Illara went downstairs to cancel her room booking and pay the difference so she could rejoin mine. It made me glad, but I did not mistake it for normality. Not yet. Her view of me had shifted too far for that.

  I lay back down and tried to think through the plan while my thoughts were still sharp. The biggest hurdle was simple. Percy and Barnabus were high-ranking in the guard structure here. They would have respect. They would have friends. Anything we brought against them would need to be conclusive.

  I turned it over like a puzzle, the way I would have when I was still just a player moving pieces across a table.

  Converse with the Fallen came to mind. A spell to interrogate the dead. The problem was whether it would work on bones alone. Illara might know. Or at least know who would.

  The second problem was people. We needed someone trustworthy, someone with weight in this town. Illara being a cleric of Solvarn might open doors with the local priest, but was a priest’s word enough against a captain? And even if it was, who had the authority to arrest the first and second in command?

  The questions began to stack until my head throbbed.

  Illara returned. Without speaking, she lay down on the far side of the bed with her back to me and fell asleep almost immediately.

  A part of me loosened at the sight of it. Not comfort, not forgiveness. Just the fact that she still trusted me enough to sleep in the same room.

  What we needed was an ally. Someone dependable. Someone better at these things than I was.

  Norman.

  I got up quietly, pulled on a jacket and my boots, and slipped out into the cold. Norman would be writing up his notes, turning his excitement into something he could present. He had told me exactly where to find him.

  I retraced my steps to the old tower. On the way I bought a few skewers from a stall, partly as bribe, partly because Norman was the sort of man who forgot to eat once his mind latched onto an idea.

  The tower looked tired. Moss filled the cracks in the stonework. The door, once painted, was faded and splintered. A couple of old sills had broken away entirely, leaving pale scars where weather had worried the stone for years.

  I knocked loudly.

  Footsteps shuffled inside. Then the door opened and Norman appeared, hair dishevelled, ink staining his fingers. His smile arrived before his words, drawn by the smell of food.

  “Ah, good to see you again, Drisnil,” he said. “And I see you’ve brought provisions. I was getting rather peckish.”

  I handed him a skewer. “I suspected you’d be writing and forget to eat.”

  He chuckled. “After two days you seem to know me well. Come in, come in. I’ve the fire going.”

  Inside, the lower floor was small and lived-in. Stone floor, hearth, a writing desk crammed with paper, and a sofa pulled close to the warmth. Bookshelves lined the walls, but the books sat at odd angles, as if they had been replaced in a hurry. Loose pages lay in drifts over the desk and the floor.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Please excuse the mess,” Norman said, as if reading my glance. “When I get into a mood like this, I forget things like tidying.” He gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit.”

  He took the chair at his desk, skewer in one hand, eyes already bright with curiosity.

  “So,” he said, “what do I owe the pleasure of your company today? I presume this isn’t a social call.”

  “It isn’t.” I sat, feeling suddenly too aware of the quiet. “Nineteen years ago, I witnessed a massacre. Refugees. Women, children, men. Unarmed.” I kept my voice even. “It was carried out by Percy and Barnabus.”

  Norman stopped chewing. His expression shifted, the warmth draining into focus.

  “Why haven’t you told anyone in the years since?” he asked. “It will be harder to prove now, and they have far more power.”

  “I couldn’t travel to this town,” I said. “Circumstances I’d rather not discuss.” I met his gaze and held it. “But it was only two weeks ago that the situation changed enough for me to act.”

  Norman opened his mouth, then closed it again. He studied me for a moment, then chose a different question.

  “Any other witnesses?”

  “One,” I said. “Ash. Illara’s adopted brother. He’s been mute since he was found.”

  Norman’s hand went to his chin. He stared at the hearth as if answers might be hidden in the flames.

  “That’s a problem,” he murmured. “One villager’s testimony won’t be enough on its own. Do you know where the bodies are buried?”

  I nodded.

  He exhaled slowly. “Good. That helps. What we’ll need is a veteran priest, and we’ll need to hope at least some of the remains are intact enough for Converse with the Fallen. The priest in this town doesn’t have the skill to cast it.”

  He looked back at me, eyes narrowing slightly, pleased with himself.

  “But there is someone in Holver who may. You may know her. Jenna.”

  A small laugh escaped me before I could stop it. The sound surprised even me.

  Norman’s mouth twitched. “I take it you know her.”

  “I do.”

  “Did you get on well?”

  “No,” I said. “She exiled me.”

  Norman laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound. “She does strike me as someone who sees the world in clean lines. Black and white. I’m not surprised.” He lifted the skewer. “And, frankly, I imagine you terrify her.”

  “I tortured and maimed bandits in front of her,” I said. “And enjoyed it. Then I threatened her when she tried to stop me.”

  Norman’s grin widened. “That would do it. I’m honestly surprised she didn’t smite you outright. Perhaps she’s softened with age.”

  I did not answer that. I did not know whether Jenna had softened, or simply learned to pick her battles.

  “If you’re exiled,” Norman said, “it’s probably best that Illara and I speak to her. Illara has Jenna’s armour. I suspect she’s her apprentice.”

  Of course he’d notice.

  “Yes. Illara learned her clerical skills from Jenna. She’s still a novice, mind you.”

  “And Cain taught her to fight,” I said, the pieces fitting together.

  “He was always patient. A shame he retired.” Norman replied.

  Norman took a breath, and his gaze drifted towards the scattered papers on his desk as if they were calling him back.

  “Well,” he said reluctantly, “I’d like to finish this book before I throw myself into your trouble. Since it’s been twenty years, what’s one more week?” He lifted a finger. “But part of the deal is this. Stop by in two days. I may have further questions about Nhalyri society.”

  I rose.

  “Sounds fair,” I said. “I’ll see you in two days. Thanks in advance.”

  I left him to his writing.

  Outside, the cold hit my lungs like a warning. We had an ally now, and Norman was known in this town. That would help. It might even be the difference between being heard and being dismissed.

  Still, I could not shake the feeling that justice here would not come cleanly. Roads like this were never straight. They were thorned, and they drew blood from anyone foolish enough to walk them.