The quarter-to-twelve chimes were tolling when Aeduan finally reached Guildmaster Yotiluzzi’s home. The guard there gave him a single once-over, balked, and then heaved open the gate.
To say Aeduan looked like he’d been dragged through the hell-gates and back was an understatement. He’d glimpsed himself in a window on the way through town, and he looked even worse than he felt. His short hair was crusted with blood, his skin and clothes streaked in sand, and despite having walked for three hours, his boots and cloak still hadn’t dried.
Nor had his chest or back stopped seeping blood.
Every street and bridge, every garden or alley, people had cleared from his path—and they’d recoiled just like Yotiluzzi’s guard was doing now. Though at least the people of Ve?aza City hadn’t uttered “Voidwitch,” or swiped two fingers over their eyes to ask for the Aether’s protection as this guard did now.
Aeduan hissed at the man as he stalked past. The guard jolted, and then stumbled out of sight behind the door. As Aeduan strode into the garden, a saying flittered through his mind: Don’t pet the cat that’s had a bath. It had been something his mother always said when he was young—and something Aeduan hadn’t thought of in years.
Which only made his scowl deepen, and it took all his self-control not to slash at the flowers and leaves dangling over the paths. He hated these Dalmotti gardens, with their jungle-like vegetation and unchecked growth. This sort of garden wasn’t defendable—it was just a tripping hazard for old Guildmasters and one more example of laxness in the Dalmotti Empire.
When at last Aeduan came to the long patio on the western side of Yotiluzzi’s house, he found the servants clearing away the table where Yotiluzzi usually spent his mornings.
A maid spotted Aeduan trudging over the path. She screamed; the glass in her hands fell—and shattered.
Aeduan would have simply strolled on if the woman hadn’t then shrieked, “Demon!”
“Yes,” he growled, his wet boots slapping onto the patio. He locked eyes with her; she trembled. “I am a demon, and if you scream again, I will make sure the Void claims your soul.”
She clutched her hands to her mouth, shaking, and Aeduan smiled. Let her tell that story to everyone she met.
“Where have you been?” Yotiluzzi’s reedy voice bounced out from the open library doors. He snatched up his robes and stomped outside, his wrinkly jowls shaking. In the bright sunlight, there was no missing the fury in the Guildmaster’s eyes. “And what has happened to you?”
“I was away,” Aeduan answered.
“I know damned well you were away.” Yotiluzzi wagged a finger in Aeduan’s face.
Aeduan hated when the old man did that. It made him want to break the finger in half.
“What I want to know is where and why?” Yotiluzzi’s finger kept waving. “Have you been drinking? Because you look like filth, and no one has seen you since last night. If you keep this up, I will have to terminate your contract.”
Aeduan didn’t respond. He let his lips press into a line, and he waited for the Guildmaster to get to the point. In the background, servants continued to gather breakfast plates—but they moved slowly, their eyes latched on Aeduan and dishes rattling in their hands.
“I have great need of you,” Yotiluzzi finally said. “There is money to be made, and every second you waste is less money in my pocket. The betrothed of Henrick fon Cartorra was kidnapped, and the Emperor wants you to find her.”
“Oh?” Aeduan lifted his chin at that. “And the Emperor is willing to pay for it?”
“Quite well.” Yotiluzzi’s finger jabbed back into Aeduan’s face. “And I will reward you well if you can track her—”
In blur of speed, Aeduan gripped Yotiluzzi’s finger and wrenched the old man close. “I will go straight to the Emperor myself, thank you.”
Yotiluzzi’s anger vanished. His mouth bounced open. “You work for me.”
“Not anymore.” Aeduan dropped the old man’s finger—it still had grease on it from breakfast. Aeduan was hardly clean at present, yet that slimy bit of butter made him feel truly dirty.
“You can’t do that!” Yotiluzzi cried. “I own you!”
Aeduan pushed into the house. Yotiluzzi shouted after him, but Aeduan was soon out of earshot, jogging through the opulent hallways, up the two flights of stairs, and then finally into his tiny servant’s room.
All of his belongings were in a single bag—for he was a Carawen monk, prepared for everything and always ready to go.
He rifled through the sack, searching for two items: an extra stiletto and a paper with a long list of names. After stowing the stiletto in his squeaking and still-damp baldric, Aeduan examined the list. There were only a few names not struck through.
One at the bottom read, 14 Ridensa Street.