Page 18 of A Hunter for Luna

My senses were on high alert as I moved forward. Behind me then, the soft rustle of fabric, and the faintest scrape of a heel on stone behind me. I whirled around with my sword in hand. But there was no one there.

I stood there for a long moment. A flicker of movement to my right alerted me and I slid into the chill moment of battle. I tensed, my hand instinctively readying my blade. Three figures leapt from the darkness, daggers glinting in the moonlight.

I shifted my stance, drawing on the power I sourced from the starlight. The world blurred as I teleported, appearing behind one attacker. My sword flashed, and he crumpled.

Another blink, and I was beside the second man. He barely had time to register surprise before my blade found his throat.

The third hesitated, fear widening his eyes. I let the starlight shimmer around me, a silent threat. He turned and fled, boots pounding on the cobblestones.

I let him go. Two bodies would serve as message enough to whoever hired them.

Using the fallen man's tunic to wipe my blade clean, I surveyed the area. This was no random attack. Someone had sent these men, someone who knew my movements.

But who? And why now?

I nudged the corpse with my boot, rolling him onto his back, and rifled his clothing, finding little of interest until my fingers brushed against a folded piece of parchment tucked into his belt. I pulled it out, smoothing the creases with a frown.

The de Spoleto family crest stared back at me, the intricate design unmistakable even in the dim moonlight. I scoffed, crumpling the note in my fist. This was too obvious, too clumsy. No one would carry such a blatant mark of their employer.

Which meant someone was trying to frame Emilio de Spoleto. But who? And more importantly, why?

He’d remarried since his second wife died, another outlander with a large dowry. His money grubbing made his peers laugh at him, and he resented it fiercely. As a father-in-law, he left a great deal to be desired, but since he and my mother arranged the marriage, I’d have to live with him.

Unless I killed him. I’d entertained the thought a few times, generally when I had to interact with him.

I stood, casting a final glance down the street. The white stones embedded in the corners of the cobblestones caught the moonlight, casting a faint eerie glow across the scene. In the distance, I could hear the tolling of bells to mar the hour.

Pocketing the note, I headed for my rooms. The usual weariness of using my magic settled on me. I preferred not to use it, both because of the weariness and using my magic reminded me toomuch of the good days with Francesco. I’d send a message ahead to the wine merchant who rented me rooms when I visited Legnali. While there, I’d simply exercise care not to run into my mother, since my family was in residence there.

It was three or four days away by horse, so spending an extra day in Kalion to allow the messenger to arrive before me was in order. Provisioning would take that long, since I expected to continue travelling once I found my quarry.

CHAPTER FIVE

BENEDETTO

The sun washigh days later as I tossed my horse’s reins to a stable hand. I used this stable when I came to Legnali, so the beast would get good care. He deserved a day of rest; we’d made good time.

On foot, I headed for the narrow streets of Legnali's merchant quarter. Tightly packed buildings lined the wide streets, all active with business. The scents of garlic, leather and hot metal mingled in the air. Chickens, penned to be sold, squawked in their cage.

The small bookshop sat tucked between a blacksmith's forge and a wine merchant's stall. It bore no sign; only people who knew what it sold before arriving were welcome past its doors.

Inside, the shop smelled of old parchment, dust, and a hint of mildew combined with the aroma of marigolds. The plats were easily spelled to repel insects, and no bookshop wanted bugs eating the stock.

Floor to ceiling shelves lined the walls, bowed under the weight of ancient tomes and obscure manuscripts, plunging the room into dim shadows.

Behind the counter stood Cassius, a small, wiry man who always reminded me of a weasel. Pale skin, brown hair slicked back into an oiled braid, and a narrow nose gave the impression of watchful nerves.

I approached and placed a gold coin on the worn wooden counter. The bookseller's gaze darted to it, his thin lips curling into a faint smile.

“d’Alvarez,” he greeted me. Francesco had introduced me to this shop before he left for his apprenticeship; I’d known Cassius for nearly two decades. The man hadn’t changed at all in that time.

If the coin was there, he would sell any book or information to anyone. I appreciated that in him and made sure I had the coin available when I frequented his shop.

"I'm looking for information on a recent sale," I said, leaning against a shelf. "A rare tome about the Sorcerer Ruin."

Cassius hesitated. “You know I don’t talk about other customers.”

I caught his eyes. “This could help me cure Francesco.”

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