Page 48 of The Iron Dagger
Black-and-white faces of witches surrounded her, glaring down from the bounty sheets that papered the walls of the stark room. Mournful, defiant, bruised, and some with rage-filled grins. Four desks occupied the central space, and two people dressed in black were talking softly as she entered. The man rested in a half-sitting position on the woman’s desk, and they both glanced up at her.
Clenching her shaking hands, Hara schooled her face into a bored expression. “I am looking for Markus Turnswallow.”
There was a beat of hesitation, and Hara swallowed loudly. Had she heard the name wrong?
The man lazily got to his feet and disappeared through a door. The woman studied her briefly, her gaze taking in Hara’s bone knives before she bent over the papers on her desk.
It seemed a long time before the man returned, and this time, an older man with a pointed face followed him. This man wore a long black robe that fit tightly along his upper body and flared out behind him. He rather reminded Hara of a crow.
“Yes?” he said.
Working hard to keep the unaffected tone in her voice, she said, “I am Hara of Mortimer, and I have been appointed toa position at court by Lord Gideon Falk as a Recruiter. I am here to do some special research.”
There was an uncomfortable silence before Turnswallow spoke.
“So Lord Falk thinks he can appoint anyone he likes without my approval?” he said, his voice deep and measured. “I don’t know what he told you, but he’s not in charge down here. I have a carefully selected group.”
His obstinance was to be expected. The type of person who would make a career out of selling out his own brethren was not bound to be pleasant and warm. But she had treated patients like him. Stubborn, untrusting. Rather recently, in fact.
In a cool, firm voice, she said, “I have no desire to join your group, but I am here to do research on elemental power. There is some suspicious activity in Norwen, and I need to know the bounds of elemental magic and what signs to look for.”
The other witch hunters looked to Turnswallow. He crossed his arms. “No one gets access to the records unless they are a member of the Recruiters. And for that, you need to be vetted.”
“What do you require from me?” said Hara.
“What are your inclinations?” the thinner man asked. He was tall and had ginger blond hair.
“Natural Seer, taught healer,” said Hara. Turnswallow’s expression did not change, but the ginger man and the woman exchanged glances of interest.
“We’ve never had a Seer. Useful, that is,” said the woman.
Hara continued. “My future Sight is unreliable, but the past and present come readily. I can detect falsehoods with it.”
“We’ll need a demonstration of both abilities. Usually, we only take sorcerers with at least three inclinations, so you hadbetter be a prodigy at both.” said Turnswallow. “Tell us, how did I come under service to Corvus?”
Hara nodded, then took a few steps forward and stood closely to Turnswallow. She preferred to touch the object of her Seeing, but they wanted to be impressed. She watched his chest rise and fall, studied the glint of his black eyes, the threads of his hair, the scar across his hand and the scuffs on his boots.
Closing her eyes, she tried to pick out his scent and the sound of his breathing. She slipped into the realm-between-realms, gathering the fragile threads of his influence. It was more difficult than usual to see the details clearly, as though she were dredging them up from quicksand. The bit of the past that he wanted her to fetch was clearly something he had buried deep. She had never used her Sight on someone with skill in obscuring their memories before.
She swam through his life, letting the past roll over her in waves, high emotional peaks and dark lulls of memories he wanted to forget. She lingered on the murky spots, sifting through them with effort.
. . . a brother who was highly praised, envy . . .
. . . a fight that escalated into his first kill . . .
. . . a crowd of creatures jabbering and dancing in a revel . . .
. . . men visiting from the world outside . . .
. . . blisters erupting on a witch’s skin, her screams harsh as the soldiers dragged her by her hair . . .
Hara’s breath caught in her throat as the cold realization hit her: he was there, that night. He was the one who hunted them. Her lapse in concentration made her knees tremble, and with a deep sucking breath she surfaced from the past. She panted, trying to control her shuddering. Hopefully they would think she merely trembled from the effort. When she could trust her voice enough to speak, she looked Turnswallow in the eyes.
“As a child you were sent to live with the fae. Corvus and his men visited the fae realm years later and took you on as a Recruiter.” She stopped there, not wanting to go on.
She could have told him that she saw why he’d been sent to live with the fae. He’d had a younger brother who was clearly favored by their parents for his stronger magic. Jealous, Turnswallow had killed him when he was only a lad. Ashamed and horrified, his parents cut all ties with their son and banished him. He lived with the fae for years as a slave in their court until Corvus came to the fae realm, and Turnswallow saw his chance.
He immediately offered to help him round up any dissenting sorcerers that would give the new ruler trouble. Better to be the hunter than the hunted, and he would be welcomed back to the court after years of exile.
