The Scorched Throne

IV - Adonis

*author's note: found the artwork via pinterest. i don't know whose it is, but please reach out to me for credit if it's yours!*

"Get me to the general. Now," I tell the sentry, who does not need to be told twice. Questions ricochet in my head, pounding against my skull, but I ignore them.

The sentry, Romulus, and I finally reach Tempest's sparsely furnished, large study. The general herself presides at her desk, imperial officials clamoring and shouting around her.

"Sergeant Seneca, Private Cassius," she says, her voice authoritative and clear. Silence falls when she speaks, asserting her power. "Did you find out anything about the fabric? This is key. Report."

I explain a much more concise version of the story the fey girl told us. "The girl gave us a contact as well. I returned to ask for your permission to go and meet with him. At the Stalls. She claims he is one of very few merchants with access to the moon muslin."

I can practically hear the thoughts running through Tempest's brain as she processes my news. She slams her fists on the dark oak desk. Romulus and I are the only ones in the room that do not flinch.

"Damn Toad. He can't even die easily, can he? We cannot let word of this get out to anyone but the Commander. The panic of nobles and merchants at this would be disastrous... with all the rebel activity recently and Lord Massimo's disappearance, if they suspect someone's running around murdering the wealthy, they will freak. Seneca, Cassia, be discreet. Find out exactly who this man is. I need to know about his trade dealings, above and belowground, his enemies, sources, and all of his secrets. Addiction, crimes, mistresses. Whatever you can get. It's likely that, if he was one of the only shippers with access to the fabric, your contact should know him."

She stands from her desk. The officers just stare at her, unsure, until she waves them out with an annoyed flick of her hand. "Meet me at the palace for a meeting with the Emperor and some others three o'clock tomorrow afternoon. He—" she glances at the sentry who brought us in "—will debrief you on your way to the Stalls. Dismissed."

We walk swiftly through HQ, not bothering to stop other than snatching up some cloaks to look less conspicuous at the Stalls. The sentry, his hands shaking, fills us in. "Toad was... was found at nine. You two were gone by the time word reached us, a half-hour later. Not long after that, news of the others came in." I stare at him, nodding for him to continue. He fidgets with the strap of his sword's sheath.

"Both of the new kills were wealthy Celodian merchants, one in spices and one in weapons. Killed by a poison dagger to the forehead, of all places. All three were found stripped buck-naked in alleyways near their homes. All of the weapons were the same, too. Daemon steel, the handles inlaid with Syreni pearls. Expensive." Gods, the private must be fresh out of training. He looks barely older than fifteen when cadets must be at least seventeen to graduate. He's done remarkably well, though.

"Thank you," I say, meeting his eyes and nodding my head before we stride as swiftly as possible into the streets.

-

The Stalls are a dark, dank cesspool that becomes even more nefarious as the sun sinks. They feel eerily like a living, breathing creature, its body made of a thousand parasites, its maw gaping and hungry for something, anything.

Our hoods are down, my wings tucked in enough beneath my cloak to pass for weapons that nobody will dare check. We're armed to the teeth, my scythe handle collapsed and tucked behind me, small throwing knives and daggers tucked into my pockets and straps. The markets reek of waste and mugwort smoke. I crane my head up over the throng, trying to get a better view. Dirt grinds beneath my feet with each step.