Page 85 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
Cragmere takes a moment to turn the torn page. “You misunderstand me, High Prime. There is no threat, just an overzealous official inHis Majesty’sservice. I too often encounter ruffians, and I must admit, I forget myself at times. A proper investigation is being conducted, of course, which is exactly the reason I’m here. So,” he turns his attention to me, his features calculating once more, “Skyrider Wyndward, could you please tell me about the night of the Rite of Flight. Start from the moment you arrived until the moment Neutro Cindergrasp’s body was discovered.”
Vaylen pushes away from the desk and walks toward the bookshelf on the left, attempting to make himself inconspicuous, except the man is as imposing as the damn plateau we’re in and wouldn’t go unnoticed if cogwings came to life by some sort of miracle.
Keeping things brief, I recount my original story.
“And you said you had never met Neutro Cindergrasp before that night.”
“That is correct. I never met him. And that night was the first time Isawhim.”
“High Prime Stormsong said you don’t recall who performed your Cleansing, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
He narrows his eyes, looking skeptical. “You never asked your parents?”
“No,” I reply, looking straight ahead at the wall like a good soldier.
“I find that hard to believe. Kids are always curious about that sort of thing.”
“No offense to anyone, but I was always interested in Skyriders. Not Neutros.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a smile stretching across Vaylen’s lips.
“I see.” Cragmere nods and makes a note, acting as if my statement is somehow suspicious. “And would either of your parents be able to tell me your Neutro’s name?”
“My mother is deceased,” I say, keeping all emotion from my voice. “But you could ask my father.”
Cragmere takes a step to the side into my line of vision. “I’ve already asked your father.”
There’s a tremor of nerves in my chest, but I manage to keep any outward sign from showing in my face. He must have visited my father very early today, proving my visit wasn’t a moment too soon.
“I trust he was able to provide you with an answer,” I say.
“He was not. He said your mother took you to your Cleansing, said he had an important client to attend to that day, so he also claims he doesn’t remember.”
My gaze meets his for the first time. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation, Chief Inspector Cragmere. I do notclaimto not remember. I simply do not. I was a child who was easily driven to distraction and had no care in the world. Also, before my mother died, my father was a well-respected law clerk.”
“And how did your mother die, Skyrider Wyndward?”
I want to leap across the distance that separates us and tear the bastard’s eyes out. His precious fucking Neutro killed my mother with his incompetence.
My fists tighten at my sides. “I don’t see how that is relevant.”
“I decide what is relevant or not, Skyrider.”
In an instant, anger comes to a boiling point in my chest. I’m on the verge of reaching out and strangling him, when Zephyros’s calming touch falls over me, defusing the storm brewing inside me.
“My mother died of natural causes,” I say, spitting back the lie that Cindergrasp and those who protected him manufactured in order to save him from prison.
Cragmere hums, a sound that denounces his skepticism. Why would he doubt it?
“Did you kill Neutro Mortimer Cindergrasp?” he asks, taking a long step forward that delivers him right into my personal space. He’s a couple of inches shorter than me, so I look down.
By degrees, I lean forward, until I can see the exact washed-out shade of his blue irises. “No. Now, I would appreciate it if you remove yourself from my personal space.”
Taking a step back, he twirls a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “It had to be asked.” He smiles jovially, doing a little tour around the office and casually observing the books on the shelves as he heads for the door. “I appreciate the… hospitality. I shall be in touch if I need anything else, High Prime Stormsong. Good day.”
He exits, leaving me with the distinct impression that this won’t be the last time I’ll see his detestable face.
37
