Veleria held her gaze firmly on the ceiling above her. Many mistakes had been made in the past days, mainly her failing to discuss matters with Caellach discreetly. She was getting better.
Truthfully, although it was initially a mistake, I believe it may have helped bring our targets out.
Caellach told her this, and Veleria squeezed her eyes shut.
“You may be right. Do you really think Syld is with Corvus?” She asked, deliberately speaking out loud now that they were alone. It was a decent enough room. Cheap, but well made.
Yes. If he is then he may take us to Adrian without realizing it.
Veleria grumbled at the thought.
“I’m worried that if Syld is the killer, and he is with Corvus, then allowing ourselves to get caught will just provoke Cromwell into obliterating the town.” She rolled onto her side. The furs on the bed were decent enough so she pulled them around herself in a cocoon.
It took a moment longer for Caellach to comment.
So long as we keep the mask on our identities should remain shrouded. Edgar only threatened this town if we were in danger of being taken to the sorceress.
Veleria held the furs around her tightly.
She began to drift off, until the sound of a scream reached her ears and Veleria shot up. Throwing the furs off her, she jammed her feet into her boots before gathering the rest of her things.
It had been quiet since her arrival. Perhaps it was time to catch this supposed killer in the act.
Not far from the tavern he had seen Valenne choose, Vos’iin held the limp form of a woman against his body. He covered her mouth with one gloved hand. In the other he barred her against him, his sword slick with a sinister crimson.
Beneath his hood was his true appearance. The night prior marked the end of the glamor cast upon him, which meant Vos’iin needed to act. While he found his playing detective and investigating his own crimes highly entertaining, he was done with the game, and Valenne would soon belong to him alone.
It took her some trial and error, but Veleria gasped when she found the right alley only to see the perpetrator and their victim. While the woman—an escort, maybe—had been badly injured with what appeared to be a puncture wound in her stomach, Veleria could still see her chest expand with each breath. There was still time.
She reached for one of the daggers on her belt.
“Here to play the hero?” Vos’iin chuckled, and Veleria only stared. It was Syld’s voice. “It really is something I enjoy about elves of Faurorian descent. Years of constant war and genocide, and here you are post-Cromwell trying to right wrongs. You really are no different than my kind.”
Strangely, she felt herself heating despite Veleria having no stake in his claims. She needed to cool down before she dispelled the mask.
That distant hum of magic has dissipated.
“What?” Veleria asked out loud, just as Vos’iin tossed the escort aside while slashing her throat on her way down. Distracted by the death, Veleria barely registered the cloaked elf closing the distance between them.
The blade of her dagger caused sparks to fly between her and the blood soaked sword in front of her. As her attacker fell back, she caught a glimpse of what lie within the darkness of his hood, although Veleria only caught sight of the ashen color of his pointed chin.
“You’re slow,” said Vos’iin. “And weak, just the way I like them.”
A sudden shot of fire just grazed the shoulder of his armor. Given its chitinous nature, it did not catch alight, but Vos’iin was intrigued regardless. Finally she was showing him her teeth.
“Good to know you’re little more than a wretch,” Veleria grimaced. She summoned more flames to her fingertips, careful not to pull more heat than necessary lest she damage the mask’s veil. “Shame you got me all wrong.”
“Oh?” Beneath his hood Vos’iin grinned. “Spells and crafts are hardly indicative of strength. I’ve slain my fair share of sorcerers.”
Not interested in hearing his spiel, Veleria shot at him again. She missed. Multiple times. He was slippery. Their blades clashed, although Veleria found that she could not match his strength. Even with a sword she would be beneath him before long.
She was about to try something she had been practicing before her departure, when “Syld” rushed her again and his hood fell back from his momentum.
Veleria felt her breath catch in her throat.
That dark face. The white hair, the scaled and chitin armor, amber eyes…Vos’iin.
For so long she had allowed herself to forget the details of her death, to move past it and focus alone on Caellach and Caed and everything that had followed. But she could still remember it clearly.
Her falling off her flailing horse, her shoulder shattering as she collided with the ground, and then Vos’iin stalking behind her.
The tip of his sword erupting out of her chest.
Frozen in fear, Veleria was no longer in control of herself when the elf jabbed the hilt of his sword into her gut. Instead, it was Caellach who allowed her body to gasp, then to fall into Vos’iin’s arms. He pretended to try to catch their breath and even weakly pushed the elf’s arm as he administered an unknown solution into their veins.
He ensured their body and blood remained cool enough to take the needle.
“Shh,” Vos’iin whispered. He pocketed the syringe while slowly lowering “Valenne” to the ground below. Propped up on his knee, he stroked her cheek and prepared to take her back to the house.
All the while Caellach regulated their breathing to appear as if they were losing consciousness.