A skycoach soared close overhead, distracting Zzar from his thoughts. On impulse, he scraped one taloned hand against its hull, drawing deep grooves and dislodging a sizable chunk. As the splintered wood fluttered down into the city below, one of the vessel’s occupants cursed at him. Zzar laughed in reply but held his course. Humans created such ridiculous flying vehicles to imitate his kind.
Though exciting, the encounter was all too brief, and it only banished whatever it was he’d been thinking about the moment before. No matter. It was time to focus on the hunt anyway. He’d wheeled around the crowded residential district of Ivy Towers long enough with no success. His wings unfurled to their full span, then snapped together with a surge of speed as Zzar ascended once more.
Red-glowing eyes studied the urban landscape beneath him, searching for his quarry. His employers’ description returned to mind. “Her name is Soneste, Zzar. Say it with me. Soneste. A young and pretty human, hair the color of wheat, light skin. She is always armed with a thin sword and often wears a blue coat.”
Blackfeather Slayings Solved by Local Inquisitive
SHARN-An inquisitive employed by Thuranne d’Velderan’s Investigative Services, the Tharashk-sponsored agency located in Warden Towers, personally cracked the so-called Blackfeather case on Far, naming the man responsible for the long-unsolved serial killing of thirteen nobles in 991 YK.
Soneste Otänsin, a native of Starilaskur but a resident of Sharn, first came to note for finding Shauranna Rokesko last Olarune when the royal aide had been kidnapped by a cell of Emerald Claw agents. Now Soneste has discovered the true identity of the killer known for fifteen years only as the Torchfire Wraith, leading to the arrest of Aldem ir’Shorem, a former actor and playwright once rejected by the Blackfeather Troupe.
“We never expected to find that devil,” said Werick Faldren, captain of the Menthis Plateau garrison of Warden Towers. “He killed thirteen young men and women in cold blood and left the Torchfire district paralyzed with fear for a long time.”
Aldem, the heir of the ir’Shorem estate, is now in the custody of the King’s Citadel and faces a dozen charges of murder.
“I’m very proud of Soneste,” said Lady Thuranne d’Velderan, head of Investigative Services and a dragonmarked member of House Tharashk. “She single-handedly brought a notorious criminal to justice and closure to the families of his victims.”
The family of Aldem ir’Shorem, the aristocrat from Ocean View whose guilt was brought to light by Soneste’s investigation, could not be reached for comment …
The chronicle had gone to print earlier this morning, was already available at vendors throughout the city, and would be distributed abroad within days. Hundreds-thousands-of the Sharn Inquisitive’s readers would be seeing Soneste’s name in print for the second time. She had her own copy, of course, but she’d already committed every word to memory, an easy feat ever since Veshtalan taught her how with but a few moments’ concentration. Still, she couldn’t wait to see her friends’ reactions, couldn’t wait to hear from her mother in Starilaskur after she’d read the story. It might just cheer her up.
The world looked different now. People walked the skybridges as they always had. Soarsleds and skycoaches glided among the multi-leveled districts. The Watch roved the bustling streets in pairs. Lifts rose and fell from one level to another. Yet to her, somehow it all seemed more invigorating. What she did seemed to matter, now more than ever, and people would know it! After eight years in Sharn, she’d never felt more a part of the city. It had all started with finding the kidnapped Shauranna, but this was something more, a mystery none could solve-and she solved it, following one clue after another.
“Miss Otänsin?”
Soneste shook her reverie away. She turned her eyes from the window back to the young woman who sat across from her, who was scratching notes in a small book even as she waited for a response.
“I’m sorry,” Soneste said. “Could you repeat the question?”
“How many homicide cases have you been involved in now?” The young woman wrote down her own question. She carried no bottle of ink. Soneste suspected the pen possessed an enchantment enabling it to produce its own indefinitely.
“Ten,” she answered. “Three of which were solo. This one and the Rokesko case are certainly higher profile than the rest.”
The young woman nodded, then turned her book face down and stared back. “Do you think the ir’Shorem family will hold a grudge against you for incriminating Aldem? Or ever seek to do you harm?”
“Uhh, I don’t …”
The question had caught her off guard. Soneste recovered herself and looked evenly into the young woman’s eyes. Soneste somehow felt like a veteran inquisitive talking to her.
In a job that required snooping around where she wasn’t welcome, Soneste had learned how to defend herself. At her hip she carried a magewrought rapier, a few tricks in the pockets of her shiftweave coat, and she always kept her Riedran crysteel dagger hidden in one boot. The beautiful weapon had been a parting gift from Veshtalan, an apology for cutting his mentorship short a mere five months ago.
“No,” Soneste said. “I don’t think they’re that foolish. Their favorite son is facing the gallows. The public’s eye is fixed firmly upon the ir’Shorem family. They’ll behave for a good long while.” She let her fingers caress the steel hilt of her rapier. “Regardless, I can take care of myself, Miss … I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Kereva. Scarla Kereva.”
Of course, Soneste had memorized the chronicler’s name when she’d first introduced herself-a vital skill in her trade, a task made easier since Veshtalan’s tutelage-but she’d decided to remind the chronicler who she was by comparison. An inquisitive like Soneste shouldn’t have to bother with the names of those beneath her.
Beneath? Had she just thought that?
“Of course. Scarla.” It sounded like an elvish name, but the scuffs on the girl’s boots and the frayed lace at her sleeve did not affiliate her with the loftier elven neighborhoods of Sharn. Scarla probably lived in an apartment somewhere in Rattlestone or Kenton-like Soneste once had. Working class.
The Rokesko case, cracked nearly eight months ago, had changed everything for her. Thuranne, her boss, had intimated that Soneste could expect cases of higher profile from now on-wealthier clients had already been asking for her-which meant she would be able to afford a higher standard of living. Perhaps prematurely, she’d already moved to a new apartment in Ivy Towers. It had a spectacular view, staring across the city chasm to look upon the towers of Middle and Upper Dura. Quite a nice step up.
Now the ir’Shorem case had brought her further accolades, as evinced by the chronicler in front of her. The second Sharn Inquisitive article naming her was already out, and now they wanted to print an exclusive interview with her in the next edition.
Soneste had always enjoyed her work. Yet how important, after all, was finding people who didn’t want to be found, spying on unscrupulous merchants, or locating stolen jewelry for people who could hardly notice its absence? Perhaps the cases themselves would be more satisfying now. With a single apprehension, she’d brought a serial killer to justice and one of Sharn’s most upstanding families under scrutiny. She had to admit, she knew she should be careful.