Page 8 of To Save a Kingdom

“Who escaped?”

Turning to face her, the male clicked his heels together, his hands clasped behind his back. “King Malkov’s master artificer. If the other prisoners are to be believed, a man with a gemstone in the center of his forehead broke him out. They killed all the guards and disappeared.”

Zadé’s blood iced.

Brooks, the Arcane Inquisitor, was here.

Zadé brushed a few strands of errant hair out of her face as she stared at the open door to what had been Garrik’s cell. The key ring lay just outside, where Brooks had apparently dropped it. She nudged it with her boot.

Curse her dereliction of duty. She didn’t deserve the title of General, and hadn’t since the end of the Human War. Sighing, she rolled her shoulders. Maybe now, Tsara would realize that, too, and reclaim the rank she’d so brashly reinstated.

She crossed her arms and glared at the filth covering the floor as the headache bloomed between her temples, screwing phantom spikes into the space behind both eyes.

Without knowing what the master artificer could do, it was impossible to extrapolate what Brooks’ intentions were, but it couldn’t be good. Princess’ hold on her kingdom was still fragile, and the last thing Aliya needed was Brooks and his ilk undercutting her every move. Which meant Zadé had to be smart for once and figure out what the inquisitor and the artificer were up to.

Too bad her Aunt Cressida wasn’t here. Cress would know exactly what the artificer’s limits were, and what magic could be manipulated within those constraints. An unwelcome blade twisted in Zadé’s gut. She flinched at the reminder of the two centuries she’d wasted nursing a grudge, only to have Cressida ripped away from her as the promise of reconciliation finally bloomed.

That distance between them had been her fault, too. Cress had only allowed the estrangement out of respect for Zadé’s desires, the time she needed to heal.

Zadé blinked, forcing her thoughts to the present as she willed the distracting sparks in the periphery of her vision to clear. “Who can give me a rundown of the master artificer’s abilities?” she asked the guard standing next to her.

The elf shrugged. “Not sure, general. Perhaps the alchemists? Or the mages?”

Zadé chewed on the corners of her lips as she mulled the possibilities. “Bring me the gnome.” She tapped her forehead with her curled index finger as she wracked her aching brain for his name. “Jalius.” Of all the magic users Princess had at her beck and call, he was the most trustworthy.

Footsteps marched off to carry out her orders.

Zadé’s eyes scoured the walls, as if they held any clue as to what Brooks had planned.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. There was nothing to see here. Spinning on her heel, she strode to Brooks’ cell.

The bodies he’d left behind during his escape hadn’t been touched, though Zadé wondered if that was because Aliya’s people had the foresight to preserve the area for her investigation, or if they were just too lazy to attend to the clean up. Either way, the longer the scene sat, the further head start Brooks got.

She fought the urge to have someone roust Princess. But Aliya needed her sleep. The dark circles beneath her eyes and the hollowness of her face were evidence aplenty of how the stress of her tenuous position was affecting her. Zadé wouldn’t be the one to risk waking Princess if she was actually getting some rest.

Besides, Zadé was a general, at least until Tsara came to her senses. If Zadé couldn’t oversee an investigation, she didn’t have any business being an officer.

She frowned at the body lying next to the stairs with the dagger sticking out of its throat. The edges of her lips curled down in a reluctant frown. Even she had to admit the throw was impressive. Because of course someone who packed the magical punch Brooks did would also be a weapons master. Fates would never consider stacking things a little more fairly.

Zadé chewed on her lower lip, ripping her attention back to the present. She was nowhere near her best when hungover, and her scattered thoughts reflected that. But this was important for Princess, so Zadé knitted her forehead and squinted at the congealing pool of blackness beneath the dead jailer.

“General!”

Zadé flinched at the too-bubbly sound of Tsara’s voice.

The princess of the sun elves, with her golden skin and wavy hair bounced into view with entirely too much pep in her step considering how early it was.

“That was quick.” It should've taken at least until midday before someone reported her tardiness to Tsara. Zadé had underestimated the propensity of the elven forces for gossip.

Tsara’s forehead wrinkled as she came to stand in front of Zadé. “What?”

Zadé’s knees locked at the confusion on the woman’s face. Perhaps word hadn’t reached her yet? But then… “What are you doing here?”

Tsara looped her arm through Zadé’s. “It’s almost time for the council meeting!”

She moved to tug Zadé up the stairs, but Zadé untangled herself and stepped back, shaking her head. “No, it’s not. Besides, I belong here. There are things we still need to figure out.”

“Yes, it is.” Tsara raised an eyebrow as she studied Zadé. “The sun’s up. If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss the opening statements.”