Arc 4: Chapter 5: Sleuth
As I descended a switchbacking series of stairs cut into the outer face of the keep, heading to meet Emma at one of the gates, a shadow slipped from behind a corner to stop me.
I halted, immediately going on guard at the glint of armor under the noonday sun. Facing me from a lower step, blocking my path forward, stood the Empress’s First Sword. She stood tall as me, perhaps even a bit taller, her broad shoulders dramatized by pauldrons shaped into the semblance of spiraling sea shells. She had her clamshell helm tucked under one arm, her scarred, bronzed face on display.
“Off to chase more shadows?” Ser Kaia Gore asked, raising a thick eyebrow. She had a slight accent I’d never been able to place. The perpetual wind spiraling around the Fulgurkeep made her ash-colored hair dance, revealing the shaved sides of her skull.
I glanced past her down the steps. I saw no one else — the nearest sentry stood well more than a good shout away. We were alone.
“I’m on another errand,” I confirmed, on guard. Of all the members of Rosanna’s household, I trusted this former adventurer the least. I’d never fought with her, and didn’t know how deep her loyalties to her liege were. We had interacted very little since I'd arrived at the castle.
A lazy smile formed across Kaia’s lips. She had predator eyes, ones that reminded me of some huge cat — disinterested, so long as she wasn’t hungry for blood. “The Empress has a lot of trust in you,” she noted conversationally.
“Sure,” I agreed. The steps were quite narrow. They were siege stairs, not built for safety, and it wouldn’t take much to get knocked off and fall far down to the wave-soaked rocks below. Good chance none of the sentries on the nearby towers would even notice over the sound of crashing water and wind.
“I know you,” the royal champion said, watching me.
I narrowed my eyes. “We’ve seen one another regularly for weeks, Ser Knight. Are you saying we’re friends, now?”
Ser Kaia snorted. “I’ve met you before this city.” She lifted a steel-clad hand, pointing a finger covered in small, intricately jointed bits of metal at me. “You were at Rhan Harrower’s execution. You held the axe that separated the old bear’s head from his shoulders.”
I felt my hackles go up. No way she’d seen my face — the glamour of that place had been on me, and I’d worn my faerie cloak at the time.