Chasing Shadows (58 page)

At the sound of shuffling feet, Lisandro scrambled away from the wall he was leaning against for support—he must have thought himself too good to slide to the floor—and hurried to the bars, one leg dragging almost imperceptibly behind the other. He peered through the bars, gripping them with one hand. The look of expectancy on his battered face quickly turned into one of annoyance as Will moved closer, the guard flanking the stairwell behind him.

The weather-beaten Spaniard grinned dryly. “Why do I even waist my strength on being surprised? I suppose it’s too much to hope that she’s been delayed? No?” His cocky mirth changed into a sneer. Or grimace—Will couldn’t tell which with the way the man’s lip and eye were swelling. It caused every expression to look like one of displeasure.

“I should have known you wouldn’t allow her to come.” No, definitely a sneer, judging by the Spaniard’s tone.

Will’s heart felt a little warmer just seeing the rogue brought so far down. Then he thought of Sarah’s reaction to the sight of Lisandro’s arm hanging limp at his side, one eye swollen nearly shut, his tan face marred by cuts and bruises. Will frowned, biting back any taunting remarks he might have felt the need to share.

“I came here on behalf of Sarah,” he said diplomatically. “As you can imagine, she was frightened to be alone with you.”

He couldn’t say for certain, but he thought Lisandro might have winced, though the man quickly recovered, his haughty look returning. “And so you came in her stead to beat the truth from me.”

Lisandro leaned his face closer, careful not to brush against the bars. He grinned. “You’ll have a time getting me to confess, blacksmith.” Then he pulled back, looking entirely pleased with himself.

Will clenched his teeth, sucking in a breath for patience before he opened his mouth, grounding out the words, “I came here to speak with you, which is the last thing in the world that I wanted to do, believe me.”

Lisandro’s attention appeared piqued for a moment, though his expression remained superior and quickly turned back to one of indifference. “And what pressing affairs could we possibly have to discuss?” 

Stepping closer, Will lowered his voice so the guard didn’t overhear him. “Your involvement with the king’s advisor.”

A blink and a minor twitch of his good eye. Otherwise, Lisandro’s look remained impassive, if not a little cocky: he knew he had the upper hand. “I haven’t the faintest . . .” His eyes widened innocently. Actually, the one widened while the other drooped in amusement.

Will craned his neck, shooting the young guard a look. “Would you give us a moment?”

The guard looked uncertain. “I think I’m supposed to remain stationed here to observe the confession.”

He stared him down with a withering glance, and the young man backed down the stairs slowly.

“I’ll just be . . . Uh, I’ll give you a moment.”

“You do that,” Will muttered, turning back to the prisoner with the sound of feet hurriedly retreating down the stairwell behind him.

“No more pretense, Spaniard. I’m here because Sarah believes you know something, and for whatever unfathomable reason, she seems to think you’re worth keeping alive.”

With a mocking, quizzical brow, Lisandro asked, “And how shall I be benefitted if I admit an association with a man I’ve hardly spoken to?”

Will clenched his fists. “If you turn him over, you won’t hang on the gallows and will be transferred to solitary confinement, where we can offer you protection from Cadius.” Which was too good for him, Will was tempted to add.

Lisandro scoffed. “Yes, two death sentences to choose between.” He tapped a finger against his chin in mock contemplation. “However shall I decide?” 

Will wanted to throttle the arrogant man. “Do you have any idea,” he ground out, “how difficult this is for me to come here and ask for you to do something that will
save
your wretched hide?”

Sucking in a calming breath, jaw muscle twitching in restraint, he said more mildly through clenched teeth, “Sarah wanted me to encourage you to turn him over to the law to save yourself. Think of Cadius as your final bargaining chip.”

The man’s throat worked in a swallow, and he looked away. For the first time since he’d come up the stairs, Will saw true fissures in Lisandro’s overconfident façade. His eye drooped further, as though the effort of holding it open was too much for the man to maintain as his hand slipped lazily from the cell bar. He appeared all at once to be the weary, defeated man Will had expected to find. The change threw him.

“So she does care,” Lisandro whispered to himself, the words breathed out on a barely discernible laugh of triumph. His shoulders bowed, head dipping wearily. “Did she say anything else?” he asked, eyes closed.   

Will narrowed his gaze in scrutiny, wondering at his game. The odd thing was, he didn’t believe the Spaniard was up to any tricks, which baffled him all the more. Seeing a crack in the man’s stubborn resolve, Will took advantage of his weakened defenses.

He said, rather begrudgingly, “I know Sarah cares for you, and she has tried at least twice to convince me that your intentions weren’t malicious. I suspect she wants to believe it herself.” Lisandro glanced up sharply, a look of hesitant hope in his good eye.

Swallowing, Will said slowly, “I know she doesn’t wish to see you hang.” He managed not to wince, though the truth of the admission pained him. “As much as she and I disagree on this opinion, I side with her where Cadius’ arrest is concerned. The last thing she asked of me was to convince you to turn him over to the law.” Now that Will knew the Spaniard’s weakness, he decided to play off of it to his benefit.

He lowered his voice, speaking to him man to man, his eyes almost beseeching. “She thinks you will do what’s right, because for some reason that God only knows, Sarah wants to believe that there might be some good left in you—she said so herself. Can you truly remain silent and let her down?”       

Lisandro’s swallow looked painful, and he gripped one of the iron bars for support. Will drove in the final nail. “And she also wanted me to relay that right and easy are seldom the same.”

The man’s eyes slowly closed as he exhaled, lips curving in a self-deprecating smile. “No one has ever set standards that I should live up to them.” Brow puckering, he mused aloud, “Have you ever noticed how small her hands are when you hold them? Yet such immense power. . . .” His voice faded.

Will’s nostrils flared at the thought of them holding hands, but he could tell the man was weakening and wisely remained silent, waiting for the right moment to—

“In the bottom left desk drawer of my quarters, there is a secret compartment containing the correspondences between myself and Cadius for the past year.” The Spaniard looked up at him then, through a veil of stringy hair. Will couldn’t school his look of utter shock before the man caught his expression, though it didn’t seem to make a difference that his admission had caught him off guard.

Lisandro only appeared stoic as he continued in a monotone voice. “Two of the letters dictate my part in the immediate dismissal and removal of Gabriel Dunlivey for services rendered and Malcolm Devlin for unknowingly participating in the charade.”

Will’s brows rose before he could stop them. Had he heard correctly? The Spaniard watched him through his short lashes, his eyes fixed on Will in tired interest as he awaited his reply. Will squared his jaw. “Which are . . .?”

“Mentioned in previous missives,” Lisandro said in resignation. “They are all hand-written and sealed by Cadius himself. I saved every single one as collateral, dating back to—” He stopped abruptly, cringing. Then his shoulders slumped. “I asked her to stop searching, and yet I am the one to admit it outright.”

Will held his breath, not daring to move an inch.

The Spaniard shook his head and when he looked at Will, there was genuine fear in his eyes. His voice was hushed. “One letter dates back to a fortnight prior to the king’s illness, requesting that I summon a rather sordid alchemist to the castle for a private meeting with Cadius. The man always seemed to be in his cups and needed money desperately. After their discussion, I paid the alchemist handsomely, though I can’t say precisely what they spoke of.” He shot Will a wry look. “But I think we both suspect what transpired. Cadius was always very smart and was never entirely straightforward about his dealings or what we were doing. But I am no blind fool.”

Voice nearly a whispered, he added, “We all suspect the king was poisoned, and if you find the alchemist, you may be able to prove it, if that’s even necessary.”

Lisandro leaned back, appearing more relaxed now that it was out in the open. “Most of his commands during this event were entirely vague and verbal, so there is only one other missive from that time. In it, Cadius requested that I find pliable men who would do our bidding without any question of morals.”

“A scapegoat,” Will filled in disdainfully.

Lisandro looked pained by the term, but he nodded in agreement. “Yes. If they wished to convict us, they would also be admitting their own guilt by association, and we would reveal previous instances that were scrubbed from their records. So after Quinn became . . .
ill
”—his emphasis on the word spoke volumes—“we then placed Dunlivey on the guard to take care of matters outside the castle and hired John to take care of matters within.”

Will pulled back in surprise, then breathed in realization, “John was sent to administer the poison.”

Lisandro’s mouth tipped ruefully. “Yes, and his death was not quite the unfortunate accident that you imagined. Both he and Dunlivey had expired contracts and were threatening to expose our dealings.”

The corner of his nose twitched in disquiet. “As I told you, I was the one sent to deal with the matters of Gabriel and Mr. Devlin’s dismissals, but I had no part in John’s death—others were hired to eliminate him. I hadn’t even discovered what had been done until that evening when the bodies were found. And what happened to Dunlivey was an accident,” he was quick to add.

“And the woman who was found in the water with him?” Will’s fists clenched, jaw spasming.

The Spaniard sighed. “An unfortunate accident. I can only assume that she was found with the man and refused to let them bring him to the falls.” He grimaced distastefully. “So she went with him. Neither of the men sent to take care of the matter have admitted to there being a woman, but I suspect they’re hardly trustworthy.”

Will swallowed hard. Jade’s death had been reduced to nothing more than a despairing tramp that ended up on the wrong side of the falls. He tried desperately to maintain his calm. “Is that all?”

“One more thing.” The man’s eyes were suddenly ablaze with a fury that Will had never seen in his dull gaze before. His knuckles whitened around the bar. “Make sure that Cadius burns for everything he’s done.”

Will narrowed his eyes in suspicion, wondering at the sudden fire in the foreigner’s eyes. “Why keep up the lie? Why continue to work for a man you detest? You could have turned him in long ago.”

The fight fled him in a rush, leaving the man looking drained and older than his years. “Because without the lie, without his money and support and the position he has provided, I am nothing. This all began so I could get back at my father, so I could outmatch the monster.” Voice turning suddenly theatrical, Lisandro intoned in a thick Spanish accent, “‘Never trust anyone but yourself; the devil was once an angel.’ My father’s motto,” he supplied drolly.

Lisandro’s eyes were tormented with the demons of his past, something Will knew quite a bit about. “But how do you defeat the devil without becoming one?” The Spaniard shook his head. “I don’t blame my father, though; I did this to myself. I
chose
this path to reach my goals.” His bleak gaze wandered his small cell, and he whispered, “And I must live with the consequences and battle my demons from this gilded cage.”

He didn’t want to—he desperately did not want to feel pity for this sorry excuse for a man. But he did.

Will frowned at his leniency, and he shook his head at himself, even as he felt a begrudging sense of mercy. Perhaps it was because he knew that this conversation might be the last the man had for some time. “I assumed Sarah was wrong,” he admitted slowly. “I believed you to be entirely heartless in your dealings. Apologies.” He managed not to cringe as the words escaped his lips.

“Those who are heartless cared too much,” Lisandro whispered dolefully. Gaze wandering his cell, he muttered, “I so imagined my journey ending differently.”

Will thought about that and mused aloud, “My father used to say that any man who begins a journey of revenge should dig two graves, one for his adversary and one for himself. I suppose there’s some truth in that.”

Lisandro appeared to consider this. “He was a wise man.” Eyes drifting to the high, barred window in the cell, he commented quietly, “You’re an orphan—like me in a way.” Gaze intent on Will, he asked, “Does it ever get better, or do we simply find a way to live with the pain?”

Will shook his head. He could not believe he was consoling a murderer, the man who had tried to steal Sarah away. Expelling a breath, he said, “I’m not sure if the pain ever goes away entirely. You simply make room for it and learn to live again.”

Lisandro nodded, and the corridor lapsed into silence. After nearly a full minute of quiet, he opened his mouth again to suck in a breath. “Tell her . . . Tell her I’m sorry and that I did it all for her.”