Chapter 4
Bring That Woman
It was hard to tell if her state was a result of the pressure Merran exerted or the lingering terror of the blood-soaked stranger. Regardless of the cause, every time Classie’s focus slipped, she saw the image of her older sister sitting right there.
In these waking dreams, Classie would reach out, and her sister would grasp her hand firmly. Because their parents were constantly traveling for diplomatic missions, her sister had stepped in to raise Classie. It was Mary who had moved Classie to the capital a decade ago, shortly after her own marriage.
Classie wondered silently if her sister held any bitterness toward her. As a sob escaped her, the phantom of her sister seemed to stand and pull her into a comforting embrace.
“It looks like the young lady has finally drifted off,” a voice noted.
The bedroom door creaked open as Anna, the maid, entered carrying a basin of steaming water.
“She was awake just a moment ago,” Merran replied, gazing down at the resting Classie.
Anna looked at Merran’s ashen complexion with concern. The young woman was naturally lanky and fragile, prone to dizzy spells when she pushed herself too hard. “You need to sleep, Lady Merran. You’ve been at her side since daybreak. If you keep this up, you’ll collapse right next to her. Let the rest of us take over the nursing duties.”
Anna recalled a time years ago, shortly after they moved in together, when Merran had fallen dangerously ill. Classie had been inconsolable, convinced her niece was dying. Despite what the physicians advised, Classie had refused to leave the room for days, staying in that very bed to care for her.
A soft smile touched Anna’s lips. Merran had been only eleven then. She wondered if the girl remembered. “It is quite a sight,” Anna remarked. “The little girl who once needed Lady Classie’s care has become the woman looking after her now.”
Merran dipped a cloth into the hot water, wringing it out before dabbing the perspiration from Classie’s brow. The fever had gripped her for hours without breaking. “You’re right, Anna. A little while ago, my aunt even called me ‘sister.’”
“You are the image of Lady Mary,” Anna replied gently. “In her delirium, it’s only natural she would confuse the two of you.”
Anna tried several more times to persuade Merran to rest, but the younger woman was unyielding. Eventually, the maid left the basin and slipped out of the room. A sense of warmth stayed with her; she admired how deeply the two women cared for one another.
Suddenly, the sharp ring of the doorbell echoed through the house. Anna wiped her palms on her apron and hurried toward the entrance.
“If we were back in the country, strangers wouldn’t be bold enough to come knocking like this,” she muttered under her breath. Reaching the heavy door, she called out, “Who is it?”
“Palace guards,” a voice answered.
The irritation vanished instantly, replaced by a cold spike of dread. “The palace guards? What could they want here?” Anna whispered, her hand trembling as she unlatched the door.
The guards were known for a wide range of duties—some noble, some far less so. While the Fourth Squad was the most feared, the entire organization carried an aura of intimidation. When Anna saw the man in the official uniform standing there, her knees nearly buckled.
“Pardon the intrusion,” the soldier began, his tone professional and unbathered by her obvious fear. “Does someone in this residence attend the celebration at the Rayburton estate last night?”
Anna shook her head instinctively before catching herself. She realized the futility of lying. This house, which Classie had purchased in a hurry for a quiet life, was grand enough to belong to a minor noble or a wealthy merchant. The guard wouldn’t be here unless he already had his answer.
“Yes,” Anna stammered. “Someone did. Has something gone wrong?”
“Nothing to be alarmed about,” the soldier assured her. “A high-value item was misplaced at the Rayburton home. We are simply interviewing everyone who was present.”
Anna felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Oh, thank goodness. You gave me a fright. Our lady would never touch something that wasn’t hers.”
“And how many people from this household were at the party?”
“Just one—actually, two,” Anna corrected.
The soldier’s posture sharpened. “Why the change in your answer?”
“It’s a bit of a family matter,” Anna said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “Lady Classie was the only one with an invitation, but Merran slipped out after her. She was desperate to go.”
The soldier’s interest was clearly piqued. “At what time did she leave?”
Anna glanced nervously at her watch, her mind spinning with confusion. “I believe it was roughly nine in the evening.”
“And did their carriage travel along Balowal Road during that trip?”
Anna’s anxiety returned. Why was he being so specific? Did they suspect her mistress of something? She remained silent, but the soldier took her hesitation as a ‘yes.’ He knew the geography of the city; Hod Street and the surrounding area naturally fed into Balowal Road.
The soldier felt a surge of triumph. “Are Classie and Merran sisters?”
“No, Lady Merran is Lady Classie’s niece.”
“I see. And how old is the niece?”
“She is twenty.”
Sub-lieutenant Phils left No. 12 Hod Street and went to find the commanding officer who had given him these odd instructions. He found Kishin Hayward sitting in a spacious café near the palace gates. Kishin was tucked away in a private corner shielded by partitions, a spot the owner always kept vacant for him.
“Commander Kishin, I have the report,” Phils said, taking a seat after receiving a nod. “I combed through every zone of Hodgawa. I found one woman who fits your criteria perfectly.”
Phils was beaming. That morning, Kishin had tasked him with locating a specific woman based on three markers: she had to be a noble at the Rayburton party, she had to have been on Balowal Road between ten and eleven at night, and she had to be in her early twenties.
“Several women fit the first and third descriptions,” Phils explained. “But only one fits the timing of the second. Her name is Merran Kalashi Omel. She lives at 12th Hod Street. She’s the daughter of Marquis Omel, though she’s been staying with her aunt since her father’s second marriage.”
Phils had dismissed the aunt as a suspect immediately. If the niece was twenty, the aunt had to be much older, which ruled her out. Furthermore, the aunt had gone to the party early, while the niece had followed at nine. Given the travel time, only the niece would have been on Balowal Road at the hour Kishin specified.
“Did you speak with her?” Kishin asked.
“No, sir. I was told she was exhausted from nursing her sick aunt all night and wasn’t available. You did specify not to cause a scene or force an audience.”
“Well done,” Kishin said, setting his tea aside and rising from the table.
Dernick had claimed a noblewoman had made off with his identification papers. Kishin wasn’t entirely convinced, but he wasn’t taking chances. If a civilian really did have his credentials, they had to handle it with extreme care until they knew her motives.
Phils followed his superior out, his curiosity getting the better of him. “So, what is the next step, sir?”
The Sub-lieutenant was fighting back a smirk. Kishin Hayward was famously detached—a man rumored to be so cold his very tears would turn to ice. He never pursued women, yet here he was, hunting one down because she had ‘accidentally’ ended up with his ID. Phils desperately wanted to know what kind of encounter led to a woman walking away with the Deputy Commander’s papers.
“Go and get her,” Kishin ordered.
The tone was not what Phils expected. The romantic intrigue he had imagined vanished instantly.
“Get her?” Phils blinked. “A noblewoman? Where am I supposed to take her?”
“To the interrogation room at the guardhouse.”
