Page 132 of Shadows and Roses

Mutilated hands.

A girl. Small fingers made shorter by a blade. A clean cut for some. Other claws had been ripped off, leaving a torn, ugly clawbed.

His mind analyzed what his eyes couldn't stop staring at. Someone must have cleaned the blood. There were no other wounds, though her lips were blue. Strangled—no, suffocated. She couldn’t even scream.

His lungs refused to draw air. His arms felt numb, his head light.

Someone sniffled beside him.

Escort. He was an Escort and they were watching him.

Lips thinning, he nodded at the lady.

Then he asked, "Who did this?"

An older man standing beside the couple scowled. "Isn't that why you're here? Find out, Escort! Find the beast who did this!"

Castien beckoned his guard. "Gather what information you can. I'll report this to the steward. And yes, I'll summon another guard for myself." Both Jerome and Anais had been insistent on guards at all times. He had to admit they were comforting.

The table in the main chamber was scattered with bottles of wine and stronger liquor. Angry murmurs of Nadraken andDelia drifted through the room. They would drink and there would be more death soon. The Queen's count would be high this week.

He walked through the halls, but not to find Vern.

The girl’s claws had been removed.

With claws so fresh in his mind, he inevitably thought of the book and its owner. But Damon wouldn't do this. His friendwouldn’tdo this.

Yet someone had.

Perhaps Damon had shown others the book, or someone had given it to him. The nobles seemed an unlikely source, but the factions that Damon had mentioned—some among them were more extremist than even those who had attacked. Damon believed he had them under control, but if not? He should be warned.

Chapter 37

The military wing was full to bursting, active even this late at night. Integrating thousands of new conscripts was a constant task. Castien weaved his way through the halls until he spotted a familiar face.

"Jerrl! Or should I call you Captain?"

The man was sitting on a bench, harassing a group of trainees. He stood and put up a hand to interrupt Castien. "Wait. I'm sorry I was an ass. Kevam wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could have done—"

Castien waved it away. "It's fine. Truly. You don't need to apologize."

Jerrl sighed and crossed his arms. "I do. But thank you. You really are the best of us."

Castien glanced at the metal bracer on his friend’s wrist. He wasn’t one of them anymore, though, was he? Shelving that thought, he looked around again. "It seems Damon's hardly around anymore. Does he still come to training?"

"Yes, of course, he works with the new recruits often. They're out in the yard, trying to coordinate with the army." A slight grimace twisted Jerrl’s lips.

"Ah. Are they working together or beating each other up?"

Jerrl smirked, "What’s the difference? Either way, Damon seems happy about it, at least."

"Good, good. I need to speak to him." Castien nodded and stepped toward the yard.

"Oh, he’s not here. Just left to grab something to eat before his weekly meeting with the Queen."

Weekly? They were quite familiar, weren’t they. He frowned. That was unfair. They weren’t together. Unless she’d changed her mind.

Jerrl raised a brow. "Oh, while you're here, do you know what a ‘king’ is? Heard some of the new recruits mumbling about it. I think that was the word."

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