Adrian had been burning the candle at both ends, coming to bed long after dark and rising before the sun. He often found his fiancée already curled into the mattress, the thick quilts she had woven covering her immaculate figure. He smiled to himself, his heart racing each time he was given that divine opportunity to gaze on her face. It had become part of his nightly—and morning—ritual: he’d look at her sleeping face, lean in, and kiss her cheek.
For a week now, Adrian had been sure Melissa was only pretending to sleep. He knew the true rhythm of her breathing, the subtle shifts she made in her slumber; this stillness was too perfect, a careful performance. He’d seen her shadow at the window some nights, a silent silhouette against the moonlight, and he could feel the anxiety rolling off her in waves. Her worry was another weight on his shoulders, another burden he carried back with him each night.
It had become a quiet ritual. He’d unburden the day’s troubles to her still form, whispering his frustrations and fears into the dark, assuming she couldn’t hear him. Then he’d kiss her cheek and settle in beside her.
He knew she was awake. And in the silent language of their life together, he knew that she knew he knew. A moment later, she confirmed it. Her arm opened, and she wrapped him in a warm, grounding embrace.
Which was why this morning Adrian stared his reflection down. The inquisitorial scrolls that lay stacked on his desk had confirmed his suspicions.
Cynthia Larine was dead. She had been drained of blood, and her skeleton was desecrated. The soul had been ripped away, and until it could be found and restored, it would never find Amaril’s Grace.
And Elias Hawthorne was the killer. The Queen’s Arm had protected the Count from any direct interdiction, as the man—the beast, the vampire—had paid his dues to the Crown, and the nature of his being did not mean he was to be immediately executed.
But rampant murder did. The Queen’s Law could only extend as far as civility remained, but when someone crossed that line into murder—and worse, manipulation of the soul—the Phoenix Queen could be damned.
Adrian’s fingers clenched the scroll, crumpling it against his palm. His reflection stared dead-eyed back at him, yet his gaze wasn’t on himself, but Melissa. He memorized the motions as he tied his gray scarf around his throat, donned his dress shirt and black, trailing long coat. He finally broke his gaze on his beloved fiancée when the tricorne hat came atop his scalp and his messy brown hair spilled against his face.
Her soft hands came up to stroke the strands away, pushing them off his eyes and turning him around. He gazed up at her, meeting her blue eyes. She smiled first, but Adrian couldn’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss her lips. She didn’t push back, and they held for what Adrian wanted to be an eternity.
Yet eternity ended quickly, since Lord Skye had work to do. “I’m sorry, Missy. I won’t be back till…” He bit his tongue. “...the morning.”
Melissa stared into his eyes before extending her hand to caress his cheek. The dainty fingers slid downward to the gray scarf and pulled it up to his mouth. “Lord Skye… I have never once heard you lie. Not even a white lie, or a half-lie. What are you not telling me?”
Adrian’s face was hidden underneath the scarf, but even that couldn’t hide the frown he made. “...Missy, you know I can’t tell you that. But I’ll be back by the mornin’. I won’t be making a widow out of you before we’re wed.”
Melissa’s eyes shot open. Her gaze moved off his face down to the scroll. “Addy… what are you not telling me?”
Adrian sighed. “I can’t tell you, Missy.”
Neither said anything, but Adrian’s eyes scanned Melissa’s face. Her blue eyes skittered about, over his face. He didn’t need the Academy training to read the worry. But a more pressing thought came to his head.
“...Melissa.”
She immediately broke free from the wandering eye and stood up straight. “Yes, Lord Skye?” Her voice was quaint, and the annoyed tone Adrian knew meant a fight was going to break free shone out.
And he needed that fight. Not for him. Not for her. But for their friend.
“Why is Jazz not coming with us to the capital?”
The stiffness in Melissa’s frame lowered, and instead, her eye and eyebrow rose together. “Jazz? Not the person I thought you were going to ask about, but… I told you. She’s just too pricey, and we don’t have room and board for her with Ma comin’.”
Adrian bit his tongue again. He didn’t need to move his stare off Melissa’s eyes to know the looms and fabrics all around their place were mostly passion projects. He loved his wife, and would support anything she wanted to do.
But, contrary to what most people thought, he wasn’t an idiot. Melissa’s weaving wasn’t anywhere near as good as her mother’s, and, thankfully, it never had to be. But that thoughtline was what made Ashley hate him, and he knew better than to express it.
Yet, was a thought a sin that made his attention and care vile? He’d never brought it up to her, but maybe by thinking about it, she could tell. He’d have to talk to Father Farrow about it—since Amaril had taught it was not only in their words and actions, but their thoughts too. He didn’t dislike Amaril—or Melissa.
He just knew that the entire amount Melissa made last year—that he was proud of and celebrated with her—was just half the bonus he had received for accepting the position of [High Inquisitor] of Oakheart. He did not want to remove Melissa’s pride at all.
But in this case, it was getting in the way of his bigger truth. Jasmine was in danger, and he liked Jazz. He could help her, but Melissa was stopping him.
Again, that thought didn’t sit right with him. Melissa was his partner, not an obstacle that had to be managed. Yet that’s how he got through life—everything was a problem, with a solution.
So, instead, he took a page from Melissa’s book.
“Melissa. Jasmine is working for a vampire, or is going to be made homeless. I want to help our friend.”
She had always told him to be honest with her, and not protect her from things—
He frowned. He was doing it again. He realized he thought he knew best.
Melissa opened her mouth to respond, but Adrian leaned in again. His arms wrapped around his wife and pulled her close. She squeaked in surprise, but there was no sound of protest to Adrian’s ears. He whispered softly in her ear.
“I’m going to kill Elias Hawthorne, or he’s going to kill me. I promise you, I’ll be back in two mornings. And then, I want to talk about whatever you really have against Jasmine. She is our friend, not a liability, Melissa. Stop treating our friends like roadblocks.”
Melissa’s arms squeezed against Adrian’s back, but he could feel them tremble. He couldn’t tell if it was anger for being scolded, or if it was fear of what he started with. “Please… just come back…” was the only thing Melissa could say.
“Always.” He leaned in again and kissed her forehead.
46 Hours Till The Raid
Adrian had three things that had to be done before this day ended, and then he’d go to Father Farrow’s temple and ready the rest of the knights.
The first was the simplest: he had to continue his observation of Madeleine La Croix, the eldest of the Darkmire Coven. He knew each of them were monsters, but didn’t know what Madeleine exactly did. She was an [Alchemist], as far as he knew, but he suspected that was nothing more than a [Veil]. He didn’t have enough of Amaril’s Gaze to [Reveal] that just yet.
The second was a bit more complex: he wanted to talk to Mary Marlow about her date with Mark Farrow. The two kids had this crazy idea of following in Adrian’s footsteps and joining the Holy Order.
He had killed enough men to know Mark, who cried for a week after their dog died, would not tolerate it. Mary had no business in the Holy Order either, unless she joined as a [Hospitalier].
Actually, Mark would be a good [Quartermaster]. He had just told Melissa the unbridled truth; maybe it’d work this time?
And finally…?
He wanted to see Ashley again and wish her well, in case he wouldn’t after tomorrow. He promised Melissa he’d return, but Elias was an Elder Vampire. He’d promised Amelia Hart that he’d take care of her daughter, and while they would have both preferred it being husband and wife, Elora had other plans.
He hoped taking care of her as his sister would suffice.
That, of course, was the hardest task.
And it just so happened to be the first.
Lord Skye had been leaning against the Market Square, not treating his job seriously at all. The lackadaisical attitude was something his higher-ups found aggravating—a discredit to the warrior culture of Amaril—but he got results, and he couldn’t be charged for being “unprofessional” outside of bad notes drowned underneath his accolades. Yet it got people to trust him as a person, not just under the positional authority of his role.
All of them, except for Ashley. He spotted her walking in the dress his wife wove for her, and her brilliant red hair shone underneath the sun. His heartbeat picked up, and he stared at her again. The tangled knots that usually graced the long strands were gone, and the raggedy-doll look made way for a proper woman.
He found her attractive. He knew he did. But he loved Melissa, not her. He was honest with himself in all things, and knew that wouldn’t change. He continued to chew on a straw, until he noticed that Ashley was staring at him too.
Instinctively, he raised his hand.
Ashley stared at him for a few moments, before sighing. “Lord Skye?” Her eyes looked downward, staring at something.
Adrian chewed on the end of the straw, then spat it out. He pulled his scarf to cover his face once more, before stepping toward her. Was he being that awkward or forward? Did he just keep bothering Ashley when she didn’t want to be engaged?
“...Ashy.” He finally blurted out. He wanted to say something to her, but was telling her she was beautiful too crude? Too forward? She’d hate it.
Melissa told him to compliment a woman, you have to be more specific. What about them do you like? And not to pick just something superficial— all men compliment women like that, and they don’t appreciate it. Notice the effort they put into themselves.
“What? Just spit it out,” Ashley barked, her green eyes staring Adrian down.
Adrian’s heart picked up. “...I like what you did with your hair—it’s so smooth and clean now.” He began. His mind blanked; was that creepy? He didn’t want to flirt with her—he just liked Ashley since they were kids. “And uh… I’m glad to see the old Hart Spark back.”
Ashley blushed, and her free hand rose to her red hair and pushed it back. Her fingers twirled against it, sliding down the strands. She really did look beautiful when she was clean. “Aye? What’s in my hair that you’re takin’ a peek at, boy?”
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Adrian stared forward, and if his mouth could be seen underneath the scarf, he’d have been obviously slack-jawed. Melissa’s advice worked!
“...Nothin’? Yeah, nothin’,” he began, and immediately stopped himself from saying that’s so unlike you! She hated that. He frowned underneath the scarf. “I’m not sayin’ your old hair was bad, Ashy, just…”
Adrian realized he’d stepped into a bad spot. Honesty, again.
“What do you wan’ me to say here, Ashy? I just like what you did with it, I don’ mean nothin’ rude by it. You look… very nice.”
Ashley’s face was as red as her hair, and her voice was low and soft. “Why, thank ye kindly then. But, Hart Spirit? What straight nonsense is that?”
Adrian stood confused. “You’ve been mopin’ for the last few weeks, but looks like you sorted it out. Now you’re just rushin’ ’bout like you own the place and have a plan for your plan. I missed that look.”
And he really did. Ashley was a leader, brave and forward. He found himself following her even as a child, and it was good to see that Ashley back.
Ashley stared Adrian down, then broke into a smile. “Thank ya, Addy. Would ya like a carrot?”
That made no sense to Adrian—until he finally looked down at what she was holding.
A basket.
He shook his head. That was something he should have observed and noticed, but with her? He didn’t. “Really thought I shoulda seen that—guess I was starin’ at something else,” he muttered, before looking at the basket. “You and Jazz sellin’ it at the farmers’ market, then?”
“Jazzy told you, huh?”
“Involuntarily, Ashy. Good on ya both for workin’ together. And it helps me get Jazz out of that vampire’s house.”
The air was tense. He wanted to tell her he was going to die.
He couldn’t.
He leaned in closer. “Gonna be raidin’ the joint real soon—finally got evidence.”
Ashley stared at him. “...I, what?!”
He could hear the tinge of fear and panic. Maybe she did like him too.
“Man killed a poor working girl. We think we’ve the body. We’ve been trying to get Jazz to flip, but… for all her talkin’ she doesn’t say ill about her employers. The bones were enough for a search though.”
“I see. Wait, why are you tellin’ me this, Addy?”
Adrian felt a hollowness in his stomach at that. Melissa was fearful yet overjoyed, but Ashley seemed indifferent—if not confused. “...I tell you everythin’ and you tell me everythin’. That’s how it’s always been.”
Ashley frowned. She tried to change the subject. “I got Uncommon carrots.”
A part of Adrian died, but he understood he overstepped his lot. He looked down at the carrot. “So you are goin’ for quality. Mighty clever there, [Farm Girl]. You close to advancin’?”
“I reckon.”
He nodded. “I’ll let you be—good luck with the work, Ashy.”
He was about to step back, but then Ashley opened her arms. Her words were stiff and strange, but… warm.
“You take care too, Addy. See you aroun’?”
Adrian’s strong arms wrapped around Ashley’s back, squeezing and caressing her shoulders. Damn, that woman was cold as hell—but here, it felt too warm. He unconsciously inhaled, wanting that smell of their childhood—of dirt, rain, and plants he had given up.
Instead, Ashley smelled like… well, dirt and rain, but also egg wash and charcoal, mixed with rosewater. A thing nobles used to bathe themselves.
It made sense—if someone had a rough week like hers, they’d want to bathe and just wipe it off. Good on her.
“You smell cleaner too,” Adrian off-handedly stated, before pushing himself off her. His heart beat erratically, and his mind was already in damage control. “I mean! You smelled plenty nice before too, but I mean…”
Ashley rolled her eyes, giving a genuine snicker and rubbing Adrian’s head. “See you aroun’, Addy. Don’ be a stranger now.”
He swore he could see the woman staring at him as she left.
40 Hours Till The Raid
Six hours later, he had parked himself back in the corner, watching the Cat’s Cradle again. He wasn’t there as often as he’d like, since he did a good job keeping law and order.
Officially, a [Guard] was the police, handled by the Queen’s Arm—Protection. Unofficially, a [Guard] was a commoner who had potential to become an adventurer or hero if they cared to push past themselves, and very few did.
So, when a [Paladin] was based in the town—one who was also an [Inquisitor]—most of the day-to-day criminal proceedings ended up on their desk. Even more so when that [Paladin] knew everyone by their first name, and most had seen him running around with a stick when he was six years old.
He had nothing against the guards here at all, but wished they’d let him do his job and they’d do theirs. Yet that was another selfish thought, and Amaril would not be proud of his chosen son wanting to shirk duty onto others.
“Still starin’ at the Cradle there, Lord Skye?” Mary’s voice sang. She held a basket, which Adrian did notice this time.
“Aye, Ms. Mar—” he began, but Mary playfully slapped his cheek.
“Come now, Lord Skye, you’re going to treat your old friend that way?”
“...I’m on the job, Mary,” he responded, before breaking his attention from the Cradle and toward Mary Marlow.
She smiled down at him, her dirty brown hair mixed with… actual dirt. It was dark brown, and had a small amount of dung to it—too small and beady to be a large animal, and seemed to have mostly dried insects.
A bat, he figured, but his time as a [Hunter] was woefully underdeveloped.
His hand rose to wipe Mary’s hair, and she acquiesced without trouble. His gloved fingers scraped the dirt away, and then brought it to his nose to breathe in.
Yep, bat guano.
“Lyrelle Caves?”
Mary’s eyes went wide. “How’d you know?!”
Adrian looked at her. “I always know, Ms. Mar—” And she slapped him again.
“Okay! Fine! You know, abusing an [Inquisitor] is a chargeable offense!” he teased.
“Yeah, but Ashley assaulted you and she got away with it, so you’re gonna look the other way for me too, right?” she sang, leaning into his body.
Adrian pushed her away. She was two years younger than him, and he had literally babysat for her when Mrs. Marlow asked him to. It was beyond unsettling.
But he also knew she knew that, and was doing it to get a rise out of him. “You try that, and I’ll tell Melissa,” he countered.
“Oh god, you’re gonna tell the queen bit—”
“Bitch.” Adrian finished for her. It was no secret that many people were bullied by Melissa when they were younger. Ashley was too, and he had hoped he could mend that fence.
“...I wasn’t gonna say it, Lord Skye.”
“If you want me to call you Mary, you’re going to have to call me Adrian.”
Mary tilted her head, then shook it. “When you’re off the clock, I will. Mother actually told me to give you this,” she said, leaning into her basket and pulling out bottled honey mead and a chicken pie.
Adrian reached into his pouch, but Mary stopped him. “Can’t be askin’ for money from someone doing the Protectors’ Work. The Fields know you of all people do more than the guards here do.”
Adrian sighed, but pulled out a few gold coins still. He rolled one around his gloved fingers. Mary, like she often did, stared at the gold piece.
“Want to play informant for me then?”
“Yes!”
He took Mary’s hand and placed the first gold coin against her palm. “Are you and Mark still planning to join the Holy Order?”
She blushed. “Lil Marky’?” Adrian hated that name. Even when Mark Farrow was a kid, he was taller than Adrian. Now that he was almost six foot six, that nickname really harped on his own insecurity.
“...Yeah, we are. I wanted to ask you if you could train me in fencing? Mark says he’s gonna learn to use a hammer.”
Adrian didn’t respond, and put his hand to his pouch again. His finger slid down to the sheath of his silver longsword.
He waited for Mary to blink, and the sword was immediately unsheathed. Mary’s eyes opened, and she looked down at the blade.
“Anyone else does somethin’ like that, and I’d be scared…” Mary tried saying, but there was a tremble in her voice. At least she didn’t step away. He figured she didn’t ever see him as a threat—which, honestly, was a good thing for him.
Adrian flipped the blade so his gloved hand held the silver edge and the hilt was toward Mary. “Go on.”
Mary squealed in delight, and immediately placed her right hand on the blade. Adrian stepped to the side as she heaved forward, losing balance immediately.
He wrapped his arm around her waist to make sure she didn’t actually fall, and righted her. “Mary, have you ever thought about being a [Hospitalier] instead?”
“A what?” she panted, still trying to lift the silver sword up.
“A doctor or nurse of the Holy Order. I’ll be honest—since honesty has worked twice for me—but you…” He moved his arm off her waist to the hilt and hoisted it easily. “Aren’t really cut out for fencing. But… I would love to have a doctor I trusted.”
Mary looked at his eyes. “...I hadn’t, but I’m not so smart like Ashley. Ma’s right, I’m best at cookin’ and Mark and I would be a good fighting cou—”
Adrian looked at Mary again with the same gaze he often gave her when she asked him for advice. “You’re plenty smart, and… it’s not really about being smart in the Holy Order. It’s about being there. If you’re scared of failing, I can ask them to put you in my squad. I won’t go easy on you, but I’ll make sure you’ll become a woman you’d be proud of.”
Mary frowned, but looked at the sword. “Are [Hospitalier] respected like you are, Lord Skye?”
“Are you asking me if a doctor is well liked, Mary?”
She paused. “...What about Marky?”
“[Quartermaster]. Between the two of you, you’re more likely to kill something than he is. Love him, but I know he can’t even put down his animals.”
Mary snickered. “Yeah… anyways, did Matthew come out of the shop yet?”
Adrian pushed off the wall, and the sudden change in his posture actually made Mary jump back. “Your brother is in the shop?”
“I think? He and the other kids go there for the cooking and alchemy cla—”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed at the window. He could see Jasmine and Madeleine talking with each other for the last few hours. It was a shame to see Jasmine there, but she was an adult.
But Matthew?
“Mary.”
“Lord Skye?” Her voice trembled.
“Do not let Matthew go into that shop.”
“Uh... sure, Lord Skye. But… why?”
Mary wasn’t Melissa, and Adrian knew that. His inquisitorial side would win out. He wasn’t at liberty to discuss the Darkmire Coven, and how the three had their preferences for ritual craft.
Evangeline Aster liked animals. Not just dead ones, but the living, screaming things. She’d mutate, hex, and transform them to her desires. She was the worst of the Darkmire Coven, and the only one of the three that had a bounty.
Marigold Benize was a proper alchemist, whose favorite ingredients were belladonna, nightshade, resin, and cyanide. While she crafted poisons, she technically never administered any herself. The Queen’s Law protected her trade, and she was more than willing to share her ledgers with people.
It’s just that her ledgers never listed names—only coins and products. It was bad for her business to take names. She was only safe because she also sold medicine.
And Madeleine? It was either crops, or people. She seemed to have a fascination with all types of produce—and turning people into newts. But the other fascination seemed to be with…
“Mary. This is not a question for you. I know the answer, and I am not at liberty to share. You will forbid Matthew to go there, or I will speak to your mother, and make sure to ban him—and the other children there—from setting foot in that place with harsher words.”
Mary looked genuinely shocked. “But Maman La Croix is very nice… she even taught me how to make a healing potion…”
“MARY.” Lord Skye barked, and she stiffened.
“Yes, Lord Skye. Begging your pardon.”
“I’m sorry, Mary,” Lord Skye muttered. “Go home. Don’t come back here, and make sure he doesn’t either.”
Mary stared wide-eyed at Adrian, before nodding again. Her body trembled, and Adrian wished he could console her for yelling at her.
But this wasn’t Adrian. It was Lord Skye. He watched Mary walk away, and then turned to the Cat’s Cradle.
However, Madeleine and Jasmine walked out at that moment. Madeleine turned around and flipped the sign over to closed before waving her hand to lock it.
Madeleine then pointed at Adrian, giving him a friendly wave. Jasmine, however, ran over.
“ADDY! Madsy said you were outside watching and I wasn’t sure but you’re right there and you look so good! I am so happy to see you!” she chattered, and then immediately embraced him.
Adrian didn’t respond, but returned the embrace. His eyes watched Madeleine, who blew him a kiss. He wanted to say something to Jasmine, but… Madsy?
He wanted to hold Jasmine’s arm, but couldn’t. He hadn’t talked to his wife yet. But he felt this growing pit in his stomach. Jasmine was far too close to Madeleine, and so was Ashley. Madeleine was the center of this mess.
He stared to the sky, toward the dipping sun. He’d ask Father Farrow for advice as well, and then see if he could bring in his friend Edda, a [Witch-Hunter].
He whistled.
A white steed formed from the glowing sunlight, bathed in warmth and adorned in golden armor. He rubbed Mirchie’s head, leaning in to kiss her. “I missed you, girl—how was Elysium?”
Mirchie neighed, and her warm tongue lapped at Adrian’s tricorne. “Gross… Oh! Ashley got you a carrot!”
He pulled out the Uncommon carrot Ashley had given him, and it immediately disappeared into her mouth. Loud crunches and happy smacking of its maw sounded out.
“Glad you like. I’ll see if I can buy more from Ashley then…” Adrian stated, before rubbing Mirchie’s head.
“To Father Farrows,” he told the horse. Mirchie nodded, and they rode off to the Chapel… and the blessed cemetery.
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