winifred let out a choked sob for good measure. Was she overdoing it?
“Of course you'll be smart.” He didn't relent the pressure on her. Those hands of his... she instantly knew they could crush her like a gnat. He wouldn't be like a suspicious Golubrian either, flinching back if she started her light show. She needed another approach. “Perhaps I should take you somewhere more private so we can discuss at length what sort of loyalties you have. Because I can smell a rat from a mile away, and my dear—you're the filthiest rat of all.”
He obviously meant he could still smell the sewers on her. Favorite place of illegal doings in any city that had an extensive underground system.
Instantly, she thought of Kiara, her not so sweet, not so innocent princess waiting for Winifred—and the donuts. The thought of Kiara's face drooping in betrayal sent a powerful stab to Winifred's heart. Damn it. She liked the girl. They'd done things together. Kiara even considered Winifred a friend.
“Sir, I don't know what you're babbling on about. I have to get back to my master, she'll be waiting for me. She loves her donuts, and has a bad temper when I'm not quick enough.”
“Who do you serve?”
“I serve Mistress Kiara.”
“The Fjordan princess?” The werewolf sounded amused. He had one of those low, bass and growly voices. The kind that sounded as if you spent a little too much time yelling at things. “You actually serve her?”
“Does that surprise you, sir?” Maintaining a friendly if frightened front was exhausting. “Please, sir. I must go. I'll need to get new donuts, she'll hate the soggy bag. Please don't hurt me, sir. I'm scared, I don't understand what's going on.”
“Tch!” The mask pressed against her ear again. The pressure on Winifred's back built up, making her desperately want to try and buck him off. Except in this position, she'd end up with something broken. “You're not scared at all. And your responses are a little too perfect.” He got off her back, but only to haul her up and turn her around, so she dangled off the cobbles, staring into an iron, wolf-shaped mask. “A new resident needs new servants. What better way to infiltrate than for when the Fjordan princess arrives?”
Shit. This wasn't going at all the way it should. “Sir?” She couldn't see what expression he held behind that mask, framed by faint wisps of light, giving an eerie cast.
I should have been watching my back. Making sure no one had followed me out. Dark take me, I risked the whole operation because I was busy brooding!
“You're coming with me, little eel.” He quickly fished for handcuffs and clapped them around her wrists before she could register what was going on. “And we'll have a talk in a better place...”
Well, Winifred thought, now being shoved by her shoulder to stumble out of the alley, her front dripping in mud. I suppose it had to end, one way or another.
He placed her in a prison carriage, with bars and locks to stop her from being able to escape. Such carriages were split into two, with a grating between the police officer and the prisoner, so he could watch the prisoner and make sure they didn't try anything clever. In the prison compartment sat the masked werewolf and a Highborn officer. The carriage rocked off, and Winifred was left to scowl through the grating to the gray-masked werewolf, with his tall and chunky frame. Even without shifting into a werewolf, with that mask, he could have fit close to the monstrosity they turned into.
Winifred thought back to the first time she'd seen a werewolf. Two of them, actually. One was Kiara's husband, the other a friend who let it slide when she'd seen his face. Certainly didn't seem like monsters. Sure, watching something shift into some two-meter-tall killing machine might be a little disconcerting, but they seemed more or less in perfect control of their forms. Full of purpose for their duty—patrolling the swamplands to defend Kanthus from the night hordes.
It had been, honestly, an excellent adventure. Winifred wanted another chance to go out with Kiara. Given the princess and her impulsive ways, they did have a habit of getting into trouble, one way or another.
The police officer stared at Winifred with cold, flinty eyes. He wore a stronger glow-necklace than the werewolf, who sat motionless, mask turned in her direction. Winifred inwardly sighed and consigned herself to staring at her hands. Prison carriages didn't provide windows.
“You really think this one's a spy?” The police officer sounded disdainful.
“There's something not right about her,” the werewolf replied. “And I'm going to get to the bottom of it. We thought they might be scurrying about the sewers—and she's got the scent on her. I've seen her in this area a few times before, too. Claims she's visiting her mother.”
“Yeah, well, she's not going to claim anything else. What on earth was she doing? Swimming in the sewage? She's filthy.”
Winifred let out a soft snort. The werewolf didn't bother to explain exactly why she looked the way she did. “She's far too well-trained for interrogation for me to think she's a simple palace servant. Another claim of hers, by the way.”
“Serving who?”
“The Fjordan princess. The first one, not the older one.”
“Hmph.” The police officer's nose wrinkled, and his blond hair flopped in front of his eyes. “At this rate, we'll be crawling in Fjordans. We shouldn't have agreed to that alliance.”
“If I had to choose a culture,” the werewolf said, his voice echoing behind his mask, “I'd choose the Fjordans over Golubrians any time. At least they don't practise slavery.”
“Rather not have any of them. Kanthus should be for Kanthians.”
Closing her eyes, Winifred thought about her situation. There was a chance, as long as she continued the innocent front, she'd be let off free. However, no matter how much she'd been trained, she couldn't stop that little quiver of anxiety and doubt inside her. What if they saw through everything? What if she couldn't resist whatever they threw at her?
Her mother thought she had a strong will.
But if Winifred truly had a strong will, she never would feel this tight, throat-constricting conflict inside.
Trouble was, she didn't want to pick a cause. She just wanted to please Mother because she loved her.
All those years, hearing the slaves cry out in the dark. Of hearing how Kanthus, which claimed to protect its citizens from the night hordes, had allowed them run of the throne.
We're going to purge the throne, darling. We're going to free the people from the tyranny of the false gods.
Not once, it seemed, did Susan or the other members of the Cult of the Sun actually ask if the Kanthians wanted this “freedom.”
Since once they toppled the throne and the werewolves, the Golubrians would no doubt want to impose their divine rule on Kanthus.
And turn it into another slave city.
Sometimes, it seemed clear to Winifred what she needed to do. Just shake off the chains of her past, tell the Kanthians what the blasts was going on, and let them deal with the potential assassination plots before Kanthus turned into Golubria Version Two.
But then Winifred thought about her mother, and the cultists who genuinely believed they were doing the right thing. And sometimes, their words just made such perfect sense. Of course the Kanthians were blind. They'd been blinded for centuries, after all. Taught to believe that somehow it was okay to have monsters on the throne.
And what better way for the night hordes to consolidate power than to convince the population to love them? Even Winifred could no longer see the monsters they were supposed to be.
Lying down on the hard wooden bench, Winifred covered her eyes with her elbow, wishing that she was strong enough to choose a side, and not feel guilty afterwards. The covered bracelet pressed against her cheek. The expensive offering from her mother as an adult-gift. Such a rare thing. Nearly all their savings, just because her mother was utterly convinced that the assassination plot would succeed. Winifred's lip quivered. Her body ached. The mud clung wetly to her clothes, though it hadn't yet penetrated the outer layer to reach her skin.
All she could do was wait. The werewolf's voice growled to the policeman, and she finally picked up on the names. Ian for the werewolf, Stefan for the police officer.
Ian. Not a scary monster name at all.
Her mother claimed them to be wolves in sheep's clothing. She saw them as sheep in wolf clothing. They wore the wolf because they had to, but underneath all that, they were still human. Still full of hopes and dreams, just as valid as the hopes and dreams of everyone else. Blasts, that Mordred, Kiara's husband, he had asked Winifred for advice regarding Kiara. He wanted to be the best husband, but sometimes he found Kiara's hyperactive nature trying.
Did monsters usually ask for dating advice?
Winifred must have fallen asleep, somehow, because the next thing she heard was the door swinging open. Ian reached for her and hauled her out, marching her towards the palace dungeons.
To get to the dungeons, they needed to step through a cemetery—one of the biggest gravesites in the world. Winifred hated the cemetery. They gave it soft, orange lighting and glowing plants, but seeing all those rows of graves with the names of the long dead on them made her skin crawl.
Perhaps it was a residual Golubrian prejudice that resided inside her. They liked to burn their dead, believing that the soul couldn't leave until its former prison was taken apart. A cemetery suggested hundreds, thousands of trapped souls under the earth, stuck in their coffins, long after the flesh peeled from their bones.
Stop it, Winifred scolded herself. Next thing, she'd be seeing ghosts out of the corners of her eyes. She wanted to illuminate the area better by lightweaving, but also didn't want to alert the werewolf that they had a talented lightweaver on their hands.
“Why,” Winifred said, “do you have to have a dungeon in such a horrible place?”
“They didn't want one under the palace,” Ian replied. His voice sounded as if he was grinning wickedly. “And they do think it's good for a criminal to be able to see all the dead. To remind him that he or she should really rethink personal life choices.”
“Isn't it disrespectful to your dead?” Winifred persisted, trying to suppress a shudder when she stepped over someone's grave. “Having criminals next to them?”
“Maybe they like the company,” Ian said.
“She's Golubrian,” Stefan said. “They're funny about the dead, they are. Show them a coffin and they'll start screaming. Make them step over a grave and they'll think the ghost is coming to kill them.”
So many crypts, mausoleums. The cemetery seemed to stretch on forever in each direction. It was hidden, usually, by tall, thick-leafed trees, iron railings, and some of the rivers that threaded through Kanthus. From a distance, it appeared as if it might be a nice park to the north of Kanthus, just about brushing the edge of the Muskeg Swamps. Since it was patrolled by werewolves, the public needed special permission to enter the cemetery and visit the graves of loved ones.
The tombs of the royals were supposed to be somewhere around here too, in one of the mausoleums. Not that Winifred had the time to reflect on it right now, since the entrance to the dungeon approached. They could have entered it from the front doors by the road, but it seemed Ian wanted her bundled in without drawing too much attention.
“In you go,” Ian snarled, now shoving Winifred through. A guard stationed at a small booth nodded them through, and within a moment of tight, twisting hallways, she found herself shoved into a small room—one that had a few too many torture devices in it to let Winifred feel particularly comfortable about settling down.
So, not to the cells, then. Straight to the torture.
She didn't need to hide her fear now as she said, “Sir, why are you taking me here? What do you think I possibly know?”
Ian snapped at her to be quiet, and tied her securely onto a chair in the center of the room. A chair that actually had manacles on it, and was nailed to the ground to stop it from toppling over. Not exactly a comfortable seat, either.
“We can't afford to waste time,” Ian said. “You bluff innocence, but I know for a fact that the Sun Cult are gearing to make a move. They're not exactly shy about their views on the Kanthian nobility. It will be war if they do it, of course. And I'd like to prevent a war. So even if I have to break every bone in your body...” The threat rolled off his tongue, causing a fresh wave of anxiety to ripple through. “I'll make sure the threat will be prevented.”
He's desperate, Winifred thought. I wonder how much he knows. “Please, sir. Just let me go. I don't understand what you're talking about.”
“Again, that lie!” Ian prowled around Winifred, muscles taut, as if preparing to lash out. “You're too calm. And you look at me as if you think I'm an enemy, not a god.” Now he crouched in front of her, the mask cold and chilling. His yellow eyes appeared small in the black mask sockets. He took a blade from within his jacket and held it up to her. “Am I going to have to carve the questions into your skin?”
Winifred followed the moving blade, mesmerized. “You'll only get the same answer, sir. I'm a servant of a Fjordan princess. And I was visiting my mother.”
The blade pressed against her cheek. The wolf mask tilted to the side, as if regarding her. Then, slowly, he ran the blade over her cheek, and she felt the sudden sting of cut flesh. She gasped, but stared into those yellow eyes.
“You're wasted as a servant,” he said then, taking the blade away. “You're too brave. I would admire your spirit if you weren't a suspect.” Now a hand touched her uncut cheek. “Maybe there are other ways to get information from you. Hmm?” The hand trailed down, over her chest, breast, to rest on her thigh.
A little voice screamed in horror in the back of her mind, but she kept calm outside. “Then you will have a broken servant, and the same answer.”
His head drooped, the mask pointing to the ground. It took her a moment to see that he was shaking with laughter.
“Unbelievable,” he said. “You've definitely had interrogation training. So for that fact alone, I'm keeping you in a cell.”
Shit. Winifred knew that a part of her had automatically retreated to that objective place where her mind could survive anything. He could throw rocks against her, break the bones in her body, and she'd somehow keep everything locked inside. At least... that was the expectation. She might well crumble down and break down like the rest.
He'd never let her go, Winifred realized. He obviously knew something. Enough to lock her in this room without probable cause, since she hadn't assaulted him. He likely had special permission from the king and queen to unearth the Cult of the Sun plots. But what did he know?
And what should she reveal?
It's my own damn manner that got me into this, Winifred thought viciously. He'll never let me go unless I give him something. And he certainly won't trust me unless I give him something.
“We'll send word to your princess that you're being detained. No doubt she'll come and demand where you are, but until the investigation is over, you'll be staying as a prisoner. But...” Now his eyes shifted to her covered bracelet. He grabbed her wrist and twisted her hand up. “Covered. What's this...? Oh...” He recognized what kind of bracelet it was. The gleam in his eyes, the sharp intake of breath...
Probably why you don't see people wearing them. Too easy to identify... Now Winifred wished her mother might have waited a little longer to give the bracelet. Though the fact that she did give the bracelet suggested a limited time frame for the assassination to start. Her mother had even suggested her to stay out. But of course, she didn't share the exact date with her daughter. Just in case Winifred was compromised.
Maybe that was why Ian seemed frantic to uncover clues. He knew about the approaching deadline.
“You're either someone special, or you've been swiping from the royal coffers... servant.”
“That's my adult-gift,” Winifred said, before immediately realizing her mistake. Dark take me, I'm a useless spy!
“Adult-gift? Pretty expensive gift to give someone. Really expensive to give to a servant. So that tells me... you're just pretending to be a servant.” There was no mistaking that gleam of excitement in his eyes now.
Unfortunately, Winifred's mother was known as a trade-leader. The equivalent of nobility in Golubria. One of the wealthier Golubrians out there. No commoner would be able to afford such a priceless gift.
I have no choice. I'll need to tell him some of the truth. Enough to hook him, but not enough to get everyone killed.
“Okay, okay, you got me.” Winifred let out an exasperated sigh, staring at the bracelet. “My mom gave that to me as an adult-gift. She's a trade-leader. She wants me to leave the palace and come back to Golubria, maybe work with the Cult of the Sun. She thought maybe by getting me an expensive gift, I'd be reminded of her love for me and I'd come back.”
The best lies are the ones closest to the truth.
Ian's breaths hitched in obvious zeal. “Is that so?” He turned the expensive bracelet over in his leather-gloved palms. “Do you know about the Cult of the Sun, then?”
“Yes.” Winifred tried to stretch, though it was hard in her position. “It is one of the main religions in Golubria. You should know what it's about, too.”
“Yes,” Ian said impatiently, his wolf mask tilting to the side again. “But what I want to know is what kind of plot they're hatching in Kanthus.”
Winifred hesitated a moment. He likely already knew about the assassination plot, so she went with it. “As far as I'm aware, they believe the Highborn have corrupted blood. They state that the Highborn are descendants of night horde creatures. From what I've heard when I'm visiting my mother, I think they have some kind of plan in place to do something about it.”
“And you claim to be some innocent bystander in all this?”
Now to sell my best lie.
“Oh no. They wanted me to spy for them in the palace. Try and get interior designs, routines. I'm not interested, but that doesn't mean I don't find people trying to persuade me all the same.”
Ian's breaths came out ragged through the dark gray mask. He weighed her words, calculating if she lied or not. The allure of her information transfixed him in place.
He's buying it.
“Why did you refuse?”
“I liked my job. Better to be a servant in Kanthus, than a slave in Golubria.” Winifred gave him a thin smile. “I also consider Mistress Kiara to be my friend. Though I'm sure you'll find that unbelievable.”
The werewolf tapped at his mask. “What I can tell by your words is that you're smart. It's like you know exactly what you need to say.”
“Trade-leader habit,” Winifred replied. “Trade-leaders train their children to withstand interrogation. It's quite common for us to be kidnapped and ransomed. Which is also one of the reasons why I like living in Kanthus. I have Kanthian citizenship. I can show you, if you want.”
“Citizenship means you rejected your Golubrian heritage... okay. But what about your mother? Your father?”
“No father. Mother.... she came to try and persuade me to come back. I've been here for a while, and I'm the only heir. It'll have to go to my uncle and cousin if not me.”
Except we agreed a long time ago that I wouldn't inherit.
He examined the bracelet for a little while longer. “You're the equivalent of nobility. But you're working as a servant.”
“Yes.”
“And you've been asked to work for the Cult of the Sun, and you're aware they may be planning something.”
“Yes.”
“Why haven't you told anyone about this before?”
“They've been talking about this for years. I imagine they'll keep talking about it for many more years. It's no secret what the relations between Kanthus and Golubria are like.”
Finally, Ian seemed to accept the information. Winifred inwardly sighed in relief. Damn werewolf was too perceptive, really.
“I apologize for the rough treatment,” Ian said, now undoing the clasps on her wrists. “I'm rather pushed for time. I've caught wind that there will be an assassination attempt on the king and queen within the next month, so I don't really have a lot of space to find the culprit. We'd rather not let things come to war. We have enough foes without making things worse.”
“I understand,” Winifred said, wincing as she rubbed her wrists. “Look, you can't be serious about an assassination? I mean, they talk a lot, but...”
“I'm serious,” Ian said. For a moment, Winifred wished she could see what hid behind that mask. Except, well, if she did, then she'd have to marry him.
Her mother might have a heart attack if something like that happened.
“Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, I am trained against interrogation, so I'm sure my princess might be willing to lend me on occasion.”
“Hmm. We'll see.” Ian undid the rest of the clasps and gave the bracelet back. “I'm going to keep an eye on you for the next few nights, just to make sure. You're either completely honest, or you're an incredibly skilled liar. Hard to tell when you're brave. You don't seem to be curling your lip in disgust at me, though, so that's something.”
“I did come to Kanthus worried about monsters. I soon learned that they're not.” Saying this physically hurt Winifred, because it countered everything she stood for. She shouldn't be saying things like this. She should be hating the Kanthians, supporting her mother's cause.
But...
Her heart wasn't in it. So in a way, the story she had told Ian hit a little too close to home. Her mother was trying to bribe Winifred in a way, with a beautiful, expensive gift. Something that would make all Highborn stare at her and wonder how a servant obtained such a rare artefact.
“I'm going to have to wear this bracelet on my ankle,” Winifred muttered. “It's too noticeable. My mother sure picked a wonderful gift to get stolen from me.”
A dry chuckle came from Ian at these words. “Yes... you may need to do that. Again, I'm sorry.” He actually bowed to her when she stood up, and Winifred's cheeks colored slightly. Partly from irritation, partly from being flattered that he regarded her in this way. She bound the bracelet around her ankle, inside her boot. Not comfortable. She'd need to do something about that. Shame she had to hide such a glorious gift.
I'm not strong enough. I'm just not. “I needed to talk super-fast when you saw that bracelet.” She grinned. “It's not like I want everyone to know who I am, but it's going to look slightly odd that I have it.”
The werewolf escorted her out of the room, where Stefan waited. The constable pursed his lips, unimpressed.
“False alarm?”
“For now. Though she did share some good information. She confirms that the Golubrians do talk about the assassination. Her claims are... believable.”
Angry knocking reverberated from the end of the corridor. “Where's Winifred? Where's Winifred! I swear, if you're torturing my servant, I'm going to kill you!”
“And that would be my mistress,” Winifred said, sucking her front teeth under her bottom lip.
“Ah,” Ian sighed. “You're Winifred. The level eight lightweaver. You are full of surprises, aren't you?”
“Oh, you know about me?” Winifred grinned at him, delighted. Her former anxiety was fast disappearing, now that she'd gotten out of the chair and knew Kiara had come to fetch her. “Am I getting famous?”
“Not that famous, or I would have recognized you on sight. Though I probably should have made the connection when I saw a servant with an amplifier.” Ian gave another sigh as Kiara shrieked again, before adding, “My name's Ian, by the way.”
“Thanks, Ian.” She wasn't going to tell him she'd already caught it.
Though Winifred liked that even a werewolf she'd never met before knew about her reputation, it did leave another awkward realization in the air. People would notice her absence from Kanthus. That these people who respected and liked her might soon be dead, because she didn't have the balls to stand up against her mother.
The door burst open, and a disgruntled guard got shoved aside as Kiara dashed up the corridor. Her dark hair bounced behind her, and the tall princess practically threw herself on Winifred, not caring about the mud on her front. “I don't even care about the donuts, I just care that you're not lying in a street with your throat slit or being tortured by these people.” She gave Ian a flinty stare.
“Apologies, Princess,” Ian said, sounding perfectly contrite. “We just had a few things to sort out. Winifred has kindly offered to help me in my investigation in the future. Which may be quite soon, since the threat to the palace is tightening its noose.”
“Threat? Is this something I can chop?” Kiara appeared a little too eager to use her lightweaving. That extra exuberance came ever since she could forge light into physical form. Wanting to wave her sword all over the place.
“Perhaps, Princess, if we can find the culprits we need to chop.” Ian gave her a stately bow before departing, leaving Winifred with her princess.
“Okay,” Kiara said. “You have to tell me everything that's happened to you this night. And you can tell me while we get more donuts.”
Kiara was, if nothing else, quite the force of nature. Winifred didn't envy Mordred, the husband, in his task at all.