David didn’t slow down until he was out of the palace and standing in the evening air. Despite everything that had happened, he was still out early, and Antonio was nowhere in sight. He considered paying the werewolves in their cells another visit, but then instead set out to walk home, walk off some of the craziness of the past hour.

He hated the palace. He hated the palace and the city, and he should have known better than to try and make his way through the heart of Deva on foot during the evening rush. In his attempt to avoid the worst of the traffic, he found himself down at one of the parks along the White Torrent. He had been here quite regularly since handling the Rot had been made his responsibility.

There were still barriers up along the river, to stop people from going all the way down to the water’s edge. Not that many people were inclined to do so. Night was falling fast. The few other pedestrians all stayed in the nicer parts of the park. Desmarais had paid good money to have the higher banks planted with daffodils, snowdrops, crocuses, and other early-blooming flowers. David supposed it looked nice enough.

A young man and his girl, who had been gazing deep into each other’s eyes on the other side of the flower bed, noticed him, broke apart, and quickly walked away. David chuckled. It wasn’t surprising, given what he had to look like. It wasn’t yet dark enough for the blood on his clothes to become unnoticeable. He stared at the flowers a few seconds longer, but they weren’t really all that interesting to him. So he started moving again, ignoring the signs warning people to stay clear of the river. He didn’t stop until he stood right at the water’s edge. A couple of guards came running in his direction.

Prompt reaction, David noted with some satisfaction.

“Oi, you!” the faster one started. “What do you think you’re –“

His partner grabbed him by the shoulder, shutting him off.

“Lord Feleke?” the second guard asked. “Apologies, we didn’t recognize you right away. Any trouble?”

David raked his brain for the name of the sergeant and came up blank. “A duel between lords,” he replied instead. “Nothing you would need to worry about.”

“Must have been one hell of a fight!”

David smiled wryly at the younger guard. “A man tried to kill me, I objected.”

“Wouldn’t have wanted to be in the other guy’s shoes,” the sergeant muttered. “Anything you need, let us know, milord. We need to finish our rounds.”

He snapped a salute, and David answered the gesture. Lord Clermont used to take an hour every day out of his schedule for weeks, drilling him in this and other military protocols until he was happy that David wouldn’t “embarrass his command.”

David had to admit that it had given him a sense of security, knowing what his men might expect of him.

If he could establish similar structures and rituals amongst his werewolf forces, that might help them integrate with the regular troops, too. If he lived long enough to do it.

If.

He really hated the palace and its intrigues.

He didn’t have a damn clue what was going on.

If someone wanted him dead, why not use poison, or a dagger in the back, something he wouldn’t see coming? Something he couldn’t defend himself from?

Why goad deVale into fighting him? Or had the count truly deluded himself into believing David had cheated him? He couldn’t possibly be that daft, could he?

No. Someone had told those girls – young ladies – to go and find David. Someone had orchestrated this fight, talked deVale into demanding a fight to the finish, spread the word. But for what? So deVale could make a fool of himself? Surely, there were better opportunities to kill David? Like right now? Or even better, make it look like a werewolf did it?

All this effort just to search his office? What did these people think he was keeping in there? A philosopher’s stone?

It wasn’t exactly a secret where the werewolves were stationed. Surely it would have been much easier to bribe the technicians who handled the telegraph? Those guys certainly knew of all the postings.

David spit into the frothing waves of the White Torrent in disgust. Something really funny was going on here. He stared into the water some more, but didn’t find any answers in the rushing currents.

He just felt cold. Cold and strangely disconnected from his surroundings. He swayed when he walked back up the banks and had to hold onto a bench for a moment to steady himself. His head swam as if he were drunk, and he decided it was probably safer to flag down a cab once he got up to the dam. The avenue up there was still busy, and people stared even more. It took him three tries and he had to offer cash upfront before he found a cab driver that was willing to take him home.