She stopped. Before tears could get the better of her, Dyta scowled hard, anger replacing anguish.
"I closed it. The poor lamb was lying out on the steps, and I never saw her or thought for a moment she'd be anywhere but in her room. I just closed the door."
Lanjov listened attentively, but at those words his head dropped slightly.
"Wasn't until later," Dyta continued, "past midnight, I heard the master shouting. I was already settled in bed in my room out back, so I found my robe and ran out. I heard him outside and opened the door as Lord Kushev came running up the front walk."
"Who's Kushev?" Leesil asked.
"A neighbor," Lanjov answered. "He was playing cards at the Knight's House with me."
"The saddest sight," Dyta whispered, "with her dress all torn, and throat so-"
"Enough," Lanjov ordered in a ragged voice. "I don't see how any of this will help."
Leesil raised his eyebrows, but Magiere couldn't tell what he was thinking.
"I assume you saved the dress?" she asked.
"Yes," Lanjov answered. "Captain Chetnik of the city guard told me that I must keep it, even after she was buried."
Magiere committed the name to memory. So far, few people in this had shown much sense, but this captain apparently had, and it might be worth the time to speak with him.
"I'll need to see it." She paused and felt some embarrassment. "Actually"-she pointed to Chap-"our tracker needs to smell it."
Lanjov's face paled again. The thought of a dog sniffing over his dead daughter's clothing was pushing this evening past his tolerance. To his credit, he simply said, "It's in her room. Follow me."
As Dyta left, Magiere, Leesil, and Chap followed Lanjov back into the hallway and to the right. The hall opened up in a wider area with a curved staircase. Lanjov led them up to the third floor and into a bedroom.
Cream draperies hung from a four-poster bed with a matching comforter. Small whitewashed shelves were attached to the walls at heights low enough for a young girl to reach, and the number of dolls that filled them surprised Magiere. Leesil looked at them too. At least a score of dolls, intermingled with occasional toy animals or a foppish marionette, were displayed along one wall alone. Some were blond, some had dark ringlets, and one had hair of auburn red. All of their heads were porcelain and most wore pink, lavender, or yellow lace dresses.
"How old was your daughter?" Magiere asked.
"Sixteen," Lanjov answered.
At that, Leesil's eyebrows rose, and he rolled his eyes as well.
"Where is her mother?" Leesil asked.
Again, Lanjov paused as if the question were not only irrelevant but impertinent.
"She died the night Chesna was born," he answered.
Magiere couldn't help pitying this arrogant man. He'd lost his wife in childbirth, and now lost his only child. Perhaps he'd been in no hurry to see his daughter grow into a life of her own.
Lanjov opened the doors of a tall wardrobe and removed a cloth-wrapped bundle. He carried it to bed as if it were both precious and horrifying to the touch. Inside was what had once been an elegant day dress of lavender with saffron trim. The neckline and left shoulder were stained with dried blood.
Chap trotted to the bed and looked up at Lanjov expectantly, but the councilman merely stepped back. Leesil reached out and took the dress, letting it unfold until the skirt hem touched the floor.
From its size, the girl would have stood no taller than Magiere's shoulder, but what caught her attention most was its condition. The front was shredded and torn open from bodice to hem. Magiere's stomach began to burn, accompanied by a familiar ache in her jaw that she quickly suppressed. But anger still crawled up her throat and into her head.
Those lower slashes hadn't been done to feed or kill. An ugly question needed to be asked, but when she looked at Lanjov's face, she couldn't voice it.
Lanjov stood silent and never blinked as he stared at the dress. His hands were tightly closed at his sides, and Magiere saw his throat clench as he swallowed.
Chap started at the hem of the torn skirt, pushing at it with his nose. As he worked upward, Leesil dropped down until the hound could reach the collar. Chap looked up at Leesil and back to Magiere and whined. Magiere knelt down next to the hound.
"Nothing?" Grabbing the shredded fabric in her fist, she shoved it at Chap, nearly jerking the dress out of Leesil's hands. "Again… pay attention!"
It wasn't that Chap understood her words, but Magiere had come to recognize that he knew exactly what his role was in their trio.
Chap looked into her eyes for a moment, and Magiere felt as if he returned her own dissatisfaction with a faint rumble in his throat. He again breathed in the dress, working along the folds and up to the bodice and shoulders. He finished and then whined.
"That's enough," Leesil said. "He's not getting anything. Perhaps it's been too long."
"Well?" Lanjov demanded, as if expecting them to have some new dram of insight after this painful indignity.
"We need to take it with us," Leesil said. He stood to face the councilman, leaving the dress in Magiere's hands. "Chap might not know what he's scenting yet."
Magiere knew well enough that her partner was now telling tales. She bunched the lavender dress in both hands. Part of her didn't want to know what had been done to this girl as she bled to death. She suddenly envisioned the mother she'd never seen being taken away in the dark to a fief keep. Rumors passed among the villagers of a woman glimpsed on rare nights, wandering, full with a child sired by what Magiere now had accepted was a walking abomination masquerading as a man. Just before her mother died, Magiere was born, unnatural and half-tied to the world of the undead. She squeezed Chesna's dress between her fingers and closed her eyes.
Teeth clamped down on her wrist, and Magiere's eyes snapped open.
Chap had her wrist wrapped in his jaws, and he tugged at her as he backed toward the door. She pulled out of his grip and looked at Leesil.
"I don't know." He shook his head. "Just follow him."
At that, Chap whirled about, trotting out of the bedroom door. With dress still in hand, Magiere went after him, Leesil following, and from behind, she heard the breathy irritation of Lanjov. Chap stayed well ahead and, upon reaching the main floor, bolted toward the front of the house. Magiere chased him, coming to a stop in the main entryway. Chap stood grunting and growling as he pawed at the front door.
"It appears your dog needs to go outside," Lanjov said coldly. "Perhaps you gave him too much water before coming."
Leesil turned on the councilman and was about to spit something out, when Magiere interceded. "He wants to see the front porch again."
Lanjov blinked. With a deep sigh of resignation, he opened the door.
Chap lunged out and did exactly as Magiere had expected. He stopped with nose down, sniffing the dark-stained grout between the porch stones.
Stepping out, Magiere studied the spot that Chap inspected. In the low light of the porch lanterns, it was hard to see it clearly. Her gaze still on the porch stones, she reached for the left-side lantern to turn up its knob and extend the wick for more light. Instead of growing brighter, the light dimmed.
Magiere looked to see if she'd mistakenly turned the wick down and snuffed it out. The wick was fully extended, and the flame burned wildly, licking the top of the lantern. The light was so bright that she pulled her gloved hand back to shield her eyes.
Her gloved hand. She didn't wear gloves.
Chap yipped, leaping aside as Magiere stumbled down the porch steps. She stood in the walkway, hand held before her, and stared at her fingers.
There was no glove on her hand.
"Magiere?" Leesil asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," Magiere muttered.