Garin stumbled, nearly toppling over as the ache in his thigh flared. He groaned and caught himself as he fell to his knees, narrowly avoiding landing flat on his face. His arm burned under the weight of the guard. Dragging himself to his feet, he made his way down the hill, slowly, lest the silhouette he was casting draw unwanted attention.
As the pang of realization hit him, disbelief was the only thing that kept him going.
A pair of horse drawn carriages were parked on the opposite side of the house, one appearing to be a storage cart, and the other, a commoner’s carriage.
He approached the makeshift gallows just to the right of the front windows and placed the man down between the nearest hay stacks beforeremoving his baldric—then his coat. Fingers trembling, Garin laid it upon him, covering the man from the breastplate down.
Wordlessly, he slipped Sable out of her noose, hoisting her gently. Her body was slightly warm, but her heart was still.
Memories of returning from the apothecary assaulted him, making him shiver uncontrollably. Garin’s mother had asked him to meet her there. She hadn’t shown.
Unlike Sable’s, Aimee’s body had been deathly cold by the time Garin discovered her.
He blinked the memories away and placed the old woman on the swaying grass, laying the back of his hand against her neck to confirm what his other senses had already told him. Then, he removed Jeanare, laying him alongside his wife.
There were several farms here; his was the smallest and most cramped, flanked closely to the south and to the west by larger properties. Yet, none of the residents had come to Sable or Jeanare’s aid. They hadn’t noticed—hadn’t heard the fight they must’ve put up.
Humans were selfish creatures by default. But—buthow could no one have heard them?How could no one have noticed them? Bodies, swinging in the wind.
Haunted, Garin stroked Sable’s cheek once more, squeezed Jeanare’s limp hand, and staggered to his feet.
There was a man watching from the doorway, his face illuminated by two oil lamps, one on each side of the railing.
“Come to join our festivities?” asked Artus.
Garin strode up the porch steps and braced himself against the pillar.
Artus stood there, unarmed. No weapons, no stakes. Behind him, the house wascrowdedwith people, men and women alike. Twenty at least, most of them recognizable from his hunting troupe at The Jaunty Hog. They were in his parlor, slipping in and out of the west wing. In his pantry and kitchen, spilling into the entry hall behind him. They’d even broken into the buttery, several of them passing bottles and stoneware around.
Garin’s voice was barely audible. “What have you done?”
Unconcerned, Artus squinted past him at the bodies in the grass. “They were marked for investigation weeks ago when the head of Henri’s guard went missing. This was the last house Renald reportedly checked.”
“Youmurderer. You don’t have the grounds to investigate.”
Just then, a pair of familiar faces emerged from the west hall, snickering until they laid eyes on Garin. Brient doubled back at the sight of him and nudged Hamon in the ribs, but Artus held a finger up. They quieted, but remained to watch.
“Oh, the irony. With my son gone and grandson wracked with hysteria, you’d be surprised by what grounds I do hold.”
“They were innocent!” Garin snarled. “They had the right to due process under Trécesson law.”
“Not if we found evidence of past doubt. On the same night Renald disappeared, there were reports of a brush fire on the hill out back.” Artus reached into his back pocket and held out three blackened pieces of jewelry. A brooch and two heavy rings, one on a chain. “My men found this on a partially burned corpse in a nearby shallow grave. His family identified him that way.”
“That doesn’t mean they were guilty.”
“And how would you know? You didn’tknowthem, did you, vampire?”
At this, everyone within earshot went quiet. “Vampire, sir?” stammered Brient. “But t-that’s the emissary.”
Artus leaned against the doorway, cocking his head back at the town butcher. “Emissary?”
“The emissary that’s come to proposition Lilac for the emperor,” said Hamon. “The one that caused the commotion last night, remember?”
Artus’s eyes narrowed, darkening with recognition. “The vampire is a creature of eternal pretense, my friends. A thinly veiled shroud, masquerading as many things. A good man. A faithful citizen, loyal friend. A devoted and capable lover, even.” He pointed a trembling finger at Garin. “He is none of those things, but a cursed mockery of life. Certainly no one important. Not man, nor emissary.”
Garin marched into his house—or, tried to. His face cracked off of thin air.
Artus watched gleefully as Garin growled, using his palm to straighten his nose. Brient and Hamon laughed, stunned. Several others began to murmur nervously behind them, but Artus shushed them. “We’re safe. See?”
