Wraith(15)

I knew something of the ‘other parties’ he was referring to. There was a reason I usually dealt with Marrock instead of them, though, so I was hardly in a position to protest. The Dark Elf was not someone whose well being I had any interest in – not now he held my life in his hands. Literally. I tilted my head to one side. ‘So?’

‘I cannot give you a gun.’

I waited.

‘A knife I can manage.’

‘I’m not looking for a bread knife here, Marrock.’

‘Don’t worry, it will be lethal enough for you. It’s certainly valuable enough to me. What is the Dark Elf’s name?’

It only took me a split second to decide. ‘Gabriel de Florinville.’

Marrock blinked. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘That is news indeed,’ he murmured.

‘The goblins don’t want him here but they don’t want him hurt either.’

‘I’m hardly surprised at that.’ He scratched himself. ‘Why come here now, I wonder? And why him of all people?’

I didn’t bother speculating. Whatever I guessed would doubtless be wrong. ‘The knife, Marrock.’

He pursed his lips then snapped his fingers. The same woman appeared, this time with a far more slender box. She walked up the long alley and held it out to me. I opened it up. A gleaming curved blade nestled against a bed of purple velvet. It was small enough to conceal against my body and dangerous enough to kill just about anyone. Maybe even a Dark Elf.

‘Thank you.’

Marrock inclined his head. ‘You should go now. It would be wise for you to stay away for a while, Saiya.’

I nodded and turned to go. I knew when I wasn’t welcome.

‘One more thing,’ he called out after me. ‘Friend to friend.’

I paused.

‘Stay away from anything to do with Ange Horrocks.’

I raised my hand to acknowledge I’d heard him then I strode out, sliding the dagger underneath my dress and snagging the hilt against my bra to hold it in place against my ribs, before adjusting the material so it was wholly concealed. Who knew? It might work.





Chapter Seven




The decapitated head made zero sense. I didn’t like all of Marrock’s minions but I knew they weren’t stupid. They ingratiated themselves with the Filits on a full-time basis. There had been nothing in Marrock’s behaviour to suggest that his man had been a hothead who might have said the wrong thing and pissed off the wrong goblin. Everything pointed to Ange having done something very, very wrong. So wrong that even asking questions about her would result in immediate death.

It baffled me. How could she have erred so disastrously? Becky seemed equally clueless. If I’d had my shadow with me, I’d have thrown caution to the wind and sneaked into the Tolbooth to see what was going on.

I’d originally gone to Marrock to discover the truth about Ange’s arrest before negotiating her release. I’d assumed that she was curled up in a cell somewhere. If Ange were dead, however, there was no point continuing any of this. I rubbed my hand over my skull and sighed. What a damned mess.

Priorities, I reminded myself. I couldn’t do anything to help Ange until I helped myself. That meant retrieving my shadow from de Florinville and not dying in the process – but I could only do that if I knew where my shadow was and what the Dark Elf had done with it while my consciousness was elsewhere. With that in mind, I skirted the quiet streets until I found a corner where my physical body could safely hide. Hunkering down behind a pile of rubble from one of the Gneiss goblins’ many bombardments, I did my best to ignore the knot of anxiety in my stomach and snapped my consciousness away to my shadow self.

I was in a bedroom, one that was in Stirling Castle judging by the stone floor and roughly hewn walls. My shadow had been bound into a circle held in place by salt. Damn the Dark Elf for knowing enough about magic to trap me like that. Just beyond the ring of salt were carefully placed candles, each one designed to highlight my darkness. Clearly, he was taking no chances.

Taking care not to move a muscle so I didn’t alert either de Florinville or his companion to the fact that my shadow was no longer an empty vessel, I glanced around. The goblins had pulled out all the stops. Vivid tapestries, hundreds of years old, adorned the walls; antique mahogany furniture, burnished to within an inch of its life, was artfully arranged in corners. To my right, barely visible in the room beyond, there was a gigantic four-poster bed with a vibrant red bedspread. In the other direction, I noted closed windows and a heavy oak door with an iron key in its lock. It was impossible to tell where this suite was located; no doubt that had been done deliberately. Alas, Gabriel de Florinville wasn’t born yesterday.

There was a rustle over to the left but I couldn’t see what – or who – was making the noise without moving and giving myself away.

‘You’re back.’

Goddamnit. How did he know? I twisted towards his voice and bared my teeth, even though he couldn’t see my expression. Perhaps some of my malevolence would leak through.

De Florinville put down a leather-bound book and got to his feet, taking long, deliberate strides towards me before stopping outside the circle of salt and candles. ‘I’ve come across several wraiths in my time,’ he commented. ‘Each one has possessed exactly the same trait which has led to their downfall. It must be in your genes, just as skulking in shadows and performing callous acts of murder are.’ He paused.

I needed some clue about where I was. While de Florinville talked, I cast around for anything useful. The far wall, where the window was located, was curved. If I were right and we were in the King’s Old Building in the Inner Close of the castle, then I already had a scrap of useful information.

De Florinville leaned towards me, his shadow falling across the floor into my circular, salty cell. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?’

I shrugged to give the impression that he had my full attention. As I did so, I forced my hearing to sharpen, hoping I’d make out any distant sounds that might help me pinpoint the room’s location.

‘Arrogance,’ he said softly. ‘You’re all so damned arrogant.’ An unpleasant smile played around his mouth. ‘I can’t imagine why. You’re a dwindling race – and with good reason. Nobody wants or trusts an assassin. Not for long anyway.’

I strained my ears. There was nothing, no sound of clinking plates, no murmur of distant voices. I filed away the silence because that provided a clue as much as noise would have. I shifted my weight carefully so that I was angled a degree or two away. A different vantage point might help, even if that difference was only slight.

‘Do you know that your kind weren’t always the despicable killers you are now? There used to be more to wraiths than simple murderers for hire. You might have forgotten over the years what you were capable of, but there are plenty of old books at Holyrood which detail your capabilities.’

I inched my way further over. Gabriel de Florinville really did like the sound of his own voice.

‘Wraiths possess the ability to render objects utterly useless. If you concentrate, you can detach the shadow not only from yourself but from anything inert that you come across. You could defuse bombs with a flick of a wrist. You could turn deadly nightshade into a living but entirely harmless plant. You could do so much good. Instead, you skulk in shadows and kill.’

Firstly, he might be right about other wraiths but he wasn’t right about me. I didn’t kill anyone. I’d grown up far enough away from any wraith influence, apart from my now-dead parents, to not live the sort of life he was talking about. Secondly, I’d never separated a shadow away from anything other than myself. I’d never heard a whisper that it was possible. The Dark Elf, I decided, was talking out of his arse. And he still hadn’t finished.

He circled round, ending in the same position where he’d begun. His satisfied expression remained unchanged. ‘I’ve made arrangements with the goblins at the front. When you arrive there to hand yourself over, ask for me and give your name as Thomas Iscariot. I’ve told them you’re an old school friend who’s still living in Stirling and has come to see me. Of course, no wraith is actually within the walls of this city. Death might stalk Stirling but there is no need for your kind here. Not now.’ His eyes grew intent and thoughtful. ‘Someone deliberately put you onto me. I want to know who.’

Thomas Iscariot? I supposed Judas Iscariot was too obvious. But I’d hardly betrayed Gabriel de Florinville; he wasn’t mine to betray, even though I might be here to stab him in the heart.

I dismissed his poor excuse for black humour and continued surveying. In the far corner there was a small table with some papers on top of it. I spotted an elaborate document that bore the Prime Minister’s seal and frowned. I already knew the Elf was here as an Envoy but was there more to it than morbid curiosity about how Stirling was faring? Was the government finally taking an interest in our predicament? If so, the Prime Minister was a bit late. Even the most optimistic Stirling citizens had given up believing he was ever going to ride gallantly to our rescue.

‘As long as the goblins don’t notice the absence of your shadow, you should reach me without trouble.’ De Florinville’s gaze flicked up and down. ‘Unless you’d prefer to tell them the truth and deal with the Filits’ own brand of justice rather than mine. I’m not saying I won’t kill you – I’ve not yet made up my mind – but I am prepared to be swayed.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Under the right circumstances.’