The night outside was hot and thick with insects. My rooms seemed to resound with emptiness, despite the stacks of book and papers. They were only evidence of my solitude. In any case, I was out of ophorium and had been for a day. I had to go out sooner or later.

I trudged out and wandered the streets. The darkness hung around me, but it was not enough to allow me to forget myself. I wandered farther until I found a familiar staircase. I remembered the dog's head painted on the wall and descended down into the ale house. I knew I was hoping to see Harper there, but I didn't want to admit that, not even to myself.

When I didn't find him, I couldn't just turn around and leave. It would have brought my half-recognized motivation up into brazen acknowledgment. I bought a bottle of blue gin and sat down at one of the tables far in the back of the room. The gin tasted like paint thinner. I took a long drink straight from the bottle, just to catch myself up with the other men who swayed in their seats throughout the room.

Once the gin started to erode my senses, I began pouring my-self shots and tossing them back at a more refined rate. I remembered that my mother had drunk this way right after my father had been executed. At the time I hadn't understood it.

Now, I thought that she had been a fool to ever stop.

"Belimai?"

I was a third of the way through the bottle when I heard Harper's voice.

I turned too quickly and almost looked right past him.

He looked as tired as ever, but he wasn't wearing his uniform. Instead, he had on a collarless work shirt and dark gray pants. He looked thinner than I remembered, and more pale. The strangest thing about his appearance was that his hands were bare.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you seem to be well ahead of me," Harper said when I just continued staring at his hands.

I drew back slightly and studied Harper without responding. I had no idea what he was doing dressed like this.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked.

"You can do as you please," I said.

"Good enough." He took the chair across from me and poured himself a shot of my gin without asking.

"I didn't think you'd be up and about so soon," he said.

"Apparently I'm harder to kill than you'd think."

Harper frowned and took another shot of gin.

"I didn't think Scott-Beck would go after you." He rolled the empty shot glass between his fingers. "I'm sorry to have done that to you, Belimai."

"It was what you paid me for." I hated the way my skin pricked when he said my name in that quiet, rough tone. I hated the fact that just an offering of a few words could make me want to forgive him.

"So, how is Mr. Talbott taking all this?" I asked, just to get off the subject.

"He's pretty broken up."

"Did you tell him the truth?" I asked.

"It wasn't mine to tell," Harper said. "Do you know what I mean?"

"I think I do, yes." I poured myself a shot and filled Harper's glass also. "It was your stepfather's secret, then Joan's. It wasn't your right to tell it to anyone." I had felt the same way about Sariel. No matter how small of a secret I had been trusted with, I had not wanted to betray it.

But, of course, I had. Harper had not.

"So, where have you been these past few weeks?" I asked.

"In questioning." Harper shook his head. "My abbot wasn't terribly happy with my ignorance as to who shot Mr. Lewis Brown and Mr. Timothy Howard. Nor was he pleased with the fact that I didn't recall your name or description."

"They didn't put you under a prayer engine?"

"No," Harper said quickly. "God, no. If they had, I don't think I could have kept my mouth shut. It was bad enough standing around naked and answering questions for days on end."

"So, what did you say?" I asked.

"I had a surprisingly poor memory of the entire matter." He smiled, but in a bitter way. "The abbot dropped the whole thing once I brought up Scott-Beck's access to Peter Roffcale while he was in custody." Harper took another shot of gin. "We finally reached the understanding that as long as I don't investigate Scott-Beck's life, the abbot won't pursue further questioning of his death."

"So, we all keep our secrets."

"For the time being." Harper ran his bare hand through his hair.

"Are these the clothes they gave you on your release?" I had thought they looked familiar.

"Indeed." Harper touched the front of his rough work shirt. "The very finest in custody-release apparel."

"So, you came straight to the bar?" I smirked.

"No." Harper glanced down as if he were slightly embarrassed. "I went to your apartments. But you weren't home, so I came here."

"Did you think I'd be here, or were you just hoping to drown your sorrow after missing me?"

"That's an interesting question," Harper responded, and then didn't answer it.

I smiled.

"So, why did you want to find me?" I asked.

Harper eyed the bottle of gin and my shot glass.

"I was thinking that I might want to get drunk with you again," he said at last.

There was a moment, as I thought briefly of all that Sariel and I had done to each other, when I could have said no, and that would have been the end of it. But I had grown tired of having only the darkness to keep me company through the night. The gin bottle was still half-full.

I filled Harper's glass and then my own.

BOOK TWO

Chapter One

Rain

The sky was black and pissing rain. On every street, gutters backed up and overflowed. Water gushed over the flagstone walkways and transformed the packed dirt roads into thick rivers of mud.

The gas streetlamp across from Harper spit as rainwater poured in through its cracked housing, flooding the flame. With a loud snap, the safety valve shut the gas line off. The lamp went dark, and the rain continued to pour into the dim, autumn twilight.

Harper hunched under the eaves of the Chapel carriage house. He and three other men had relinquished their seats indoors for a chance to smoke and to escape a cluster of loud schoolgirls who had taken shelter inside. Water soaked into Harper's left sock through a crack in the heel of his boot. The animal odor of wet wool emanated from his black Inquisition coat. Harper pulled his cap a little lower.

He didn't like waiting, particularly not for a carriage that he had no real desire to take. It wasn't pleasure so much as habit and obligation that drew him back to his family estate once every year. The Foster Estate was his only connection to his natural father. It should have meant something to him. Instead, he found himself searching for reasons not to go.

The decision to stay in the capital would have been easy if Belimai had asked him not to go, but he hadn't.

Harper took another drag of his cigarette. It was the last one he had on him. The rest were packed away in his luggage. He closed his eyes and savored the warm smoke.

Beside him, Acolyte Stewarts dragged at his own cigarette and attempted to draw Harper into a conversation. Stewarts smiled a little too hard every time Harper paid him much attention. It made Harper uncomfortable and added to his desire to abandon the carriage house. Stewarts was only a year or so from becoming quite handsome, and his worshipful exuberance could easily mislead a susceptible man. Harper had no desire to be that man.