Ashwin stood on the riverbank, water lapping at his feet as he looked out over the horizon at the setting sun. The burning sky had turned the river an unearthly shade of reddish-gold, like blood on liquid metal flowing between stretches of reedy rocks and wet sand.

“That’s the reason it’s called Shona, you know,” Ruban said, walking up to stand beside the Aeriel. “The river, I mean. It’s the Kanbarian word for gold. They speak an odd mix of Vandran and Kanbarian here in Ibanta. It’s almost like a hybrid state. A bit of both, all of neither.”

“Do you speak it?” Ashwin asked, not taking his eyes off the sun almost submerged into the scarlet skyline. He looked like he was drinking it in, the timorous rays of the dying sun.

“Kanbarian? Not a bit, no,” Ruban laughed. “I’m afraid my education has been rather parochial in scope.”

Ashwin’s lips quirked into a smile. “I used to speak it, as a child. Quite fluently, if I do say so myself.”

“And what? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it.”

The Aeriel chuckled. “I’ve not forgotten it, no. The Kanbarians have.”

“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ashwin lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think the language you call Vandran today is the same tongue your forefathers spoke six centuries ago? If I were to speak it, that language would sound more alien to you than the speech of either Kanbar or Zaini.”

Ruban thought about that for a few seconds. “Huh,” he said at length, summing up succinctly his feelings on the subject of intercultural philology. “I’ve got news about the dead guy.”

“So have I,” said Ashwin, offering him a chocolate-chip cookie.

***

“This spoilt aristocrat gig really works for you, doesn’t it?” Ruban said, munching on an almond biscotti as Ashwin filled him in on his conversation with Biskut. “People fall for it left, right and centre. Makes sense, I suppose. Not very far from the truth, is it?”

Ashwin replied with a haughty flick of his hair. “I’m a General in the army of Vaan, I’ll have you know.”

“An army that is fighting…what, exactly?” Ruban retorted, smirking.

“Well, it will be fighting humans in the very near future, if we don’t put an end to this mess soon. It seems the dead man they found in the river was actually an Aeriel. An Aeriel that’d had his wings hacked off after death. Apparently they sell it for the lighting.” He shuddered.

Ruban supposed he could see how that would be off-putting from his companion’s perspective. “It’s alright,” he said soothingly. “If you wind up dead, I promise to bury you with your wings intact.”

“Your magnanimity warms my heart.”

“As it should. That’s not the point, though,” Ruban began, his tone serious. “The Hunter I met at the Quarters said they received orders from the IAW to stop the investigation into the dead man’s identity, despite them having found sif particles in the stab wound. You think this has something to do with the SifCo case? Because that’s the only reason I can think of why the IAW would take an interest in some run-of-the-mill murder case in Ibanborah.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Ashwin said, turning, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made Ruban uneasy.

“And what would that be?” the Hunter asked cautiously.

“The interesting part, my friend, is not what the dead man was. The interesting part is where he was when he died.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, from what I gathered from that kid, the body wasn’t originally found in the river. That was the gangs. They disguised it to make it look more human, then dumped it in the river for the police to find later.” He took a deep breath that Ruban suspected was simply for the dramatic effect. “But before there was a dead man in the river, there was a dead Aeriel in front of the Kinoh House. That’s where the gangs found him.”

Ruban frowned. “You’re sure about this?”

“As sure as we are of anything at this point. It’s a start, isn’t it? Now all we have to do is break into the Kinoh House and investigate.” At Ruban’s sceptical look, he shrugged. “If something in there could kill an Aeriel, I say it’s worth looking into.”

“Alright,” Ruban said eventually. It wasn’t as if he could dissuade Ashwin anyway. And he would rather not have an Aeriel roaming unchecked around the city, even if it was a friendly Aeriel. “We’ll go take a look after dinner.”

***

The Kinoh House stood on the riverbank, on a deserted stretch a few miles away from the main town. Away from the never-ending festive clamour of inner Ibanborah, it was an unlikely oasis of peace within the borders of the perpetually euphoric party-town.

The back of the old villa looked out over the sparkling waters of Shona, while the front led out into a little grove of eucalyptus trees in full bloom that painted the surroundings in varying shades of pink and cream. It was mesmerising, and unlike anything Ruban had ever seen in Ragah. It reminded him a little of Surai – what Surai would look like if it were to be reproduced on the sets of a movie. A movie with very good production values at that.

He had vague memories of the place from the occasional visit with his father in the early years of childhood. But most of those consisted of a younger (and grubbier) Ruban chasing squirrels in the garden while Baba yelled at him from one of the upper floors to ‘get inside and get changed, right now young man!’

“It’s locked,” Ashwin said, tugging at the artistically grilled front gate. “Won’t give. Now what?”

“Are there any guards?” Ruban asked, looking around the perimeter of the fence as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. The two lamps mounted on opposite ends of the surrounding wall provided some light, but not enough to allow much clarity of vision. Ruban had a torch but didn’t dare switch it on for fear of alerting any sentries on the premises. Not that there appeared to be any.

“Not that I can see. Doesn’t look like the kind of place that’d have guards, does it?” the Aeriel said, fingers running delicately over the sides of the main gate. Sliding his fingers between the grills, he rattled them lightly together. “I could break this open if you want.”

Ruban glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Can you do anything in a way that doesn’t draw attention to yourself?” Planting one foot on the lowest grill, he wrapped his fingers around the top of the gate and hauled himself over to the other side of the fence. “Just scale the damn thing and get over here. We don’t have much time.”

Once they were both safely inside the premises of the villa, Ruban walked up to the main building and tried the door. “Locked again.”

“Did you expect anything else?”

“I s’pose not,” the Hunter sighed. “We can get in through the balcony at the back of the house. Just hope to God the pipes are still as sturdy as they used to be when I was a kid.”

“We could do that. Or I could just fly us up to the balcony and into the house the easy way.”

“No,” Ruban growled.

Ashwin shrugged. “As you wish. Nothing to me if you break your back trying to climb old pipes you last scaled as a seven-year-old. You do realise you’ve gained some weight since then, don’t you?”

Ruban hesitated. “What if someone sees us?”

“Who would? This place is as deserted as a graveyard.”

“There might be people out by the river. Someone we missed on the way over.”

Ashwin rolled his eyes. “Who cares? Even if some lone drunkard loitering on the bank at this time of night did manage to see us, who’d believe him? Stop making excuses Ruban. You’re just afraid of flying. Admit it.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Prove it then.”

“Fine. You can fly us up to the balcony,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“I’m honoured,” Ashwin said, deadpan, silver wings materialising against the dark night sky like moonlight solidified.

***

The beautiful, wood-framed glass doors leading out to the balcony were unlocked – ‘largely ornamental’ as Ruban had said. The house hadn’t changed much from the way he remembered it. The balcony led into the master bedroom, which was bigger than the whole of Ruban’s flat in Ragah. Running his fingers along the whitewashed walls, he found the switchboard. That too was exactly where it had been all those years ago.

As light flooded the room, Ruban and Ashwin looked around, taking in their opulent surroundings.

“This isn’t a deserted house,” the Aeriel said, taking a cautious step into the room.

“No, it most definitely is not,” Ruban agreed, looking at the unmade bed and the wardrobe left slightly ajar, clothes spilling out onto the ottoman sitting beside it. The furniture was old, but the bedding and the upholstery had obviously been changed over the years. The room displayed the casual untidiness of regular occupancy. “So Uncle Subhas really has sold the place.” Ruban didn’t know why that realisation left him with a vague sense of loss.

“To a gorgeous ‘witch’, if local rumours are to be believed,” agreed Ashwin, walking over to the open wardrobe. “But a witch who gets around, it would seem. These are not women’s clothes.”

Ruban came up behind him, peeking over the Aeriel’s shoulder. Now that he was paying attention, he realised that Ashwin was right. A plaid shirt with stiff cuffs and a pair of white men’s trousers hung out of the open wardrobe, while a long grey tunic had spilled out onto the ottoman beside the cabinet.

Leaning down, he picked up the tunic, rubbing the creased fabric between his fingers. For some reason, it seemed oddly familiar. Frowning, he turned it over. There, embroidered in green silk over the breast pocket, were two tiny birds preparing to take flight.

“Fuck,” Ruban said, succinct as ever.

“What is it?” Ashwin asked, looking up from the contents of an unlocked drawer he had been rifling through with remorseless efficacy. “Did you find something interesting?”

“This tunic. Simani gave it to Uncle Subhas for his birthday last year.”

“Well, it can’t be the only tunic of its kind in the world, you know. Two people can buy the same shirt.”

Ruban shook his head. “That’s not the point. This embroidery, it’s Sim’s work. She gave me a blue one just like it, and Vik has one in white. It’s literally the only design she can embroider.”

“Huh,” Ashwin said, leaning in for a closer look at the tunic. “So your uncle hasn’t sold the house after all.”

***

A thorough search of the master bedroom yielded several more articles of clothing and all manner of personal effects that Ruban was sure belonged to his uncle. But even if that hadn’t convinced him, the stacks upon stacks of files marked with the distinctive seal of the IAW they found in one of the bedside cabinets would have been proof enough of Subhas’s presence in the house. They contained everything from case notes to policy papers, and other sundry documents very few people even in the highest echelons of the government had access to. There were at least two folders containing all the available data on the SifCo case as well as individual files for the various related incidents at Ghorib, Zikyang and the SifCo compound itself.

Rifling through one of the folders, Ruban wondered why any of this was making him uneasy. The villa belonged to the Kinoh family and Subhas had every right to come live here if he felt like it. Because it was obvious that his uncle had spent considerable time in this house, and there was no reason why he shouldn’t have. Hell, Ruban could completely understand wanting to get away from Ragah every now and then. Much as he loved the city, it could drive a man crazy from time to time.

What he didn’t understand, though, was why Subhas would feel the need to bring confidential IAW papers to what was essentially a backwater holiday home.

And what about the rumours of a woman living in the Kinoh House? Ruban wished he knew what to make of that. Not that he would begrudge his uncle a lover, if that was what this was all about. After all, Aunt Misri had been dead over eight years. If his uncle had decided to move on, Ruban couldn’t have been happier for him. But there was no sign of a woman living anywhere in this house. The only person whose belongings they had found littered all around the building was Subhas Kinoh. And yet Ashwin’s pet pickpocket – Biskut – had claimed there was a woman living in the Kinoh House (a ‘witch’ in his words); as had Luana Lei before him.

Ruban felt as though he were seeing parts of a jigsaw puzzle, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what the full picture would look like.

Reaching into his pocket, he fingered his cell phone for perhaps the hundredth time that evening. He should call his uncle; tell him he was in Ibanborah. Tell him he was at the villa with Ashwin. It would be the easiest way to clear up all the confusion. He could simply ask the man if he had been to the southern city recently.

And yet something held him back, made him pull his hand out of his pocket, leaving the mobile ensconced safely within the fabric of his trousers.

He would call Subhas after he had figured out at least some of what was going on around here. Because even if his uncle’s presence in the house was entirely coincidental, the fact remained that some local gangs had found an Aeriel dead outside the villa and dumped it in the river after hacking its wings off. Somebody had to have done that – somebody had killed that Aeriel – and Ruban didn’t see the point of troubling his uncle until he had discovered who it was.

Just as he was putting the file back where he had found it, the bedroom door slid open and Ashwin stuck his head inside. “I found something. I think you’ll want to see it.”

“What is it?” he asked, as the Aeriel led him down the hallway to what looked to be a cobweb-ridden storeroom at the back of the house. Ruban didn’t remember ever having been in this room as a child. Not that he remembered that period of his life with any clarity whatsoever.

Wordlessly, Ashwin pointed towards the back of the dingy chamber.

There, half-hidden behind a table with a missing leg and a broken washbasin was a safe with gleaming metal doors and an old-fashioned locking system, which consisted of a circular steel contraption not unlike a small steering wheel.

“That safe is far too clean for this place,” the Aeriel said, moving carefully through the debris littering the floor. “The rest of the room is in shambles, and yet the safe looks like it was cleaned yesterday. Something’s not right about that.”

“No, something clearly isn’t,” Ruban agreed, dropping to his knees in front of the vault. He ran his fingers gently over the circular metallic projection at the centre of the steel door, testing for any vulnerability. There was none that he could see.

Had it been a modern design, he might have had a chance at cracking it. They had received some basic training in this sort of thing at Bracken, though not to the extent that the movies would have you believe. The Hunter Corps might have been a subsidiary of an intelligence organisation, but Hunters were by no means trained to be intelligence executives. They were primarily a paramilitary force; more soldiers than spies.

Not that any of that mattered in this case. The design of this particular safe had become obsolete long before Ruban had set foot in Bracken. He didn’t know the first thing about the mechanics of its locking system, strange and clunky as it looked.

His expression must have given away more than he realised, because Ashwin dropped to his knees beside him and, looking intently at the safe, murmured: “I could melt the door if you want.”

Ruban jumped. “What? Absolutely not. You’ll blast half the wall off and destroy whatever’s inside. I don’t think so.”

The Aeriel sighed. “Always so unimaginative. Really Ruban, would it kill you to think out of the box for a change? I’m not as much of a one-trick pony as you seem to think, you know.”

“You’re not any sort of a pony,” Ruban snapped, irate. “You’re a bloody roach – the extra creepy kind with wings. I’d rather not have this house blown off its foundations if it’s all the same to you, thanks.”

Ashwin frowned, lips pinched into what would have been a pout in a lesser being. “Don’t they teach you anything at Hunter school? No wonder mommy dearest has been running you lot ragged for centuries. Aeriels are energy beings, my friend. That means we can manipulate energy. An energy blast is only one of the ways in which that can be accomplished – though it is the most effective in direct combat. But it’s far from the only way one can use raw power. If an energy-shell can be thrown to annihilate a distant target, it can also be held in one’s hand to slowly melt away one closer home.”

“So you’re saying you won’t blow the walls off?” Ruban asked at length, squinting suspiciously at his companion.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.”

“Okay, go ahead then,” the Hunter flicked a hand towards the safe. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

With an exasperated sigh, the Aeriel extended his hand towards the vault, holding it just below the metallic wheel. As Ruban watched, the air around Ashwin’s hand heated and a tiny flicker of electric light appeared near his extended fingers. The flicker grew until it was the size of a cricket-ball, glowing with the iridescent flare of a standard energy-shell even as it hovered just inches above Ashwin’s fingers, a hair’s breath away from the safe, completely unmoving.

Before Ruban’s disbelieving eyes, a dark stain, like a burn scar appeared on the gleaming façade of the safe, accompanied by the stench of smouldering metal. Soon, tiny ripples appeared on the surface of the steel door and before Ruban could really process what was happening, a small hole the size of a fist had burned itself into the surface of the vault.

Metal continued to sizzle and smoulder with a wounded red glow, hissing and smoking until at last most of the steel had melted away and Ruban had a clear view of the contents of the mysterious safe.

Its job done, the energy-shell disappeared from around Ashwin’s fingers, a few wisps of smoke the only evidence that it had ever existed. That, and the gaping hole in the scorched steel vault before them.

“Well, that was something,” the Hunter said at length, squinting into the vault as they waited for the metal to cool down.

“Wasn’t it though?” the Aeriel grinned, like a cat pleased with its snack.

***

“Well, it looks like your father wasn’t as uninteresting as you’d thought after all,” Ashwin quipped, sitting back on his haunches as he perused a file containing reports from the last case that Abhas had apparently worked as an officer of the IAW. “He looks to have had quite an interesting career before he drifted off to the countryside to become a potato farmer.”

“He wasn’t a potato farmer,” Ruban said absently. He felt as if he was losing his mind, like his head was going to spin off his shoulders in a thousand different directions any moment now.

None of this made any sense. If his father had worked for the IAW, how could he not have known that until now? Did he not know anything about his own family, his own father? Why would Baba have lied to him anyway? How could he? Luana’s words came crashing back to him: ‘He’d gotten a scholarship to that Hunter training school in the capital. Bracken, it’s called, isn’t it?’ and ‘Of course I was only a girl when he left for the capital to be a bigshot officer. He never did like being cooped up in a small town, that one.’

How could he have been such a pathetic, oblivious idiot?

His thoughts shifted to Uncle Subhas. If his father had worked for the IAW, Subhas had to have known about it. What possible reason could his entire family have had to lie to him about their past? His past?

“It makes sense, I suppose,” Ashwin said quietly, drawing Ruban’s attention momentarily away from his own spiralling thoughts.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” Ruban declared. And if he was being just a tiny bit melodramatic, he thought he had earned the right.

Ashwin ignored him. “He quit the IAW on the last day of June, exactly twenty-three years ago.”

Ruban’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he feared he was going to choke on air. “Oh God.”

20th June 1994, the day his mother had died after a year-long battle with lung cancer, leaving behind a grieving husband and a three-year-old son whose only remaining memory of her was that of wavy brown hair and the fragrance of wildflowers in spring.

He wondered for a moment how Ashwin had known about it, the date of his mother’s death, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it had occurred. Obviously, the Aeriel would have researched his past before joining him in the investigation. After all, had he not done the same to the redoubtable ‘Ashwin Kwan’?

“He left because she died,” he whispered, the words barely audible even to himself. “That’s why he never talked about it. Because it reminded him…of her. Of what he’d lost.”

***

The remaining folder contained documents relating to the investigation into Abhas’s death, into the attack on their home in Surai. Reports filed by Hunters and policemen, eyewitness accounts and crime-scene analyses – things Ruban had seen a thousand different times on a thousand different cases. Things he worked with on a regular basis.

And yet, seeing this impersonal evaluation of the destruction of his own life twisted something deep in his gut, like tearing open an old wound. He wanted to run away, to never have to see any of it again. But his legs refused to move, his eyes refused to be torn away from the papers lying scattered before him, the only remnants of a life that was now nothing more than a distant dream.

“It was never completed,” Ashwin said abruptly, snapping Ruban out of his own head.

“What?”

“The investigation into your father’s death. Ruban, it was scrapped before it could reach a conclusion. Scrapped by order of the Director of the IAW,” the Aeriel said, pressing a finger to a paragraph in one of the papers lying around them.

His blood thundering in his veins, Ruban demanded: “Who recommended the scrapping?” even as his hand flew out to grab the piece of paper for himself.

There was a moment’s silence as Ashwin’s eyes roved over some of the other withered, yellowing documents in his hands. Then, he whispered in a voice that Ruban barely recognised – “Subhas Kinoh”.

***

Ruban’s hands shook as he held the letter between his fingers. The envelope was old, fraying at the edges. Exactly eight years old. He was terrified that it would crumble if he touched it too roughly, and then he would be a fatherless orphan once again. All alone, forever and ever. Gods, I’m losing my mind.

“Open it,” Ashwin said, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. His fingers brushed lightly over Ruban’s trembling forearms. “Do you want me to do it?” There was an odd sort of compassion in his tone – like the empathy of a rock for a lame bird – uncomprehending, but sincere.

They had found the letter among the documents relating to the Surai investigation – the investigation his uncle had scrapped before it could even reach a conclusion. The investigation into the destruction of Ruban’s life, the annihilation of his family, of his dearest friend. Of the future he had once had, which had turned to ash along with the walls of his old home.

The envelope was addressed to Subhas at his residence in Ragah. The address of their home in Surai was printed in his father’s sparse, elegant script in the box where the sender’s information was supposed to be. The faded delivery stamp on the envelope marked the date of delivery of the letter as the third of March, exactly a week before Reivaa’s attack on their home. Exactly a week before his father’s death, Miki’s death.

Ruban felt as though he was going to throw up, even as his vision blurred with unshed tears. He was in a nightmare he couldn’t escape, and his muscles refused to move when he told them to. He sat there on the floor of the dank storeroom, barely breathing, like a forgotten statue abandoned halfway by its maker.

Ashwin pried the envelope gently from his unresisting fingers, flicking the unsealed flap open to extricate the letter within it. Unfolding the withered old document, he swept his eyes over it in a few seconds that seemed to stretch like hours to Ruban. The sight of his father’s handwriting covering the paper made his throat clench as a single tear rolled down his face and into the collar of his shirt.

Gods, he was crying. Crying in front of a goddamned Aeriel. A goddamned Aeriel who pitied him, if the gutted look on Ashwin’s face was anything to go by.

“What is it?” he snapped, unable to bear that look any longer.

“He knew,” Ashwin murmured, looking away like he couldn’t bring himself to meet Ruban’s eyes. “Your father knew that Tauheen was planning to steal the reinforced sifblade formula, although it hadn’t yet been fully perfected at the time. One of his old IAW sources had alerted him about the possibility of a theft, of an Aeriel attack on SifCo. He wrote to Subhas to warn him about it.”

“A week before he was killed,” Ruban said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Exactly a week before he was killed.”

***

“Do you want to take a break?” Ashwin asked him, eyeing Ruban with something akin to concern. “I can look through the rest on my own and get everything in order. We should be leaving soon anyway. Wouldn’t be safe to spend the night in this house. You can go get some air while I finish up here.”

He was holding a small, padlocked metal box in his hands. It was the only thing in the safe they had not yet gone through. The files and papers sat in two neat piles on one side of the vault, arranged by Ashwin according to their subject matter – one for his father’s old employment records with the IAW and the other for the unfinished Surai investigation.

Ruban looked at the case in the Aeriel’s hand for a long minute. To his own surprise and consternation, he felt no particular curiosity about the contents of the box. He was too numb to feel curious. He was too numb to feel anything. And a part of him wanted to keep it that way.

But another part of him could not forget who he was, what he was. He was Ruban Kinoh, Chief Hunter, South Ragah Division. He was a soldier, an officer of the state of Vandram, a servant to her people. There were interests greater than his own at stake here, and he had a duty to see them through. Much as he wanted to turn back the clock, he was no longer the hapless kid who had run away from the ruins of his life in Surai eight years ago. And he had no right to act like that lost boy, not anymore.

“No, I’ll stay,” he said at last, focusing on his companion’s face. Ashwin looked worried. Justifiably so, Ruban supposed. He was acting like a pathetic moron, falling apart on a mission. Ridiculous. “I want to see what’s in the damn box.”

Ashwin’s lips quirked in a faint little smile. “Okay then.” Taking the padlock between his fingers, he gave it a casual little yank, and the lock fell away like so much disintegrated jelly. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

With an imperceptible nod, Ashwin flicked the case open.

Then he gasped, fell back away from the box and whimpered like a wounded animal.

The case clattered noisily to the floor, spilling its contents all over the dirty marble panels of the storeroom.

Ruban blinked, moving forward to get a better look at the little rocks that were now scattered around the safe, while simultaneously shielding the Aeriel with his body. Reaching forward, he picked one up, holding it carefully in the palm of his hand.

And then it hit him.

Sif ores. He was holding a bit of sif ore in his hand.

But not just any sif ore. This was darker, harder than the normal stuff, which was why he hadn’t recognised it immediately. And from Ashwin’s reaction, there could be no doubt about it. A little bit of untreated sif shouldn’t cause more than some vague discomfort in an Aeriel, if that. But this was different, of course.

This was the enhanced sif ore that his uncle had spoken of, that Dr. Visht had spoken of. The raw material for the creation of reinforced sifblades.

Heavens! Someone was stocking state-of-the-art sif technology in a vault in this secluded villa in Ibanborah. There was only one way that could be possible. After all, it wasn’t as though the government was selling untreated supercharged sif ores to the highest bidder for private ownership.

This was stolen property. Stolen state property.

And who would have the necessary influence and access to steal something as sensitive and valuable as chemically enhanced sif ores?

The pieces were falling into place in Ruban’s head, but they were forming a picture he did not want to see.

“By Zeifaa, put those vile things away,” a strangled voice croaked behind him as Ashwin pushed himself laboriously back to his knees. “My limbs feel like they have lead weights tied to them.”

“Sorry,” muttered Ruban, sheepish, and hastily collected the scattered rocks, packing them back into the metal case and flipping it firmly shut. “Better?”

“Much,” Ashwin said, releasing a rattling breath. Then, as if remembering something, he patted the floor beside the spot where the box had originally fallen. “Voila!” he said, holding up what looked like a small disk wrapped in cardboard. “This fell out of the case with that other godforsaken stuff. I was just too taken aback to pay attention to it then.”

Hesitantly, Ruban reached out to take the proffered object from the Aeriel. Slipping a finger inside the cardboard case, he pulled out the disk ensconced within.

“Damn it all to hell,” he said, voice shaking with some emotion he couldn’t name. “This is the formula. The goddamned sifblade formula Tauheen stole from SifCo.”

“Oh fuck,” the Aeriel said, appropriately.

***

They were back in the balcony, the fragrance of flowers in full bloom permeating their senses as they looked out over the river shrouded in darkness, the water only visible where it reflected the light of the stars above. Everything they had found in the safe, including the case of sif ores, was wrapped safely in a bedsheet Ashwin had retrieved from the wardrobe and slung over Ruban’s shoulder.

Ruban knew they should leave, but when the Aeriel offered to fly them out, he held up a hand, stalling. A part of him wanted to run away and forget everything that had happened in this place, but another part of him did not want to leave – because he knew that once he left this house, his life would never be the same again. And Ruban didn’t think he was ready for what was to come next. He didn’t think he would ever be ready for it.

“You realise she must have turned him,” Ashwin said at last, not looking at the Hunter. His head was tilted upwards, eyes gazing out over the pinpricks of light dotting the vast, endless blackness that was the universe. “It’s the only way to explain any of this. The papers, the sif. The bloody stolen disk we’ve been looking for all this time,” he sighed, turning to face his companion. “Subhas was – is – her inside man in the IAW. Tauheen must have turned him, and from what we’ve found here tonight, she did it years ago.”

Ruban said nothing. He did not know what to say. The truth was staring him straight in the face and all he wanted to do was look away. When had he become such a coward?

Perhaps the day he lost his father, his best friend. He thought he had lost everything there was to lose; but he really hadn’t, had he? The thought of losing the only family he had left…it left him feeling cold in a way that the thought of facing death on a Hunt never had.

Baba always said there were different types of courage. This was one type in which Ruban felt himself singularly wanting.

Of course, the Aeriel had no such qualms about dissing his own family. “I mean, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. Not about your uncle, obviously. I never seriously suspected him of being the leak. But then again, my mother can be very persuasive. Which is a nice way of saying that she’s a lying, manipulative psychopath who wouldn’t know a conscience if it was sitting on her shoulder clawing at her frozen heart.”

Despite himself, despite the impossible situation they were in, Ruban chuckled. He couldn’t say that the image of something clawing at the Aeriel Queen’s heart seemed entirely unappealing at the moment. Hell, he would have given anything for the opportunity to do just that himself – tear her beating heart from her chest and stomp on it.

He ran a hand tiredly over his face. He felt defeated, wrung out. “I don’t understand. Just…why? Why would he do this? Betray everyone, everything. His country, his family…the goddamn human race! What could possibly have been enough of a price for that?”

Ashwin shrugged. “I never understood what was enough of a price for any of them, really. But she’s always been like that. She always had…an uncanny sort of sway over mortals. Even when I was a child I saw it. Not that she couldn’t manipulate Aeriels, because she could. And did. But she was never as effective as she was with a human, or even a vankrai. Somehow, they always seemed to be completely in thrall to her, to everything she said and everything she did. Once she had them, that was it. They could see no wrong in her. Safaa says she manipulates human emotions, uses it against you. I suppose she would know.

“It’s easier to see why Tauheen needed him, of course. Even if she had the formula, she couldn’t have decrypted it on her own. She’d need an insider for that. An insider high enough in the hierarchy to have access to classified information of the most sensitive nature. Subhas could have helped her decrypt the formula and gotten her the sif ores without much trouble. That’s obvious enough.” He turned to look sharply at the Hunter, pushing himself off the wall he had been leaning against. “What I don’t get, though, is why my mother would have felt the need to kidnap Hiya if she already had Subhas doing her bidding of his own free will.”

Before Ruban could answer, they heard the whirr of an engine in the distance and the street leading up to the villa was momentarily illuminated by the headlights of an approaching car. As it reached the eucalyptus grove, the vehicle turned a corner into the lane leading up to the front gates, disappearing from Ruban’s line of sight.

“Well,” he said, looking up at Ashwin with a humourless smile. “I guess we’ll get those answers whether we want them or not.”

***