"So, go ahead," Vambran said. "Tell us again how you didn't know about Jithelle's death beforehand. Tell us how you're just as distressed as everyone else about her death."
"That's right," Denrick replied "That's what I was trying to tell Em. I didn't have her killed. She was slain by the city watch, running from them after trying to impersonate a mage. I had nothing to do with it," he insisted. "If you were there, as you claimed yesterday, Em, then you know this already."
"That's pretty convincing," Vambran said, "but I'm not buying it. Those weren't city watchmen that night. They were hired killers dressed up like thugs, sent to kill your mistress."
"What? No," Denrick said, practically whining. "The watchmen said she was a criminal. I couldn't believe it. She'd never done anything like that before," he babbled, and Emriana felt sick to her stomach. Whether he was telling the truth or not, the thought of him wanting her, to have her in his bed with him, was making her sick.
"Liar," Vambran said again. "You had to get her out of the way so you wouldn't have an illegitimate heir running around."
"What?" Denrick said quietly, stiffening in the faint moonlight. "What are you talking about?"
"She was with child, Denrick," Emriana said. "Your child. You killed your own child!"
"No," Denrick said, crumpling down to the tiles, his voice cracking. "I didn't-she was pregnant? I was going to be a father? Oh, gods!" he whimpered.
Vambran crossed the distance between them and loomed over Denrick as the younger man drew his knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms around them. Emriana watched from where she was, still safely on the opposite side of the cistern from both of them. Despite his crumbling demeanor, Emriana found no sympathy in her heart for him. She simply looked on him as a pathetic, despicable person. There had never been a time when she was truly enamored of him, despite his obvious interest in her, but knowing what she more recently did, she regarded him with loathing. He may very well have been innocent of the crimes against Jithelle, but she doubted he had as much regard for the servant as he was pretending. He had been far too eager to become intimate with Emriana that night for her to believe that.
"I'm not convinced of your innocence," Vambran said, towering over the huddled Denrick. "You're going to have to try a little harder to prove it to me."
Denrick craned his neck, looking up at his tormentor.
"I told you," he mumbled, "I had no idea of any of the things you're-"
There was a scream from the other side of the house, a loud, piercing sound of terror and anguish. Vambran jerked upright, cocking his head. Emriana felt her heart leap into her throat.
"Who was that?" the girl asked, trembling.
"I don't know, but I'm going to go find out. Come on," he said, turning and taking the stairs two at a time back down to the garden.
Emriana was right behind her brother, leaving Denrick and all thoughts of his transgressions behind. Together, they sprinted in the direction of the sound, which seemed to have come right at the edge of the party. Emriana was a fair runner, but it was impossible for her to match Vambran stride for stride, and the lieutenant very quickly left her behind. Still, she hoisted the dress she wore high enough to keep it from tripping her up and kept going, terrified to think of what might have befallen one of her guests.
When she finally caught up to the scene, Vambran was already kneeling down, a crowd gathered around him. Ladara was right next to her son, sobbing, and Emriana knew that it had been her who had screamed before. Someone else was shouting for everyone to move back, to give them some room. As Emriana drew closer, she nearly sat down in the grass right there, horrified. It was Hetta.
Em watched helplessly as Vambran worked on their grandmother, who was lying in the grass on her back. Vambran was turned away from his sister, so she could not see what he was doing. His concentration was focused on the elderly matriarch's legs. With a sudden jerk, Vambran's arm came up, and he held half a crossbow bolt in his hand, the metal head dripping blood. At the same time, Hetta lurched in pain, issuing a feeble cry of suffering. Emriana cringed but closed the rest of the distance and knelt down next to her grandmother.
Hetta's eyes were open, but they were staring off at the darkened sky, glazed over and seeing nothing. Her breath was rapid and shallow. Her calf had been hit, and Vambran was pulling the rest of the bolt out, having already snapped off the head to avoid further pain and injury. Then, ignoring Ladara's panicked sobs for him to do something, the mercenary placed his hands on the wounds on either side of his grandmother's leg and began to chant a prayer.
Emriana squeezed her own eyes shut and prayed right alongside her brother, begging Waukeen to let Hetta live. She know that her own pleas were insignificant compared to the true divine power inherent in Vambran, but she didn't care. No amount of fervent, sincere entreaties would hurt the cause.
To the girl, the waiting seemed to go on forever. She opened one eye to look down at Hetta, still with that glazed look in her eyes, then she glanced over at her brother. He was still in the midst of his prayer, face smooth and serene. She couldn't imagine how he could remain so calm, but then, she reminded herself, he had seen such horror before, on the battlefield.
Hetta gasped and tried to sit up.
"So cold!" she blurted out, tossing her head from side to side and casting her gaze, which was quite clear and focused again, around.
She cried out, reaching for her leg as though suddenly realizing she had been injured.
"Easy, Grandmother," Vambran said, grasping Hetta by the hand and moving closer to her head. He gently forced the elderly woman to lie back down. "You're going to be fine."
Ladara let out a sob, but it was one of relief. His mother grabbed at Vambran and hugged him, then put a trembling hand to her mouth as she patted Hetta on the cheek.
Only upon hearing her brother's words did Emriana allow herself to relax. She realized she had been holding her breath the entire time and exhaled sharply. She felt tears of relief running down her cheeks. She reached up and put a thankful hand on Vambran's shoulder to reassure him, and nearly jerked her hand back again, startled.
The muscles in the mercenary officer's shoulder were tight, corded, and felt like steel. Emriana watched as he slowly stood, looking around.
"Who saw what happened?" he demanded.
Several people began to speak at once, all clamoring to be the first to inform the large man, who had a look of death in his eye, what had transpired. From the jumble of words, Emriana somehow deciphered that Hetta had simply been standing there, visiting with several other folk, when she cried out and crumpled to the ground. Then Ladara screamed, and everyone came running.
Vambran must have been able to piece together the story from the cacophony, too, for he finally held up his hands for silence.
"Where did the shot come from?" he said, his voice like ice.
Party guests turned to one another for some sort of support, but no one seemed to know. The lieutenant was answered with a lot of shrugging.
There was another shout, this time from the undergrowth off to the side of the open lawn. Vambran had his sword out, advancing toward the sound, almost before Emriana had turned to see what the commotion was. A house guard came stumbling out of the underbrush, a crossbow in his hand. When he saw the hulking Vambran coming at him, weapon out, he grimaced and held up a placating hand.
"I found it. I just found it," he insisted quickly, frantically trying to calm the mercenary before he was attacked.