Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie LaCrosse Novel (33 page)

The door opened, and two soldiers came out. Between them staggered a disheveled Prince Frederick, looking dazed and half-asleep. The soldiers snapped to attention, and the captain stepped up to the prince with a smart salute.

“Your Highness,” he said stiffly, “please allow us to escort you back to Sevlow.”

Frederick blinked. “Uh . . . okay, sure.” He looked down at his feet. “Whoa, where’re my shoes?”

“Boots for His Highness!” the captain bellowed. A junior officer quickly complied. I couldn’t tell if they’d brought extra boots just for this contingency or stripped them off a soldier roughly the same size. The two soldiers quickly bent to the prince’s feet and had him shod in no time. I suspected they’d done this before. Perhaps this whole company did nothing but chase Frederick around and bail him out of trouble.

As Frederick was guided to a waiting horse, two more soldiers brought out Daniel Argoset. He was in full uniform, and stood stiffly at attention before his counterpart. “Captain Malligan,” he said formally.

“Captain Argoset,” Malligan replied. Then he reached up and yanked the insignia from Argoset’s uniform. “By direct order of King Archibald, you are demoted to private and assigned to my unit.”

Argoset swallowed hard, but his voice was steady. “Yes, sir.”

Malligan smiled. If he’d spent any time at all with his former peer, he must’ve enjoyed this immensely. To his credit, the smile was his only gloat. “You’re assigned to the rear guard, Private. Am I clear?”

Argoset had just been instructed to clean up any manure deposited on the road behind the company as it traveled. It was a punishment detail, the absolute lowest job available. He simply nodded and said, “Yes, sir, perfectly clear. Where may I find the shovel?”

I left Argoset to his humiliation and continued to Angelina’s. There I found Callie’s ex-boyfriend asleep on my office stairs, where she could keep him from scurrying out to find giggle-weed. I also heard that Minnow Shavers had inquired about a job; Sharky un-inquired for her shortly afterward. And no one, it seemed, had inquired after my professional services. Neceda was finally returning to normal.

I’d just filled in Angelina and Callie on Liz’s condition when Gary Bunson sat down beside me. His smile was almost wide enough to separate the top of his head from the rest of him. “What are you grinning about?” I asked.

He pulled out a folded piece of black velvet and opened it to reveal a small military medal embossed with the royal seal of King Archibald. “The captain of the guard presented this to me. He even stood at attention.”

“You got a medal?” Callie said, making no effort to hide her disbelief.
“Why?”

Gary pinned it to his chest, and puffed up like a startled toad. “For my quick action in solving the murder of Mother Donna Bennings of the Moon Sisterhood. With the grateful appreciation of the king and people of Muscodia.”

“I thought the king didn’t approve of the moon priestesses,” Angelina said.

Gary was almost beaming. “He may not, but they have a lot of clout and he knows better than to let people go around killing them.”

Angelina and I exchanged a look of disbelief. I tried not to laugh. “Gary, the killer came to you and confessed. You basically did nothing.”

“Yes, and I did it with alacrity and tact. I have a parchment that says so.”

“And your conscience is okay with this?”

Now Gary tried not to laugh. “Eddie, I sold my conscience for a night with a trail whore when I was fifteen. Haven’t seen it since, and wouldn’t know what to do with it if it turned up.” He touched the medal almost reverently. “I also got a raise.”

“A raise,” Angelina repeated. “A medal and a raise for doing nothing.” She shook her head with a grim, humorless chuckle.

There wasn’t much else to say. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Gary. That means the next round is on you.”

“Hey, sure thing. Angelina, a bottle of your cheapest best stuff.” He turned to me. “Want to hear something else weird?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Oh, wait: how’s Liz? I heard she was in the hospital. What happened?”

“Had an accident making a delivery. She’ll be fine. So what else is weird?”

“A sheep farmer from the Black River Hills came into town screaming that a dragon had carried off one of his rams.”

“A dragon,” Callie repeated. “Like in a fairy story?”

“Yeah,” Gary said. “A real fire-breathing dragon. Shiny black scales. Breathed blue fire, he said. Showed up in the middle of the night, scorched his pasture, killed his dog and flew off with a ram.”

Now I knew where the creature had been returning from when she found me in her burrow. “That
is
weird,” I agreed. “Maybe he just had too much to drink at the hanging.”

“He had too much of something. I told him if I heard any more about it, I’d lock him up as a public nuisance.”

“Yeah, for the best,” Callie agreed. “Anyone who says they’ve seen a dragon must be a few needles short of a pine tree.”

Gary sighed. “Well, I hope we’ve seen the last of him and those other weirdos, the ones with the red scarves. And anyone from Sevlow, and anyone named Marantz. This used to be a nice, peaceful town.”

Gary left; I finished my lunch, then went upstairs to my office. When I went to unlock the door, though, it swung in on its own. Instantly I was flat against the stairwell wall, my boot knife in my hand.

I leaned out just enough to see inside. The waiting room was empty, and the door to my private office stood open.

I silently entered. Nothing seemed disturbed. I went behind my desk and looked out the window. No one on the street appeared to be watching for my arrival. Had I just forgotten to lock the door? Then I noticed the present waiting for me on my desk.

It was a foot-long crossbow bolt, its triangular metal point stuck in the wood, but not with the force of an actual shot. A piece of parchment was tied to the shaft with a red ribbon. I unrolled it and turned it toward the light.

The writing was neat and precise, four words that carried all the meaning in the world.
Not today,
it said.
But someday.
There was no signature, but none was really needed.

I crumpled the note and threw it out the window into the mud of the street. Then I put the bolt in a quiver with my others.

I
had one last bit of work to do in the Black River Hills. The next day I left Liz’s bedside before sunrise and on my new horse, Little Blackie, headed down trails now familiar to us both. I finished burying Lola, although nature’s disposal system had done a good job on the carcass by the time I found it again. Scavengers had also been at Candora’s body, but I left it where it was. Feeding the buzzards and crows was more than he deserved.

I carried the dragon’s remains to the peak above her burrow and burned them on a small pyre. The wind made it difficult to get the fire started, but once going it didn’t take long to consumer the body. Alone with the blue sky, the great forest like a green sea beneath me stretching into the hazy distance, I felt the solemnity of the moment. It marked an end of something large and significant in the world, even though most people would never know it.

As I watched, the remains of whatever organic gas fueled the dragon’s fire sent little blue jets of flame through the gaping, blackened jawbones. It was the last time any dragon would breathe forth fire. I felt a twinge of whatever Liz must’ve experienced as a child, and shared her sad disillusionment. And I shed a tear of my own for Solarian and Lumina.

chapter

THIRTY-TWO

I

, ah . . . ,” I said, trailing off.

We sat in my office a few days after Liz left the hospital. I’d brought dinner up from the tavern and lit a candle, making the austere little room vaguely romantic. Fresh flowers sat in a vase on my desk, and a cool breeze blew in from the river. I’d even washed the ale mugs that tended to accumulate in one desk drawer. The sky visible through the window was darkening pink and red, and somewhere a drunk howled at the rising moon. Liz, her fork halfway to her mouth, stopped and cocked her head at me. “You, ah, what?”

I put down my fork, sat straight and looked at her. “I, ah, need to tell you something.”

She put her own utensils aside with deliberate care. We were having Rudy’s vegetable surprise again; ever since she’d watched Candora work on Marion, Liz had been unable to stomach meat. I understood completely, since I found myself getting twitchy around any open flame, no matter how small; even the candle on the table made me nervous. She said, “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not ominous.”

“There’s not a Mrs. LaCrosse somewhere you haven’t bothered to mention, is there?” She looked at me with exaggerated inquiry. The bruises had faded, although her wrists were still bandaged. The cut on her thigh also remained sensitive and forced her to wear dresses, something she generally loathed.

“No, don’t be goofy. Who would marry me?”

“You’re the one being goofy. ‘I, ah, need to tell you something,’ ” she said, imitating me. “So tell me.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

I looked out at the sunset. The first stars twinkled at the edges of the pink clouds. A crow, running late, landed in the top of a tree. “You know how you kept the whole dragon thing from me because you worried about how it would sound?”

“I said I was sorry for that. And I meant it.”

“I know. The thing is, I’ve kinda sorta kept something from you for the same reason.”

Like me, she could keep feelings off her face, but I knew her well enough to see the rising concern in her eyes. Still, her tone remained light when she repeated, “ ‘Kinda sorta’?”

“Kinda sorta. I didn’t lie to you or anything, except by omission, and even then I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I just . . . didn’t know how to start the conversation.”

“And
this
is how you decided to do it?”

I shrugged. “I’m better at throwing knives.”

“So is this great secret something you’re ashamed of?”

“No, just something that . . . will be hard to explain.”

“And believe?”

“Probably.”

She sat back, pulled her napkin from her collar and placed it in her lap. She hiked up her dress to expose the cut to the air per Mother Mallory’s orders. It also displayed a distracting amount of thigh. She said, “Does it end with you saying how we can’t be together no matter how much we want to be?”

“No. It’s really not about you and me.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

Deep breath. It struck me that I was more scared of this than I’d been of the dragon. Yet I not only felt I owed her honesty; I also had taken something fundamental from her that day on the mountain. It can’t be easy to know you’ve lost a god, and I could see the sadness of it burgeoning in her. I felt obligated to try to restore it, to convince her that just because one god proved false, it didn’t mean there was no magic in the world. And to believe the story I was about to tell meant she’d have to accept anew the reality of magic, and goddesses walking among us.

Still, it took all my courage to get those first words out. “It’s about your sister.”

“Jessica?”

That was her older sister, married with a bunch of kids and, now, grandkids. “No, your twin.”

It took a moment to register; then her eyes opened wide.
“Cathy?”

“Yeah.”

“Well . . . what
about
her?”

Here we go. “I knew her once.”

Under different circumstances, the look on her face would’ve been funny.
“When?”

“Years ago. I was . . . well, I wasn’t exactly
there
when she died, but I . . .
was
there.” I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Then she really
is
dead,” Liz said deliberately. It replaced a long-standing question mark with a period.

“Yeah.”

She took a moment to absorb it. “And you knew that, and never told me.”

“Yeah.”

She just stared at me. It was almost fully dark outside now, and the light from the candle reflected from her eyes so that they seemed to burn with contained emotion. It also made her look exceptionally beautiful.

“Okay,” I said, unable to bear the scrutiny and silence. “I’ll start at the point it all got resolved, which was just before you and I met.”

“That sounds like the end of the story.”

“It is, but it’ll make sense.”

She took a drink of ale. A big drink. “And you love me?”

“Yes. And this won’t change that, for me at least.”

She wiped her lips, burped lightly and said, “You know
I’m
pretty hard to run off, too.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” I took another deep breath, leaned back in my chair and began the long, complicated story of Epona Gray, Phil of Arentia, the scariest dwarf ever and Queen Rhiannon, the sword-edged blonde:

“Spring came down hard that year. . . .”

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