Page 75 of The Dragon King's Assassin

Chapter Thirty-Two

The only people awake in Yusef's neighborhood at that hour were the servants and us. Those servants paused to gawk at the barricades the royal knights were putting up and at the King himself as he exited his carriage. After shutting the carriage door, I followed His Majesty up a set of stone steps and through an open doorway. Knights were already posted at the door and throughout the home, something that made me respect Vettan a little more. At least he'd thought to guard the scene while he reported to the King. Not that Yusef could get any more dead, but there might be crucial information hidden somewhere in his home.

Yusef's servants were gathered in one of the sitting rooms, watched over by a knight. As Captain Vettan joined us, Taroc paused and looked in at the household staff.

“Where were these people when you arrived?” the King asked Captain Vettan.

“The housekeeper answered my knock. The cook was making breakfast, several maids were cleaning, and a manservant was sent to fetch Lord Yusef. It was he who discovered the body.”

“Have you questioned him?”

“Yes, but I responded rapidly to his shouts. He couldn't have been alone with the body for more than a couple of minutes.”

“Anyone who saw anything would have fled,” I said. “They'd be too scared to stick around.”

“Nonetheless, question them, Captain.” The King waved toward the servants.

“Yes, Sire.” Vettan headed into the room.

“Where is the body?” Taroc asked another knight.

“This way, Your Majesty.” The knight led us up a creaking staircase, past paintings of sour-faced people and musty tapestries of far-off lands, to the master's bedroom. He waved us toward the doorway, then headed back to his post.

The room was spacious but crowded with heavy furniture—the sort people buy to pass down to future generations—and yet, Lord Yusef was unmarried. The drapes were open and light poured in through twelve-foot high windows but in addition to the sunshine, several ceiling lights were on. There was no way to miss the dead body. Especially since it lay in the middle of a massive bloodstain.

I suppose it would have been a pool of blood if the bedding and mattress hadn't absorbed it, leaving the pale body lying on a red splotch. The man's nightshirt—who wore a fucking nightshirt anymore? It was the year 6596, for fuck's sake—was soaked as well. Not so surprising since his throat was cut.

“Just like the violinist,” I whispered.

Yusef stared at something above him with wide, startled, dead eyes, his arms and legs akimbo as if they'd fallen into the position after a struggle. But he wouldn't have struggled long and he couldn't have cried out, not with his vocal cords severed. It was well done, a quick death, but not a professional one. An assassin wouldn't have given Yusef a chance to struggle; he would have been dead before he knew he was in danger. And no assassin would leave a mess like this unless they'd been specifically asked to by their employer.

“Do you recognize the work?” Taroc asked me.

“Recognize the work?” I made a face at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Don't assassins have weapons they prefer? Or styles of killing?”

“All right, yes, most do, and some even leave a mark on the body so people know it's their work. But this is not the work of an assassin.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It's too fucking sloppy. This is someone who knows how to kill and has no problem with killing, but they don't have the skill or refinement of an assassin. I think your enemy finally got his hands dirty.”

“Then he probably killed the musician as well.”

I nodded. “He was at the party, just as I'd thought. But how did he know the violinist was meeting me?”

“Maybe he overheard you.”

“Maybe.” I tried to remember who was around when I was speaking to the musicians, but the only ones I could think of were the carpenters and a few soldiers.

Taroc inhaled deeply as he walked slowly around the room. “The only familiar scents in this room are yours and Vettan's.”

“You'd still smell them if it had been hours since they'd been here?”

“Absolutely. And if this person was at the celebration and is someone I know well enough to have angered, I should recognize their scent.”

“Well, fuck, maybe they didn't do this themselves.”

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