Page 1 of Ties of Frost

One

Zidra

My tankard was empty, which meant my cover for lingering alone in the crowded tavern was gone, and I was out of time. My informant hadn’t shown, and if I didn’t leave now, I’d be late. I’d have to be missing limbs and bleeding out in a ditch to be late.

Resigned, I stood and pulled my hood over my curly brown hair. I wove between jostling bodies, careful not to hit anyone with my sword’s scabbard. At least I could finally get out of this void hole—no disrespect to the owners of the Lazy Mule. Wyveri preferred open skies and quiet. Even in my di’ora—my true, human-like form—I had unusually keen shifter senses. I hated the smoky air that carried the scent of ale, savory food, and humans, elves, and shifters. Clattering dishes, conversations, laughter, and the squeak of chairs pushed on my ears. The people of theLaedreshian Empire were certainly enjoying their holiday.

An elf with white hair and a sunburned nose turned and bumped into me, barely saving the three mugs he carried from spilling.

“Sorry, miss,” he mumbled and scurried off.

At the door, I cast one last glance over the raucous crowd. An elf tossed her head, and her strawberry-blonde hair swung with the motion. A human with black skin used his watermage power to channel his ale into his mouth in a failed attempt to impress a girl with sleek dark hair framing her pale face. She rolled her eyes, and her pupils flashed, reflecting the candlelight with a yellow-green glow—probably a wolf shifter.

So many people, but not one wore a two-tone cloak.

Stifling a sigh, I stepped outside. Immediately, tension eased from my shoulders. Late afternoon sun shone through wisps of clouds, warming the late spring air with the promise of summer. Traffic along the wide dirt thoroughfare had thinned. Laedresh was always crowded, especially during holidays, and no holiday drew as many people to the capital as the three-day-long Dawning Festival. But this close to the Ceremony, many people were already at the imperial palace.

Where I was supposed to be.

I eyed the location of the sun and muttered a curse. The event was being held in my honor—well, notmyhonor specifically, although I did have hopes about that, but in honor of all rengiri.

The urge to shift into my di’yar rippled through me, buttoo many people and merchant carts crowded the street to accommodate a fifteen-foot-tall wyvern. Even if I didn’t cause injury or property damage, people would either panic or realize my identity. If I’d wanted to be recognized, my insignia of the Order of the Rengir—old Elvish forsacred sword—wouldn’t have been stowed in the bag strapped to my thigh.

I joined the river of people moving toward the palace and tried not to visibly brood. People tended to become uncomfortable when a muscular woman in leather armor with a sword at her hip looked angry.

Still, keeping my frustration off my face was proving difficult. Over an hour wasted in that stinking tavern for nothing.

There could be many reasons my informant hadn’t shown. He—or she—could have gotten lost in the sprawling streets. If this mysterious person did have information on Magistrate Nevros’s death in the human kingdom of Neaston, he had to be a visitor to Laedresh. Yet the dark suspicion lingered that he’d been prevented from coming. Anyone who stopped someone from meeting a rengir had to be either insane or in a position of power.

My attention caught on a few men huddled together in the shadows between two buildings, glancing furtively at passersby. All of them wore swords and daggers. I subtly changed my course toward the possible troublemakers but then noticed the crossed spears embroidered in blue thread on their sleeves. Just city guards exchanging information.

I continued on my way, but my mouth tugged downinto a scowl. The city guard and criminal inspector in the city of Rupich had ruled that Magistrate Nevros’s death was strange, but not murder. Lord Malvoy, the new magistrate, claimed his predecessor’s death was tragic but not suspicious.

Rengiri weren’t investigators by trade. We aided investigations and hunted down criminals when asked, but our primary occupation was monster hunters. So it didn’t matter that Nevros falling on a forgotten pair of pruning shears neither made sense nor explained the bruises on his arms and his cracked knuckles. The inspector and Magistrate Malvoy were within their rights to dismiss my help, which they had.

But something—whether intuition or a prompting from Iskyr—told me Nevros’s death was murder. Possibly assassination. Nevros had been a faithful patron of the Order of the Rengir and, from the one time I’d met him, a kind and unusually humble man who wasn’t bothered that I was wyveri, unlike some people. He deserved to be honored in death, and that meant catching his killer. Not to mention catching a murderer would prove my worth. So, to Magistrate Malvoy’s obvious displeasure, I’d kept investigating, although I’d tried to be subtle about it. I’d left Rupich only to attend the Dawning Festival in Laedresh.

Then yesterday, a note had been delivered to West Quarter Haven, the rengir common house where I was staying.

To Zidra Eilmaris. The Lazy Mule. Two bells past noon. I know who killed Nevros. I’ll be wearing a cloak that is half blue, half red.

Yet the note-sender hadn’t been there.

I kicked a pebble, drawing a judgmental look from an elderly light elf.

Dwelling on my frustration wouldn’t provide answers, so I turned my attention to the sellers lining the streets. Where there were crowds, there was money to be made. Merchants called out their wares: food, drinks, toys, hand-painted fans, earthen dishware, embroidered tunics, and more.

Ahead, the flow of the crowd ebbed around a knot of revelers. Families with young children pressed close together around a small stage.

A woman with curly red hair and copious freckles sat on a stool. Behind her, a gigantic white sheet covered in colorful ink drawings stretched between two wood and plaster buildings. Her voice rose and fell as she moved her hands. Images of monsters and warriors peeled off the fabric and filled out, becoming three dimensional and moving under the sway of her magic. I smiled and hurried on. As much as I loved watching human inkmage storytellers, I had somewhere important to be.

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” I muttered to myself.

But I couldn’t help the longing twisting in my chest. I was a member of the Order of the Rengir and today wasthe Dawning Ceremony.

Only the most skilled and intelligent applicants could pass the rigorous tests to be admitted into Harcos Academy, the empire’s oldest and foremost military college. After four years of study, only the best of Harcos’s graduates were allowed to enter the two-year-long Rengir Course. Only those who passed the rigorous martial, magical, ethical, and religious tests were accepted into the Order.

Then the rengiri spent the rest of our lives, until we died or surrendered our insignia, serving our god Iskyr and the people of the empire. We didn’t work for a salary. We owned nothing but what we could carry, and we asked for nothing but what those we served could spare. The peoples of the empire aided us because we protected them and kept watch for the return of Ascadrion the Earth-Shaker, the ancient dragon that had been driven to the void-between-worlds by the first emperor and his warriors nearly sixteen hundred years ago.

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