Page 44 of This Monster of Mine

The door cracked open and a maid poked her head out. Mousy, unkempt hair framed a worn face that squinted at them in irritation. “It’s three in thehavïdmorning. What do you want—” Her eyes widened.

“Is your master home?” Kadra asked pleasantly.

“Y-yes. My apologies. Please come in, Tetrarch Kadra.”

Wood squeaked as she flung the door open and waved them in. Or Kadra, rather. Sarai nearly walked into the door when the maid tried to slam it shut after him.

“Pardon me, Petitor Sarai.” The maid’s hand jumped to her mouth. “I didn’t see you. You’resomuch shorter than you looked at the Robing.”

Lovely.At this rate, it didn’t matter if Kadra was behind the Petitor murders. His devotees would kill her themselves.

Following the maid inside, she took in a cozy atrium, fabric-draped armchairs and cushions stuffed to bursting. At one corner was a door with the largest lock she’d ever seen.

“I’ll fetch Master Decimus right away,” the woman stammered, already halfway up the stairs.

“Tibi gratias ago,” Sarai said politely, examining the overlarge lock. A shadow fell over her shoulder.

“You use the ancient tongue often,” Kadra noted.

She shrugged. “I was told that Petitors must avoid the common tongue where possible.”

“Don’t we serve those commoners?” His voice brushed the back of her neck.

She swallowed.Wrath take him. “Be that as it may, Tetrarch Kadra, the world is quick to indulge amanwho flouts convention, but it isn’t as kind to the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t convention demand flouting if it uses language to elevate some above others?”

“Then it’s the Tetrarchy’s duty to correct that,” she shot back. “In the meantime, us beggars have no choice. Take me. I’d rather not have our every conversation turn into a moral or political debate, and yet, here we are.”

An unholy sound broke into their battleground. Part shriek, part death rattle, it had her swiveling to search for a weapon. A balding man fell at Kadra’s feet.

“Tetrarch Kadra! You honor my humble home!” he wailed, clutching Kadra’s hem.

Sarai sighed.Yes, yes. Why don’t you just formalize him at this point?Aelius could become a Saint, and Kadra could take his place among the Wretched. Granted, the latter did have better titles. Take Perfidia, Wretched Countess of Conspiracy. Her eyebrows rose as Kadra reached for the man’s hands, a stern god before a member of his flock.Kadra, Wretched Prince of Punishment. She smirked. It had a ring to it.

“Forgive me. It’s been a trying day.” Decimus wiped his eyes, tugging the flaps of a dressing gown close. “How can I help find the killer?”

“We’d like to examine Jovian’s belongings,” Kadra said smoothly.

“Certo,yes! They’re in his study.” Indicating the locked room, Decimus fished for the key.

“Why did Jovian live in Tetrarch Kadra’s Quarter?” she broke in. “Doesn’t Tetrarch Aelius give his Petitors a domus?”

“Petitor Sarai, a pleasure to meet you.” Decimus sketched a bow. “Truthfully, my brother didn’t care much for fancy domii. His true home was the Hall of Records. Practically lived there until about two weeks before his death. That’s when he suddenly insisted on staying with me. Never said why. Even procured a scutum for us when it’s so much coin.” He indicated the steel rod outside. “But he kept acting furtive, like he knew something bad was coming.” Decimus’s voice choked. “I thought he was stressed.”

He reached for the lock. Metal snapped loose, and the door parted. Motes of dust greeted them, forming lazy spirals in the air.

“Tetrarch Aelius’s vigiles searched it brick by brick, but didn’t find anything,” Decimus said sadly.

Taking the study in, Sarai winced.

Books lay in pieces, their innards spilling out. An oak desk was overturned on one side, long fingers of dried ink spreading from a pulverized inkwell. The fireplace sat lifeless, chair legs jutting from it. The rest of the chair, scrolls, and cushions were strewn about in varying states of ruin. But what struck her most was the rune painted repeatedly across the walls. Sharp lines met and diverged at perpendicular angles, dribbles of hardened ink running from them.

Sarai blanched. There was a manic freneticism to the runes, the fingerprint ridges indicating that Jovian had daubed it.

“Modrai.” Kadra’s expression darkened.

She went very still. “The rune for ‘death’?”

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