Page 5 of Sharpen Your Claws

Over the years, he imagined a reunion where he could speak his mind. Each word he threw at Nicholas became crueler than the last. But every vision ended with Nicholas laughing because William knew nothing he said would ever matter. He was another mortal upset he fell for obvious tricks. Surely, Nicholas had a long list and his name meant nothing, another forgotten conquest.

Charmaine grasped his left arm. “This could be an excellent opportunity to speak with Nicholas.”

He tossed the shreds of paper into a nearby basket. “I have nothing to say to him.”

“But you have much to ask.”

“And if I dare to ask, he will find every path to tear me apart. Fuck him, and fuck the king.” His furious gaze caught on the list of missing patients. His fury settled, little more than the usual spark at the back of his mind. “Wait… we could make this work to our advantage.”

She released him. “How so?”

“I will have direct access to the king. Another patient is missing, Charmaine. That is seven now.”

She grabbed the list from his desk. Her lips pressed into a grim line.

He gathered what little information he had on the missing patients. “I can take all of this with us to share with His Majesty at the ball.”

“What makes you think he’ll care about missing homeless people? The horrid conditions of the workhouses say exactly what he thinks of anyone outside his social circle,” she countered.

“I do not believe he will, but that won’t stop the guests from caring. If he is heard denying such charity, there will be gossip, even from those who don’t necessarily care. He will want to save face and we need all the help we can get.”

Because William did not know what they were dealing with, but his gut told him to be weary. A doctor of the mind that he spoke with called this extreme paranoia, a remnant from the war that caused him to check rooms for the quickest exit and assess situations like a battle. He worried about noises in the night that were nothing more than creaking stairs or swore he saw monsters perched along the treeline at the estate.

Simply paranoia, the doctor said, the term utterly foreign to his ears, but that time, he was certain he caught onto genuine horror.

“I fear you underestimate him, William. Gossip is the language His Majesty speaks best.” Richard, William’s elder brother, stood in the doorway, his heavy-lidded brown eyes settled with worry. He sauntered into the room. His normally laughing mouth descended into a grimace. “I apologize for overhearing, but to my credit, neither of you knows what a whisper is. Another patient has gone missing, correct?”

A flare of concern ignited in William’s belly. “Yes.”

“That makes seven, if I recall correctly,” said Richard.

“You say that as if you have ever recalled anything incorrectly.”

“One needs a good memory in my line of work.” Richard held out his hand in a silent request to see what William had.

He hesitated. That flare of concern roared. His family shouldn’t get involved. Danger lurked in the city of Alogan, after all the years he spent fighting to protect them. Monsters may have found them at their home.

“William,” Richard encouraged, his voice so serene, unlike Williams’ rattled mind. His brother wouldn’t relent, so he gave in. Richard read through what little they had, then spoke plainly, “This wasn’t enough to warrant an investigation from the authorities and it will not be enough for His Majesty.”

“We have to try,” said William.

“Of course we do, so long as the two of you are up for it.” A self-confident smirk painted Richard’s features. “This tale needs a little embellishing.”

“You want us to lie?”

“Embellish,” Richard corrected. “Nobles love a good story, an epic, a tragedy, a way to get their cold little hearts racing.”

Rage joined William’s concern, boiling at the base of his neck. “I’m not turning my patients’ tragedies into a night of entertainment.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Richard Vandervult could convince the Souls to reconsider their judgments. His charisma manifested through blinding smiles, suave words, and enthusiastic interest. After a minute, he could make one believe they had known him since childhood. He excelled at their charity ventures for that very reason.

William found his tactics two-faced, but the best way to survive palace life was through the game of lies. Very few played that game as well as Richard, and he was offering to play the game in William’s stead.

“It feels wrong,” he whispered.

“It is wrong.” Richard faced the window where he watched the floor below. “These people shouldn’t be clinging to life here. The king shouldn’t be forcing soldiers to this damned ball. I shouldn’t have to fake smiles and laughter for charity. Alas, life is not fair, but it is malleable.”

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