Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Five: Break-In

It was fairly easy to get into a place one wasn't supposed to be in. It was simply a case of working out whether someone needed tipping off, blackmailing, or murdering; and castle guards almost always needed murdering.

Arlen had lost count of the number he had sent down the river, naked and floating face down, and barely glanced up as this last one drifted away on the current. He secured the dead man's helmet on his head and slipped down the visor, and only then did he turn to stare out onto the water. He placed two fingers against his chin and then pointed them to the sky as a prayer to Nict for the man's soul, and then promptly forgot about him. By the time he'd reached the bottom of the steps in one of the castle's many back entrances, he couldn't remember what his victim's face had looked like.

"That was one hell of a piss, Derell." One of the dead man's colleagues stepped out from behind the wall, face disgruntled. "How long you been holding onto that one for?"

"Got issues," Arlen grunted, in a perfect imitation of the dead Derell's voice. "Fuck off, Jared."

Jared held his hands up for peace, slipping down his own visor. "Just don't wanna be late for a trial, is all. Lord won't take kindly to hearing that we were late cuz your bladder's janky."

"Make you janky in a minute," Arlen muttered, and grinned behind the visor when Jared sighed. He had picked his victim well; Derell's colleague didn't suspect a thing.

He had broken into the royal household so many times before that he had no trouble leading the way to the courtroom. He would wager there weren't many areas of the castle he hadn't seen, but he had spent a good deal of time in the courtroom in particular. His employer always liked to have a witness in the Assembly, even though the Devils were never invited to attend. It made a certain kind of sense, he supposed, that a guild of assassins, rogues and general good-for-nowts were not invited to participate in judicial proceedings, but if anyone in that room thought it meant no Devils were present, they were terribly stupid. The High Lord himself would be looking for signs of him. By the time they found Derell's body, however, Arlen would be long gone.

They entered the courtroom via the back entrance; the prisoners would be entering via the ceremonial arch at the front. The door Arlen stepped through was little more than a hatch hidden behind the Lord's high-backed chair for discreetly allowing guards and Heads of Houses in and out. Some Heads were already seated; Eril of House Orthan sat on Harkenn's right, and Kerrin of House Kiel on his left. Varthi's Head of House was absent as usual – probably bludgeoning the leader of another tribe to death and baking their brains over a coal fire, Arlen thought snidely. Nict had not yet arrived and neither had the Head of the Heretical Orders. The Unspoken seat was occupied by Yddris, and Yddris's eyes were on Arlen the moment he stepped through the hatch.

They had always danced this dance, Yddris and Arlen. Yddris would always know, and Arlen would always make his exit long before it was possible to arrest him. What perverted witchcraft the Demon Catcher used to identify him Arlen didn't know or care to find out, as long the Unspoken kept out of his way. He had no great fondness for Unspoken in general, but something about Yddris rubbed him entirely the wrong way. He was bristling by the time he reached Derell's vacant position in the ranks.

Shortly after he settled into place, sword drawn and placed point down between his feet with his hands clasped around the hilt, the great doors of the entrance echoed with knocking. The general bustle of the court reduced to a simmer. All attention turned to the broad platform below as two guards heaved the doors open. Out of the corner of his eye, Arlen saw Callan of House Nict flit to his seat like a withered shadow, and the new Head of Heretical Orders follow with much less grace to take her seat beside Yddris.