Page 44 of Fire to the Stars

I bristle, refusing to elaborate on my history more than necessary. “I’m just here to slay the dragon. It’s your job to solve these crimes.”

Suspicion crosses his expression. “Do you even have proof of these supposed crimes?”

I place the maple-wood box on his desk and pop the lid. The pungent rot of Madame Afi’s hand fills the room in an eye-watering instant. Marshal Bard slams the box shut so hard, Lucy jumps off my lap.

“Gods.” He coughs, waving the scent away with stray paperwork. “A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Consider this a warning, then. I have more evidence.”

I riffle through my pack. When I stack the sickle and mask on his desk, his posture sags, as if he expected my claims to be baseless.

“What are these?” he asks.

“Equipment I took from one of the attackers in Ravinfort. Madame Afi’s abductors used the same mask and weaponry. They wore blue cloaks, too, like some kind of uniform. They also had silverwolves for familiars.”

“Silverwolves?”

“I saw them with my own eyes.” I wince at how far-fetched my claims sound, but he needs every clue. “The suspects also spoke the Old Tongue. I don’t know how they learned it, but that’s where you come in.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Noctu end me.”

I swipe a blank investigation form from the corner of his desk. He reaches to intercept the quill, but I’m too quick. His fist clenches empty air.

“I’m submitting this evidence to further your investigation. Lyle Meteku is the hostage’s son and your second point of contact. We should be assumed to be under enemy surveillance at all times and liaise via gendarmes in plain clothes.” I finish scribbling my name, evidence descriptions, and a note that I’ll return with a temporary contact address once I have lodging. “You must prioritize this investigation and save Madame Afi before—”

“All right.As bizarre as this sounds, there seems to be enough physical evidence to pursue this.”

Relief floods me. “So you’ll investigate?”

“A severed hand is a serious threat. Believe me, this is a top priority,” he says. “I’ll assign a gendarme to talk to Lyle. As for you, Monsieur Estellio, that’s all the time I can spare. I’m too busy organizing patrols for the Ascension Day influx.” He sighs and mutters, “You’d think people wouldn’t celebrate the end of the Dark Days by testing the limits of their mortality. Drunks, fights, and thieves all week.”

Once again, Claire was right. The Gendarmerie are on high alert here. It’s the safest place for us to be.

Until the Ignition.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Marshal, but I still need your help to locate the dragon. It’s not just Madame Afi’s safety that depends on it.” I ignore his dejected expression and offer the copies of Hanna’s notes, which I translated into the Common Tongue during the carriage ride. “I’d like to submit these to your info broker.”

“Downstairs. Second desk on the left, next to the wanted posters. Her name is Angéline.” He gives a mild shudder and pushes the parchment back. “She’ll get the job done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have event security to plan for. The king and queen insist on riding with the parade, and the Royal Guard’s captain thinks he knows how to protect them better than I do.”

Downstairs, I find Angéline and file the paperwork to locate Hanna’s dragon.

“The target’s name is Gérard Dupont,” I explain. “Twenty-seven years old. He frequents taverns and brothels, particularly those with some kind of local theme or gimmick. Reckless indulgence in liquor and women is his typical pattern.”

She rolls up the notes with a crinkle. “I can read.”

Her impatient look snags on me through her gold-framedspectacles. I stand my ground. I want the hunt for this dragon to go smoothly. The quicker this unfolds, the less risk to MadameAfi.

“Approach hotels and check their registries first,” I continue. “Once you find him, trail him. Learn his routine. Establish a schedule and bring it to me.”

“You have enough information here for an immediate arrest. We can hold him until the night before Ignition Day, then deliver him to one of the dragon pits. No slayers have reserved themyet.”

Of course Jardincourt has dragon pits. Built in the craters of old meteorite strikes, the pits are covered with trellises of netting designed to discourage dragons from taking flight. They’re the perfect place to control the transformation conditions of targets captured in human form. I’ve used a pit a few times; as much as Hanna and I talked a big game about how a pit made the fight too easy, a slayer with a human identity in hand would be foolish to refuse the advantage.

“Donotarrest him,” I order.

She raises a judgmental eyebrow. I don’t blame her. To her, the Estellio name heralds disaster. To not arrest a dragon in human form immediately is to risk the lives of innocent, moral people.

“Gérard has other information I need. He won’t answer my questions unless he feels safe,” I explain. It’s not a lie—it’s just not the full truth. “I need a low-pressure meeting place where I can corner him. Enlist help from his hotel’s concierge, if necessary. My assistant and I will handle the rest.”