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  The streets looked a little bare without the tables and brightly coloured canopies, but no one was fooled by the mild reprieve. They all knew the snow would come soon enough, thick and heavy, and no one wanted an awning full of snow falling on their customers.

  Trade continued to flourish between Seveldrom and the west, and she was doing all that she could to keep goods flowing both ways. Valuable information came in through the city gates with every wagon train, and fresh orders went out the next day for the return trip. Her spy network in the west was much larger than before the war. The more she knew the easier it would be to defuse situations before they could escalate.

  Talandra closed the window, shutting out the chill and moved back to her desk. The sea of papers scattered across it never seemed to dwindle. There was always a host of fresh reports, official requests and invitations. It was rare that she received any papers that weren’t a demand on her time. The days and weeks were being gobbled up and the years seemed to be growing shorter. Talandra knew the truth of it. She was forever busy and the list of responsibilities that came with the throne had not decreased. She also had difficulty delegating. The excuse about not being able to find good people wasn’t fooling those closest to her, but it was so hard to let go.

  As ever when she thought about time, Talandra’s mind turned to the future. She ran a hand across her swelling stomach and although she didn’t mind, as long as the child was healthy, she hoped for a girl this time. His tiny lordship was currently being entertained elsewhere, giving her a few hours of peace to get some work done. But so far all she’d achieved this morning was staring out the window and thinking about the future.

  A frantic knocking disturbed her thoughts. Before Talandra had a chance to respond Alexis threw open the door to admit a flustered-looking Shani. Her head of intelligence looked scared, which terrified Talandra. Shani was always in control of her emotions.

  “By the Maker, what’s happened?” asked Talandra, guiding Shani to a chair. In the corridor outside she heard the rattle of many feet. “What’s going on out there?”

  “We’re tripling the guard,” said Alexis. “No one will get anywhere near you. We’re sending more to protect the Prince.” With that she pulled the doors shut. There hadn’t been an assassination attempt in nearly three years, not since Shani had taken matters into her own hands.

  “It’s not assassins,” said Shani in a raspy voice. Despite being well before midday, Talandra poured a generous splash of whisky into a glass. She pressed it into Shani’s trembling hands and helped her take a sip. After the third gulp her shaking faded and she pushed the glass away.

  Talandra pulled up a chair beside Shani, doing her best to quell the flutter of fear in her stomach that threatened to blossom into something else.

  “From the beginning. Tell me what’s happened,” she said gently, holding one of Shani’s hands in both of hers.

  “I was in the Black Library. I was filing some new information,” said Shani, shaking her head to dismiss the question before it was asked. The specifics would have to wait and clearly weren’t relevant. Talandra bit her lip and gestured for Shani to continue. “I was just about to leave when I noticed it was missing.”

  A cold prickle ran down Talandra’s spine. “What? What was missing?”

  Shani stared into the distance. “I see it all the time. It’s become just another relic from the past. I’d forgotten what it really was.”

  Talandra’s mind went through all the possibilities that would rattle Shani so thoroughly. The Black Library was mostly full of notebooks, floor to ceiling, but there were also a few other objects. Items that she didn’t want stored in the royal vault. Items that shouldn’t exist. Items that no one knew about, except for a handful of people. All of the objects were dangerous in their own way, but as she ran through the list in her mind there was only one that made her heart skip a beat. Talandra stared at Shani, a question on her lips, and the Morrin just nodded.

  Alexis came back into the room, clanking in her armour, Hyram a step behind. Although neither of her bodyguards had drawn their swords, both had a hand resting on their weapon. They were still alert but some of the tension had eased from their shoulders.

  “Tell everyone to stand down,” said Talandra. “We’re not in any immediate danger.” Whether they heard the tremble in her voice, or perhaps it was just her expression, neither of her bodyguards looked convinced. Talandra wasn’t sure she really believed it either, but there was nothing anyone could do.

  “What’s going on?” asked Hyram. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Alexis, please tell the others to stand down. Then come in and close the door.”

  The big blonde did as she was asked, but there was a sour twist to her mouth. Spending so much time together every day for years meant there were few secrets between them. There were aspects of her position that Talandra didn’t share with Alexis or even her brother, Hyram. The full extent of the work carried out by her spy network at home and abroad wasn’t something they needed to know. They may not have liked it but they accepted it.

  “There’s a secret vault in the palace, we call it the Black Library,” said Talandra. From the furrows between her eyebrows Alexis thought the Black Library was something Talandra should have told her about. She ignored her bodyguard for now and turned towards Hyram. “Father showed me where it was hidden when I turned thirteen.”

  Hyram’s eyes became distant. “One summer you became very withdrawn and quiet.”

  “Yes, it was that year.”

  “Me and Thias thought you were starting your cycle,” said Hyram with a grin, but Alexis’s grim expression didn’t change. Despite their apparent differences they normally shared a coarse sense of humour. It seemed as if today all humour had been drained from her body.

  “What’s in the vault?” asked Alexis.

  “Secrets,” said Talandra, staring at her bodyguard. “A vault of secrets. Enough to change the world, or destroy it, in the hands of the wrong people. By the time Father showed me the room I already knew about his spy network. That day he told me the rest and it was a heavy burden to carry for a child.”

  “What else was in the vault?” asked Alexis.

  “This isn’t about you,” said Talandra, hearing the accusation in her tone.

  “It seems to me, your Majesty, that it’s about trust,” said Alexis. The only time she used Talandra’s title in private was when she was annoyed.

  Talandra ignored the jibe, focusing her attention on Hyram again. “As well as secrets, I also stored a few sensitive items in there.”

  “I thought that’s what the royal vault was for,” said Hyram.

  “These items don’t exist,” said Shani, finding her voice again. Some of the colour had returned to her face but she was still visibly rattled. “There’s no written record of them anywhere. Only a handful of people know about them, and only three have access to the Black Library.”

  “Someone stole something from the vault,” surmised Alexis.

  “We are two of the keyholders,” said Talandra, gesturing at herself and Shani.

  “Then it was the other keyholder,” said Alexis.

  “No, he’s not in the country,” said Talandra, thinking of her husband.

  “What was stolen?” asked Hyram.

  “A sword called Maligne. It’s the only one of its kind, crafted from star metal.”

  Talandra watched as realisation dawned on her brother’s face. Hyram swore and started to pace around the room, trying to work off some of the adrenaline that had built up.

  “I don’t understand,” said Alexis.

  Talandra spoke carefully, choosing her words precisely. “It was forged by one of the Battlemages during the war. Finn Smith.”

  “I thought he died,” said Alexis.

  “He did.”

  “Then if it wasn’t one of your people, who does that leave? Who else knew about the sword?”

  “Only one person who’s still alive,” sa
id Talandra, sharing a look with Shani. “And no one has seen him for years. Most people won’t even say his name out loud. He changed the course of the war, he killed the Warlock and we rewarded him with exile.”

  “It can’t be,” whispered Alexis, a hint of fear creeping into her voice. “I thought he was dead.”

  Talandra shook her head. Suddenly she wanted a drink of whisky as well, maybe a whole bottle, but she couldn’t touch a drop.

  Somehow he’d found out that she still had the sword. Then he’d walked into the palace, completely unnoticed by any guard or servant, found his way into the most secret vault and walked out again with a sword. And not once had he used a key, broken a lock or been seen by anyone. The only reason they knew he’d even been there was the sword’s absence.

  Talandra knew he’d been a powerful magic user during the war, but where had he been and what had he become in the interim? She also wondered why someone like him would need a sword, and who it would be turned against.

  Instinctively she wrapped her arms around her stomach, a thin shield against all of the terrors in the world, but it was all she could offer her unborn child. Talandra had to say his name aloud, if only to become used to hearing it again without it being used to scare people.

  “Balfruss has returned.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The hallways of Unity Hall rang with the sound of Tammy’s boots as she marched towards the Old Man’s office. Other Guardians of the Peace smiled or nodded, a brief sign of respect between equals. There were no ranks here, no ladders to climb.

  Long before Tammy became a Guardian she had worked for one of the crime Families of Perizzi, rulers of the underworld. Each Family was led by one or two Dons or Dońas, and arrayed beneath them were tiers of followers, from lowly Paper jackals right up to the most trusted Silver and Gold.

  The faded scars on her body and the sunken knuckles on her hands spoke of her old life. One where strength, cunning and brutality were cherished traits. Where compassion was a weakness that would get you killed. Or worse, it would cause the death of those closest to you. That was why they were called jackals. Like their namesake they would turn on the weakest of the pack to further their own ambition.

  But all of that was a long time ago. Part of another life that she’d left behind. Now the law was her shield and her mind the best weapon in her arsenal. Tammy wasn’t stupid. She still carried a sword and practised with it every day. She still trained hard and kept her body in good condition. But a strong arm wasn’t always enough and it had taken her years to realise that.

  And while she now embraced compassion, the shadow of her old life still haunted the dark recesses of her mind. It also gave her a unique perspective and framed her view of crimes in a way that was different to other Guardians. Only a few people knew what she’d done before, the Khevassar, and one or two others, but they didn’t talk about it. Everyone had secrets they’d rather stayed buried.

  The Old Man’s fussy secretary was busy scribbling a note when Tammy stepped into the outer office. Two novices were sat waiting for their first interviews with the head of the Guardians. Both looked very young and naïve. The girl was sweating profusely and the young man beside her couldn’t sit still. His left leg bobbed up and down, tapping out an endless rhythm on the wooden floor. Tammy remembered her first interview with the Old Man. They were right to feel nervous. He had a mind like a butcher’s blade that could cut through fat and gristle right down to the bone. You couldn’t lie or hide something from him. He could see to the heart of any matter. It seemed like a blessing and a curse.

  Rummpoe had noticed her arrival but he carefully blotted the page and cleaned his nib before looking up at her. He had to crane his neck a long way. She towered over most people in Yerskania, thanks to her father who’d come from Seveldrom.

  “He’ll be a couple of minutes,” said the secretary, glancing at the seats before returning to his notes. Tammy ignored the chairs, instead opting to peruse the notebooks on shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. They were the Khevassar’s history of the city stretching back decades. Every murder, every assault, every theft and wrongdoing, every crime severe enough that it came across the Old Man’s desk. Here was the real history of Perizzi, written in blood for all to see. Tammy knew that somewhere, buried within these pages, was the list of her old crimes.

  The Khevassar’s office door opened and a flustered novice hurried past, his face blotchy and close to tears. The words spoken in the office had been for his ears only and would not be repeated or shared with anyone. They would wound him deeply, but should not have come as a surprise. If they did it meant he had never looked inside, never questioned what he did or the reasons why. It meant he wasn’t suitable for a job in the Guardians. It wasn’t the only requirement, but it mattered a great deal. Either the boy would take the blow on the chin and keep moving forward, or he’d stay where he was in the Watch. There was a world of difference between being a Guardian of the Peace and being a member of the Watch.

  Rummpoe stepped into the Old Man’s office and emerged a minute later. He gestured for Tammy to go inside ahead of the waiting novices.

  For once the Khevassar wasn’t sat behind his desk attending to the mountain of paperwork that never seemed to decrease in size. He stood reading from one of the journals taken off his shelves, his brow furrowed and eyes distant. Tammy closed the door, took a seat and waited for the Old Man to finish. With a sigh, the Khevassar carefully replaced the journal and then sat down.

  As she saw his face clearly for the first time Tammy struggled to hide her shock. He looked frail. Ever since she’d joined the Guardians he’d been old, but like the mountains he simply became more craggy over the years. He never lost any of his vitality or energy. Staring into his icy blue eyes Tammy thought he looked diminished, as if something had been taken from him. His weathered skin seemed thin and the knuckles on his hands impossibly large. It made her rub her own hands, tracing the scars and hard tissue.

  She tried several times to ask about his health but couldn’t find the words. Tammy wondered if he was ill, or perhaps time had finally caught up with him.

  “I’m not done yet, Baker,” he said, showing her a full set of white teeth.

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  He waved it away and his expression turned serious. “Are you happy?”

  The question stumped Tammy. It wasn’t one she’d expected him to ask. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked her that question. “Sir?”

  “Let me try an easier question. Do you feel as if you’re being challenged in your role as a Guardian in Perizzi?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Ah.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Instead of answering the Old Man rummaged around in his desk drawers for a minute before producing a document with an unfamiliar wax seal. It bore a strange symbol Tammy didn’t know, perhaps from a foreign King or Queen.

  “Do you know what that is?” he asked, barely waiting for the shake of her head. “It’s a request from Drassia. There are a number of unusual murders in one of their cities. Something they’ve never seen before. Some kind of ritualistic serial killer. They would like the Guardians to investigate.”

  “Is it genuine?”

  “Oh yes. The Guardians of the Peace are unique. We’re the only group that sometimes works outside our own borders. What do you know about Shael?”

  “That the country is a mess,” replied Tammy, absently rubbing her knuckles.

  “Be more specific.”

  “It was invaded and shattered during the war when they refused to join the Mad King’s alliance. Now it’s being rebuilt, piece by piece.”

  “And?” pressed the Old Man.

  “And despite the best efforts of Queen Olivia and her Regent, large portions of the country remain a lawless wasteland. Criminals have taken over whole towns and cities, running them like their own fiefs. Some areas have been completely abandoned.”

  “The cities along
main trade routes have been reclaimed and cleansed,” said the Khevassar, putting the letter away and taking another from the pile on his desk. Although she didn’t recognise the crest, Tammy could guess where it was from by the way the Old Man gripped it. His fingertips turned white from the pressure. “But it will be a long time before the country can sustain itself. It may never be what it once was.”

  “I’ve heard other stories about Shael. The kind people tell only in whispers.”

  The Khevassar released the letter and sat back in his chair. He looked off to one side, staring in the distance, and for a minute he was elsewhere. Tammy thought his sparse white hair looked thinner and there were more liver spots on his hands than the last time she’d see him.

  “I have many regrets,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But the worst are those where I didn’t tell someone the whole truth.”

  “Sir?”

  His attention returned to the present and the Khevassar’s piercing eyes focused on Tammy. “The stories you’ve heard, the ones whispered in dark corners. Most likely they’re true. Guardian Fray recently returned from Shael, after visiting a city called Voechenka. It’s surrounded by mountains on two sides and utterly secluded. It used to be a place of quiet reflection. A haven for artists. Now it’s a ruin, overrun with crime. It had been forgotten until stories started to emerge.”

  Part of her didn’t want to know, but Tammy had to ask. “What kind of stories?”

  “Stories where people come back from the dead. Stories where strange lights are seen over the lake at night. Stories where mutilated bodies turn up with unrecognisable teeth marks.”

  “Was it a desperate plea for help or genuine?” she asked, gesturing at the letter in his hands.

  “That’s what I sent Fray to find out. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t tell him everything. The doctors tell me he will recover in time, but it’s going to be a long road.”