From blood and ash

“You’ve investigated his family?” the Duke asked.

“Yes. The father is deceased. The mother lives alone in the Lower Ward. She was useful in getting him to talk.”

The Duke chuckled, and the sound turned my stomach. “What else have you learned?”

“I don’t believe he was very co

A wealth of relief rose and spread through me even as the wind lifted the edges of my cloak.

“And you believed him?” the Duke asked.

“I gave him good reason not to lie,” the man, who I assumed was one of the guards, answered. I thought about the man’s mother. Had she been one of the reasons for him opening up?

If so, the knowledge sat heavy in the pit of my stomach. Descenters needed to be dealt with harshly, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about family members being used to coerce information.

“And did he tell you anything about the claim he made? About the third sons and daughters?”

“All he would say was that he knew the truth—that they weren’t servicing the gods, and that everyone would soon learn that.”

“He didn’t say what he believed to be the truth?”

I turned my head toward the window, all but holding my breath. I would love to know what he thought was happening.

“No, Your Grace. The only additional information I could glean from him was how he came to be in possession of a Craven’s hand,” he said, and that was, well…a good thing to know. “Apparently, he took it off the body of one of the guards who had become infected and returned to the city. He helped the family put the guard down after he’d changed.”

“Death with dignity.” The Duke scoffed, and my eyes widened. He…he knew about that? About us? “These bleeding hearts will be the death of the entire city one of these days.”

That statement was a wee bit excessive, but I hadn’t considered that there may be Descenters in the network.

“Did he happen to tell you who was involved with putting down the newly turned Craven?” he asked.

“No. He would not.”

“That is also a shame. I would love to know who didn’t contact us and why.” The Duke sighed as if that were the worst possible thing to remain unanswered. “Do you have anything else to report?”

“No, Your Grace.”

There wasn’t an immediate response, but then the Duke asked, “Does the Descenter still breathe?”

“For now.”

“Good.” It sounded like he’d stood, and I hoped that meant he was leaving. Please gods, let that mean he’s leaving. “I think I will visit with him myself.”

My brows lifted.

Now that surprised me.

“As you wish.” There was a beat of silence. “Will there be a trial that we need to prepare for?”

I almost laughed. Descenters weren’t given an actual trial. They were put on public display while their charges were leveled against them. Execution quickly followed.

“There will be no need after my visit with him,” the Duke said, and my mouth dropped open.

The meaning was clear. If there was no trial, that meant there’d be no public execution, and the only reason that would occur would be if the Descenter was already dead. That had happened before while they’d been imprisoned. Normally, it was believed to have been by their own hands or by an overzealous guard. But could it be that the Duke was meting out justice himself?

The same Ascended who I doubted had gotten a speck of blood on his hands since the War of Two Kings?

I shouldn’t be surprised by that. He had a cruel streak and viciousness within him a mile wide, but he always kept that well hidden under a mask of civility. I also shouldn’t be bothered by the idea of the Descenter being killed without the farce of a trial. They supported the Dark One, and even if some of them hadn’t engaged in the riots and bloodshed, their words alone had sown the seeds that had caused blood to spill on more than one occasion.

But I…I was bothered by the idea of anyone being killed in a dark, dank cell, at the hands of an Ascended who was barely better than an Atlantian.

Finally, the door opened and closed, and there was nothing but silence. I waited, straining to hear any sound. I heard nothing. Wondering why the Duke had decided to have this meeting here and surprised by how aware of the network he was. I inched along the ledge toward the window. Clutching the journal to my chest with numb fingers, I neared the window—

There was a clicking sound from inside the room. I froze. Was that the door closing? Or was it locking? Oh, my gods, if it had been locked, I would have to bust through it—wait, the door could only be locked from the inside. Had someone else come into the room? Was it the Duke? There was no way he knew that I was out here unless he could suddenly see through walls. Who else—?

“You still out there, Princess?”

My lips parted as my eyes widened at the sound of his voice. Hawke. It was Hawke. In that room. I couldn’t believe it.

“Or have you fallen to your death?” he continued. I briefly debated the merits of jumping. “I really hope that’s not the case since I’m pretty positive that would reflect poorly on me since I assumed you were in your room.” A pause. “Behaving. And not on a ledge, several dozen feet in the air, for reasons I can’t even begin to fathom but am dying to learn.”

“Dammit,” I whispered, looking around as if I could find another escape route. Which was stupid. Unless I suddenly sprouted wings, the only exit point was through the window.

A heartbeat later, Hawke stuck his head out and looked up at me. The soft glow of the lamp glanced off his cheekbone as he raised a brow.

“Hi?” I squeaked.

He stared at me a moment. “Get inside.”

I didn’t move.

With a sigh so heavy it should’ve rattled the walls, he extended his hand toward me. “Now.”

“You could say please,” I muttered.

His eyes narrowed. “There are a whole lot of things I could say to you that you should be grateful I’m keeping to myself.”

“Whatever,” I grumbled. “Move back.”

He waited, but when I didn’t take his hand, he disappeared back into the room, grousing under his breath. “If you fall, you’re going to be in so much trouble.”

“If I fall, I’ll be dead, so I’m not quite sure how I’d also be in trouble.”

“Poppy,” he snapped, and I couldn’t help it. I gri

Had that been the first time he’d called me that? I thought so as I carefully inched across the ledge. Gripping the upper windowsill, I ducked down. Hawke was standing by the settee, but the moment he spotted me, he moved incredibly fast. Startled, I jerked back, but I didn’t fall. He had an arm around my waist. A second later, I was inside the room, my feet on solid ground, and the journal stuck between his chest and mine. There was still a lot of full-body contact. My stomach and legs were pressed against his, and when I drew in a breath, I could practically taste his dark spice and pine scent on my tongue. Before I could say a word, he reached up and fisted the back of my hood.

“Don’t—” I started.

Too late.

He yanked it down. “A mask. This brings back old memories.” His gaze roamed, flickering over the strands of hair that had escaped my braid and now fell against my cheeks.

I flushed as I tried to pull away. He didn’t let go. “I understand you’re probably upset—”

“Probably?” He laughed.

“All right. You’re definitely upset,” I amended. “But I can explain.”

“I sure hope so, because I have so many questions,” he said, golden eyes glimmering as he stared into mine. “Starting with, how did you get out of your room, and ending with why in the gods were you on the ledge?”