Aradel paused, little paper half folded to return to his pocket. “You think that could have been sabotage?”

“Could be worth checking,” Marasi said.

“Could be indeed,” Aradel said. “I’ll see if I can spare some men. But if you’re right, what’s this creature’s endgame?”

“General mayhem?” Marasi asked.

Aradel shook his head. “Maybe it’s different for mistwraiths, but men who do things like this, they do it to prove something. They want to show how clever they are, or they want to stop an injustice. Maybe she wants to bring someone down. Isn’t the governor a Pathian?”

“I think so.”

“So this murder tonight could be an attempt to discredit his religion.” Aradel nodded. “Kill his brother, expose a scandal, undermine his faith, cause riots during his tenure… Rusts, this could be about making sure that Innate doesn’t just die, he gets stomped to the ground.”

Marasi nodded slowly. “Sir. I… might have proof that the governor is corrupt.”

“What? What kind of proof?”

“Nothing definitive,” she said, blushing. “It has to do with his policies, and when he’s changed his mind on bills, when he’s voted irregularly following visits with certain key individuals. Sir, you said you hired me in part because of my ability to read statistics. I’ll show you what I have once it’s all arranged, but the story the governor’s record tells is of a man who is offering himself up for sale.”

Aradel ran a hand through his hair, red flecked with grey. “Harmony. Keep this quiet, Lieutenant. We’ll worry about it another time. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. And I agree.”

“But good work,” he noted, then jogged over to take crime scene reports. Marasi couldn’t help feeling a thrill that he’d listened to what she said, even when all she could offer was half explanations. At the same time, however, a disturbing thought struck her. What if Aradel was secretly the kandra, somehow? How much damage could Bleeder do if she had an entire octant’s constables under her thumb?

No. Aradel had been around people when the priest was murdered. Rusts… the creature would have Marasi jumping at shadows, wondering if everyone she met was a kandra. She went to get herself a cup of that tea, hoping it would help her banish the image in her head of poor Father Bin hung from the wall. She wasn’t halfway to the table with the flasks before the doors to the foyer slammed open and Waxillium strode in.

He trailed tassels like the curling mists, his powerful stride prompting lesser constables to scuttle out of his way. How was it that he could so fully encapsulate everything the constables should be, but weren’t? Noble without being pandering, thoughtful yet proactive, unyielding yet inquisitive.