HAWK & SABLE | FOURTEEN

  THERE WAS A compartment underneath Jinyao's bedroom floor. Ciri's mind raced. "A lot of the older buildings here have these. They use it for storage, sometimes, but most people just leave it there. Buildings built on buildings. These would have been old roofs or ceilings."

"And it's been used here to hide evidence of treason," Laurence murmured, kneeling down and brushing the golden frame of one of the paintings before carefully hoisting it up. "The evidence would be gone, I think. Someone wiser would have burned or sold these long ago."

"How does Jinyao tie in all this?" Ciri demanded, more to herself than him. "She wouldn't have money to buy these. It makes no sense to use paintings to smuggle messages."

"This was what the person was searching for. But they're not working with us, so why look for these? The messages are surely gone. Why kill her?"

"This was done after the murder. Did they come to look for these themselves because she refused to tell them where it was? How didn't they find this? It's not that well-hidden."

"They had to be in a rush. They spent their sweet, sweet time moving the furniture and didn't notice anything else."

"We'll carry these out. One of us should ride back first, ask for an Iron Wolf to be sent out, maybe, to guard this place. Just in case." Ciri rubbed her forehead. "I'll go prepare the carriage."

"I'll stay here," he confirmed. "Be fast."

With help from the driver, they loaded all the paintings onto the carriage. There were three in total, which made both of them frown. There should be a lot more than three. Had the mole scattered them all? Did that point to a major information network hiding right under their noses?

Laurence returned to the apartment once they were done, where he'd stay until she returned. With a nod to the driver, they started making the journey back to the Scarlet Palace.

Irina and Ryan were both waiting near the entrance. Ciri hopped off the carriage. "We found three Norman Hightower paintings on the floorboard. Laurence is still there, just in case. The apartment was already searched. They were looking for the paintings, but I don't think they found them."

Irina was stony faced. No clue what she was thinking of all this. "What do you want us to do?"

"We'd suggest sending someone— a Wolf, probably— to watch over the apartment in case they come back. Listen. There were only three paintings there. Hightower sent out at least a dozen, so—"

"They're scattered. There's either multiple moles, or the mole somehow managed to convince people to hide the paintings for him." Ryan nodded. "The people hiding the paintings won't be as careful, but if he's killing them off one by one..."

"We can use that to guess who it is. But there'd be a lot of unnecessary deaths, which would raise questions that are awkward to answer." Irina turned to Myrina, who stood closely behind, eyes lowered, the portrait of submissive demureness. "Myrina, can you go get one of the Wolves still around the Treasury headquarters? Ah, send for the Crow. He and... the Cobra, maybe, they can take turns guarding the place. Leave Bear there. No use sending a crew to ask questions now."

"Of course." Myrina gave a small bob of the head and a curtsy and went on her way. Irina always used the countess as a messenger, and she could never quite understand why. But the woman was fast, she'd give her that, so Ciri never said anything about it. You don't use countesses as messengers. But Irina was a princess, so maybe she did.

Ryan watched the woman leave before turning back to Ciri, eyebrows raised. "Any ideas?"

"My money is on unwitting accomplice," Ciri murmured. "But I admit to inherent bias." When reporting to a superior, you always wanted to make that clear. It was nothing to be ashamed of, and it helped avoid mistakes.

Irina nodded pensively. "We've heightened security. I don't think a curfew is necessary yet, it might alarm everyone. We can't do much questioning tonight. We'll take over from here. Can you get the paintings to the Iron Wolves' headquarters? They can inspect it there."

"I'll need help," Ciri pointed out. "Or should I ask the driver to drive the carriage there?"

"Do that," Ryan agreed, turning his head. "Get some sleep afterwards if you want. Can't promise we won't wake you at some ungodly hour, though. We've already sent Io to get some rest. We'll need her tomorrow." And she's a kid. Funny, how they always looked out and watched Io's back but kept sending her out to dangerous places anyways.

Ciri hesitated for a second, that topic reminding her of Danna's fears. "Is it true you want to send Io with Danna to Melique?"

Ryan's reassuring smile dropped as he glanced tentatively at his cousin. Irina didn't look at either of them. Ciri took that as a yes.

"She's thirteen."

"And just as, if not deadly as any of you." Irina shook her head. "And by the time that happens, she'd be at least fifteen or sixteen. Maybe older. We don't send actual children to do this work. We're not the Meliqueans."

"She's terrified. So is Danna."

Irina's voice came back coolly. "They should be. Go to bed, Ciri."

Ryan offered her an apologetic look but said nothing. Ryan might show disapproval at Irina's ruthlessness, but at the end of the day, he always sided with her. Between the pair, he was the one who listened to his emotions as well, but their practicality always ran out in the end. Asteria wasn't much better.

Maybe that was why they were the spymasters, while she and the others had to run around on the field.

But she knew better than to argue. So she gave a stiff nod and turned to the carriage, whispering in the driver's ear to bring her to the Iron Wolves' headquarters. Without a word, the driver motioned for her to get into the carriage, which she did. A moment later, the carriage jostled through the paths of the Scarlet Palace.

The Iron Wolves' headquarters was one of the newest buildings within the Palace grounds, and was one of few Western-style buildings around. You could have plucked it out and placed it in any expensive district of Arecia and it would have fit right in, built of grey bricks. Taller than most of the other buildings as well, except the towers, standing at three storeys high.

For most of the fifty-ish Iron Wolves, this was home.

Most of them lived here, with the exception of a few who had rented residences close by, usually because they had taken wives and had children. The first floor was their offices, their workplaces. The second and third were all for dorms and residence. Some higher-stakes prisoners were occasionally placed here. It was no easy feat to sneak out under the nose of half a hundred wiccai. No one had succeeded yet, though many had tried.

Ciri had no doubt her presence had already been noted before the carriage had even pulled up. Still, she politely knocked on the metal gates surrounding the mansion.

"Miss Diao." Had she seen this one around before? She didn't think so. Probably new.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage, sir," she said with a small curtsy.

He smiled. This one wasn't Saian. Most of the Iron Wolves were, but some of them had been recruited from the Hatlen Isles, young men looking to see the rest of the world. Some of them worked here for a few years and went back. Others stayed. They didn't mind. Wiccai were difficult enough to obtain, so most of their requests were easily granted. This one looked like he was from Dumah, with dark skin and bushy eyebrows. Twenty, maybe. He spoke Saian slowly, as if he wasn't familiar with the language.

"Marwan, Miss. Marwan Abdul. Code name Scorpion. Are you here to see Master Zhang?"

"Preferably. I have some things for him in the carriage. Would you mind helping me carry it in?" Ciri turned to gesture at the carriage, where the coachman was waiting on his perch.

"Of course." The gates swung open and the boy stepped out. Ciri went to the carriage and carefully took out one of the paintings. "We can each take one." She eyed the driver. "Mind getting off to help?"

Between the three of them, they managed to safely transport the paintings into the foyer of the mansion. Marwan yelled out for some of his comrades, and moments later, a small group of Wolves had filed into the room. Ciri raised a brow. "May one of you fetch Zhang daren? I was instructed to bring these here for your safekeeping and inspection."

One of the older ones quickly dispatched a few off to hunt down their overseer. He glanced at the paintings and recognised them.

"Those would be the Norman Hightower paintings we've been hunting down."

"Not all of them," Ciri grimaced, "but we found these three at the residence of Ai Jinyao, the woman who was murdered earlier."

"That's where Cobra, Bear and Crow went." He nodded. "We'll take these from here."

"I'll wait for Zhang daren and head off."

It didn't take long. The Guild Master of the Iron Wolves showed up a moment later, shooing off a majority of his subordinates. She always thought he was surprisingly young. He didn't look a day over thirty-five, with ink black hair, stern, cold eyes and a tall, intimidating figure. But Ciri had met far more terrifying men. She briefly explained the situation and showed him the three paintings. She told him the gege had asked to send Crow and Cobra to guard the apartment, even though they both knew it wasn't much of a request and more of a command. Irina could be rather dictatorial that way.

"We'll have a report prepared by tomorrow morning. Where should we deliver it?" He asked, bending over the paintings and picking one up, eyes narrowed as he studied the canvas and the frame.

"Gui Yan Gong, please, daren. I believe we'd be spending quite some time there tomorrow. And I'd like to request for you to lend the Briar and the Notus to us for the day, and perhaps a few other Wolves. We intend to send men out to do some questioning."

"As if I have any control over what those two do." A snort, before those dark eyes met hers. "Consider it done, Diao xiaojie. Send a missive and I'll have some Wolves with you. This is of the utmost importance, after all."

"Thank you for your generosity." She curtsied, as you were meant to when thanking someone meant to be your superior. "I do apologise if our slow progress in this has interfered with your day to day schedule."

He waved his hand. "Think nothing of it, xiaojie. This is our job, after all." He glanced around. "Ejun. He'ao. Kuijing. Yes. You three. Everyone else, scatter. You three help me get these to the workshop. Someone wake Bolun and get him to the workshop. I'll need his help."

The young men gathered around muttered their agreement and went off. The three young men Zhang daren had summoned came forward and started moving the paintings out of the room. Ciri curtsied once more and muttered her goodbyes before leaving. The driver was still waiting outside.

"Zui Hua Gong, please," she said as she stepped onto the carriage, letting the exhaustion she felt seep into her words.

✢

LAURENCE DUMONT HAD spent months in the freezing cold of Grimsnes. Had been sent on a successful rescue mission in Melique. Had been kidnapped by an idiot who danced with treason in the name of petty revenge. It did not stop him from being barely able to open his eyes as he trudged through the doors of Zui Hua Gong.

It was a consolidation of being unable to sleep well for the past few weeks and the long day. He hadn't been expecting it. All he wanted to do was sleep.

He walked into his quarters. One of the servants had left a candle lit, but they themselves were nowhere to be seen. Smart people. He picked up the candle and brought it into his bedchamber, where he quickly changed into his nightclothes.

Then he laid in bed and implored for sleep.

The gods did not grant him his request. He felt the minutes tick by. It was always strange, being unable to sleep. You stared at the darkness of the room, unable to do anything, trying to quiet your mind. You lay there doing nothing, wasting time.

He turned his head so that he laid on his side and stared out of the slit in the curtains. Did Ciri have trouble falling asleep too? Especially tonight, when one of her new friends had just lost her life and might be involved with the very villains they were trying to catch?

The last time he'd had trouble falling asleep like this was two years ago. He'd loved and he'd lost. People thought him a passionate man, fun-loving and excitable. But the truth was that he'd always been detached from most things in his life. He never felt as much as other people seemed to do. He was just good at pretending like he did.

Ciri always felt the opposite. Around friends, she played the worldly, wise lady who was never surprised by anything. But she'd always seemed to feel. When she was unguarded, he could occasionally see the barrage of emotions that could flash in those glorious dark eyes within seconds.

He should have offered her more support today. Ciri had managed to stuff her emotions away while on the job, but around this time, it'd start spilling out. He knew what it was like. He would have said something more, but he didn't want to tell her about Veronica. But part of him also wanted to. He never told anyone. What his friends knew, they'd deduce themselves.

He didn't know why he never told anyone. He felt like he was mostly over it. It had been two years. But it was just one of those tales he stuffed deep inside himself and never dug out to show anyone. It wasn't embarrassment. Maybe he just didn't want the pity.

He rolled around in his bed and continued to be unable to fall asleep. At this point, his stay was going to last much longer than he had intended. The mole's network was bigger than he thought. He should send a report back to Arecia tomorrow, so that Cadieux could be updated on everything. Actually, he should have done that days ago. He'd gotten too caught up with everything that was happening and forgot.

That rarely happens.

People always thought him too carefree, but the truth was that he usually was a rather good spy. He listened to orders and did his job with meticulous attention to detail.

I'm getting too pampered. Cass had complained about that a lot when she first returned to Arecia a month ago. Laurence hadn't realised it applied for him too. Neither he nor his friend Marcus had been sent out for a proper mission for months at that point, kept in the city. Maybe he'd become too ordinary in that little time.

When was the last time he'd sparred with anyone? He'd ask around. Maybe one of the Iron Wolves would like to practise with him. Or if he's lucky, the Crown Prince himself. He'd never heard anything about Prince Ryan's fighting prowess, but one look at him and it spoke of an athlete. He wasn't big and bulky, instead slender and all sleek muscle. The Prince moved with the assurance and grace of a man of his station. And from the way he traversed around, often unguarded, Laurence had to assume he knew how to defend himself well. Even if he didn't take care of his safety, that cousin of his would.

Maybe that would help him sleep. Release the tension that had been collecting for what felt like forever. The last fight he had ended up with him locked in a dark cell. Not the best of experiences.

He couldn't fight with anyone now, though. One more sleepless night. He could manage that. He's managed worse.

He shifted out of bed, feet landing on the cold wooden ground, and before he realised what he was doing, moved towards the window and pulled the curtains wider.

Her lamp was lit, though the silk, translucent layer curtains were pulled and slightly covered it. Her figure was no more than a silhouette, stretching in the faintly illuminated room. She must have already caught her sleep, or she knew she'd be getting nightmares tonight. The more experienced ones like them knew when they'd come and chose to avoid it. This was a poor choice, though. They'd both be working ragged tomorrow.

As if sensing her presence, she moved towards her own window, silent as a ghost, and pushed aside her curtains. Their gaze met across the courtyard.

It was probably a bad idea, but he tilted his head. Want to come over?

She hesitated for a moment, glancing around. Finally, she nodded. She crept away from her window and blew out the candle, vanishing from sight.

A moment later, he heard his front door being pushed aside. Then, footsteps. She was making herself heard. She didn't need to do that. He'd been faintly aware of when she crossed the courtyard, sticking to the walls and shadows.

She wore a white cotton shirt and loose pants, with a pink cotton-padded jacket that hadn't been there moments ago over it, protecting her from the cold. She grimaced. "Difficult night for sleep, ain't it?"

They went into his bedchambers, where he pulled out two seats from the table in the centre. She sat, rubbing her forehead. "Caught an hour of sleep and then woke up." She didn't mention nightmares. Didn't mention the terror and grief and horror. They never did.

"I didn't even get any," he admitted, lowering himself onto the wooden chair. "Tea?"

She managed a weak smile. "The last thing I need right now. I'll require a lot of it tomorrow, but I'm still holding onto the hope I'd manage to catch some shut-eye before Irina eventually drags us out of this palace screaming and kicking."

"How did everything go?" He hadn't asked.

"The paintings are in the Iron Wolves' hands. They'd be sending out a report before morning. We'll get it tomorrow. Or, well, later today. You saw Crow and Cobra arrive?"

"The kid, Crow, popped up from the shadows and gave me a goddamn heart attack."

She smiled. "He likes doing that. Someone tried to beat the childhood out of him, but part of it is still there. He's one of the few still in training, but he's close to full recruitment."

"I thought you didn't spend much time in Sai. How are you so familiar with them?"

"Ronan speaks... ah, five languages, I think. Rhys six. Can't remember how much Dominic knows. Those three are often sent out to our vassal states, which I do regularly travel to. So I've worked with them a lot."

He blinked. "I didn't know the Iron Wolves left the country."

"Oh, they do." Her lips curled upwards. "Just not as Iron Wolves."

That was her way of telling him that the Wolves worked as spies as well. Why she was revealing this information to him, he wasn't sure. He didn't complain, though. This was something else to report to Cadieux.

Were there Wolves in Arecia? Undercover? The thought didn't please him, not at all. Allies spying on allies was an awkward thing. Funny. I'm technically here for that exact purpose.

She continued speaking. "You know what Gira's like. That's where they're sent out most often. We have lines in the criminal underworld, but they sometimes step out of line. Then we sent out the Wolves, first to intimidate them into obeying orders, then to dish out punishment if necessary."

"Terrifying. It must work terrifically."

She smiled. "It does."

They were both avoiding the elephant in the room. Ciri's eyes, usually bright and alive, were haunted. That was probably the way they always were. Her sister's were like that. His were like that. In a few years, that kid, Io's would be like that too, if they weren't already. She'd lost a friend. Albeit one she only met recently, but a friend nonetheless. She'd feel guilty. Wonder if it was her fault, wonder if their friendship had made her a target. Wonder if she'd befriended a traitor and not realised it.

He'd find a way to get her out of it, the way the men of the Arecian Secret Service had when he lost Veronica. Like that time she was eight and he'd noticed her shivering in the cold and wrapped his jacket around her.

Some part of him had always felt the need to protect Cirinique Diao. Must have rubbed off from her sister.

"How are you doing?" He asked quietly, being gentle about it, but not showing any signs of pity.

Her gaze fell to the ground, and her expression turned bleak momentarily before blanking. She stayed like that for a while, picking her words, wondering which parts of her soul she should take out and dissect for him. Because he knew what that felt like, he remained patient and quiet.

When she spoke, traces of sadness had found their way onto her face. She looked tired and weary, far older than she was. "She wanted to transfer to the Personnel Administration. To prove to everyone at home that she was capable."

He didn't say anything. She wasn't done talking yet. With someone like Ciri, who kept herself stoic and seemingly detached from emotion, you wanted to provide an outlet for her to feel safe to share her feelings. You wanted to become invisible, nothing more than an audience watching her perform.

"She wasn't a traitor."

But that was the kind of statement that required a response. He murmured, "I know."

She nodded. "I've been analysing our every interaction in my head for the past hour. It just couldn't be her. But I need to find out why she had those paintings. Could the mole have planted those there?"

She had retreated back into the safe haven of professionalism. Laurence wanted to push her a bit more, but knew it would be futile. He shook his head. "Unlikely. No reason to do it, except as a taunt. Would have been easier to just destroy them all."

"They were searching for it, then." Ciri looked pensive. "She must have refused to hand them over. But why? Did she figure out the truth?"

"Or perhaps she knew the truth, but was blackmailed into silence."

"She doesn't seem the type to have dark secrets."

Laurence shrugged. "Or threatened. She has family?"

Ciri paused. "I believe so. I don't think she's too fond of them, though."

"The things people do for their family." Laurence ran his fingers across the wooden table. "I'd know."

She stayed silent. If she was expected to pour out her soul, he should offer something in return too. It only seemed fair.

He'd never made it secret, his anger at his father for giving up when he needed him the most. For never being the father he could have been, for losing hope when there was still hope to gain. He never hid his bitterness. He stewed it, somewhere in his soul, where it was twisted and dark. Sometimes he took it up, spat it out and swallowed it back down. It killed him a little, every time.

"I suppose you would," she finally murmured, not meeting his eye, staring out of the window.

She was perfectly lovely there, distracted, lost in thought. Her dark brown hair was untied and let down over her shoulders, posture slumped. She could have been any of the goddesses the Saian worshipped. She could have been Hongyun, the goddess of war who was also famed for her beauty. Who was kind but ruthless in battle and merciless when facing her enemies.

From the moment he had laid eyes on her, he'd decided she was the kind of woman designed to drive men mad. It was in the way she moved, graceful as a faun, angelic eyes with just enough touch of devilish spirit. Her features, smooth as if carved out of marble, yet warm and welcoming. He'd never agreed more with that opinion than at that very moment.

This was a bad idea. But Laurence was a man of incredible self-restraint (truly, he impressed even himself sometimes), so he stayed still.

Her eyes flickered back to him. "None of this makes sense," she said.

It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. "It will when we find all the puzzle pieces."

Her laugh was mocking, cold. "And when would that happen? This mole is enrooted among us. My instincts are rarely wrong. Asteria was right. When we find out who it is, we'd all kick ourselves for not figuring it out sooner."

"Such is the case with most situations like these."

She scowled. "Stop being sarcastic. It's getting on my nerves."

"I suspect most things I'd say would get on your nerves on a day like this." This was finished with a pointed stare. The war inside her head had not escaped his notice. Not one bit. That was a reminder of whom she was playing with. He was no naive dandy to believe her little smiles and placid expressions. She was good at hiding what she felt, but not good enough.

"You are correct, of course. As always."

He couldn't hide the surprise on his face.

She raised a brow. "But truly, I have no wish to discuss this tonight. Please understand. I... I grieve alone."

That he could accept, but did not understand. When Veronica had died, he'd thrown himself into as many people as possible, praying that the company of others could lighten his mind. It had not. Not one bit. But everyone grieved differently, and it was one of those things he always respected. So he nodded his head in silent acceptance and tilted his head.

"What do you want to discuss, then?" He asked, keeping his voice smooth. This was a delicate dance he performed, skirting around, occasionally stepping into the circle before immediately jumping back out. Taunting, luring. But Ciri was no docile puppy. She had claws of her own, and she knew this dance as well.

"My sister and her love life, actually."

"I don't think there's any question where that's going," he said with barely suppressed amusement.

"Yes, but..." She pursed her lips. "I find it all rather curious, if I must be honest."

"It's a very intriguing love story. Considering all that happened between them and their very long history together."

"Twelve years," she said. "Ten, if you count the years they truly knew each other. They barely met in passing before that, I think."

"And think about it. They were almost engaged during those years in passing."

Ciri's lips quirked up. "Curious, is it not? Fate, perhaps, does exist. It's one of those love stories people would write about."

"Ah yes," he said dryly. "The Saian spy who worked for the Arecians and the Arecian lord spy. A romantic tale ten years in the making."

"Do not mock me. I would read it."

"I thought you were not a romantic."

Her eyes twinkled. "Never said I didn't enjoy a good romance novel, my lord. Can you blame me?"

No, he couldn't. He found reprieve in novels too, when life got too dark and gritty and realistic and painful.

His expression must have been answer enough for her, because she turned away. "We have excellent libraries here. Asteria's father has an amazing collection of books. If you're interested, you could ask her for it. No romances. Strategies, politics and philosophy."

"And where would I find the romances?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Lady Kuroki has a few at her Palace for appearances, though they're not very well-read as far as I'm aware. The Dugu siblings have some."

"The daughters of the general?"

She frowned at him. "Their father is a romantic too, did you know that? A legendary love match for him. He met his wife in the aftermath of the Battle of Min Fa. She had lost her brother in the war and was trying to find him. He fell in love with her courage and married her."

"The brother?"

"Dead. They found his body and gave him a generous funeral. He fought ferociously by all accounts. A true hero."

He blinked. "Sorry, I'm just trying to... General Dugu, the man who crushed Imperial Novokulugan forces, who every young boy admires and wishes to learn from, has a love match? I never heard of this?"

A smile had made its way onto her face. That was good. She wasn't blaming herself when she was smiling like that. "A bit of a secret. Irina jokes that it's to help him keep his reputation, and, ah, to keep her safe."

Nevermind. They were back to being grim and tragic within seconds.

Softly, he said, "You can't protect everyone."

Now she was irritated. She rubbed her eyes and scowled. "Don't you think I know that? I wasn't even able to protect one person."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I won't know that yet, will I?" She stood up. "I'm going back."

"Ciri—"

She held up her hand, shaking her head, hair partially covering her face. "Have a good night, Lord Archsham. Hopefully you'll finally be able to catch some sleep."

Before he could find a way to stop her, she was gone. Laurence let out a sigh and fell into his chair. Well. That went well.