One Step Ahead Ch 9: Family Matters
“Now it’s your turn to listen,” Aelin told him, her eyes burning into him like blue fire. “Come with me and I’ll explain everything.”
Rowan stared down at the ring in his hands, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. He couldn’t detect a trace of a lie in her voice, but she’d be good at lying. She’d have to be, in their line of work. The ring felt cool against his skin. Clean too. If there was a poison on this ring, it had rubbed off long ago or was near untraceable.
None of this made sense to him. His mistress was many things, but kin killer? And those tears she had cried for him earlier . . . those had seemed so real to him. Still believing Arobynn of someone similar to be behind all of this, Rowan resolved himself to see it through. If He could gain more information then he’d figure out who was responsible. And if he could do that, if he could reunite Maeve with her long lost great niece—the only family she had left—then he’d be Maeve’s champion, a hero.
Something inside Rowan’s chest fluttered at the prospect. A hero, just like she always thought him to be . . .
“Okay,” Rowan nodded, his green eyes trained onto her blue. “I’ll hear you out.”
Tension unfolded from Aelin’s shoulders like ice breaking off a glacier. Flexing her hands, breaking them out of their curled form, the assassin nodded and said, “Let’s go.”
Silently, the two packed up their camp and returned to the car. Aelin drove her way through a dark and narrow path with only the towering trees of Oakwald to accompany them. After several minutes where not a word was spoken between them, the forest opened up and a great manor came into view. The manor was grand, to be sure, but time had taken its toll on the building. In some parts the roof was coming apart, showing holes into the interior, and in others the glass of the windows looked so unclean they were pitch black. All the foliage which must have at one point in time been beautiful and cared for had overgrown and begun to creep up the brick walls, swallowing the manor one leaf at a time.
“Where are we?” Rowan asked when Aelin turned off the car.
“Somewhere safe. Now come on. They’re waiting for us.”
The inside of the manor wasn’t much better off than the outside. The entry hall and rooms beside it were dark and cold. Cobwebs grew a plenty and Rowan knows he heard some critter moving down the hall. But as they walked further into the home, Aelin led him to a door outlined with a warm light.
Adarlan’s Assassin gave the door a series of knocks, a code signaling to those on the other side that they were in safe company. A double knock returned Aelin’s and then it opened to reveal a young man with dark hair and piercing brown eyes and a scar tearing through his eyebrows and running down his cheek. His eyes flashed from Aelin to Rowan. His distrust of the Cleaner was obviously apparent in the way his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, but he still moved aside to let them in.
Inside the room was much better kept than the rest of the house. There was a fire burning in a grand fireplace, an expensive, but worn, rug on the floor, and several comfortable looking couches and chairs. Most of which were already filled. Carefully taking in his surroundings, Rowan was surprised to find, once again, Dorian Havilliard and Chaol Westfall. He blinked at them slowly, trying—and failing—to think of some way to link the two of them and Aelin together.
Unsurprisingly, Aedion was lounging across the room. He was so slumped down in his seat it almost looked like he could slide off at any moment. Rowan wouldn’t be fooled though. If necessary, Aedion was ready to spring into action the microsecond he was needed. The white haired man wondered where the rest of his gang were. Since he didn’t see their bikes on his way in, he assumed they were guarding the manor and keeping watch for any unwanted visitors. Prowling in the dark like a pack of rabid wolves.
Next to the leader of The Bane sat the Faliq girl, which was curious. Her sharp eyes were trained on him, watching his every move. Remembering what she said earlier, about never missing her mark, he made himself a mental note not to keep his back towards her.
There were three other people in the room. The first was the young man who opened the door for them. He stood by the fire, behind a winged back chair which seated a frail old man. Rowan assumed this was the owner of the house.
And finally, sitting across from the fire on a sad looking fainting couch, a pillow clutched in his arms, was Athril Dearst.
Shooting Aelin a look, one that said—what the actual fuck are you playing at—Rowan found himself standing so close to her that he could easily spot the ring of gold within the blue of her eyes.
Staring right back at him, her determined gaze answered him, What I have to.
Explain, Rowan demanded, not looking away even when he heard Athril stand.
Sighing, Aelin nodded. She looked over Rowan’s shoulder at Athril and said, “You start—you’re the one that set this all into motion, after all.”
Athril nodded. He looked at Rowan, then away, and then, as if he’d found a bit of courage deep within himself, locked eyes with Rowan and began, “Right. Well, I’m not sure if you know this, but it’s an election year.”
He waited for the Cleaner to nod.
“The polls weren’t looking great. There wasn’t a lot of public interest and when that happens it could go either way come Election Day. My campaign manager and I thought it’d be best to find something, a cause, to bring the people together and catch their attention.” The Wendlyn District Attorney cleared his throat, “So I decided to look into cold cases, and there was one that caught my eye. It was out of my district, but Terrasen’s D.A., welcomed me in with open arms and agreed we could share in any of the spoils closing such a notorious case would bring.”
Rowan caught Aelin’s eye and she nodded, confirming he meant her family’s murder.
“So I put pressure on the police to reopen the case, which led to,” Athril trailed off, looking towards Westfall to pick up the story.
Sitting up straighter, Chaol looked at the room with wide eyes. He looked alarmed by the prospect that he’d have to address the room. “I found it,” he got out, “the ring. It,” he looked towards Faliq who nodded encouragingly to him which was . . . interesting, “had fallen into a vent beside his night table.” Westfall shrugged, “I guess no one looked there the first time around.”
Aelin snorted, “More like they were bribed not to.”
Rowan nodded at that, though who had bribed the police all those years ago, he was still unsure.
“That’s how we got involved,” Havilliard spoke up, clapping his friend on his shoulder. Westfall sighed quietly before relaxing back into his seat. “Chaol brought the ring to light and the news traveled up the channels and into my ears so we,” the prince of Rifthold’s lips split into a sly grin, one that hinted at something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface, “began exchanging conspiracy theories.”
“We thought for sure the ring belonged to Adarlan’s Assassin,” Westfall sat up again, his confidence growing, it seemed, now that he’d had time to think about what he wanted to say. “We thought this was the missing piece needed to finally pin it on her, but we quickly realized we were wrong.”
“How?” Rowan asked. The only way he’d been able to rule out the possibility of it being Aelin was because he knew her age and that the time line couldn’t match up. For anyone who didn’t know the famed assassin wasn’t even twenty, it’d be a natural assumption to make.
Both Westfall and Havilliard turned to look at Faliq. The young woman shrugged, “They were talking about it in my bakery, so I set them straight.”
A beat passed, and when Rowan kept his green eyes locked on the dark haired woman, she continued, “I’d already met Aelin at that point—knew her as Celeana, I mean—and knew she couldn’t have made that kill.”
Rowan nodded, though he had a few more questions, like why would Westfall and Havilliard take a random baker for her word, and how did she prove it to them? He still didn’t know how the sons of two powerful men had become friends with such a notorious member of the Underworld, but he had a feeling that information would come to light soon enough.
“Once Nesryn told me about the ring, I knew I had to act fast,” Aelin told him, her hip cocked and her hand resting on it as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “If I knew, that mean Maeve knew too, or would know soon enough.”
Following her train of thought, the white haired male said, “So you stole it before she could.” Aelin gave him a wide smile, one that showed off an awful lot of teeth and was surely meant to set him on edge. However, all it did for him was send a spark down his spine.
Still, this didn’t explain everything. Cocking his head at her, he silently asked, And this group? How’d this all happen?
For once, Aelin answered him aloud, “After our meetup in the bakery, I got Dorian, Chaol, and Nesryn to convince Athril to come here.”
Which was smart, considering Maeve would more than likely take him out to ensure no one kept sniffing around the Galathynius case. But no, Rowan reminded himself. Maeve wasn’t responsible for this. Nothing anyone had said had properly condemned his mistress. He needed more information if he was going to convince Aelin properly.
“I have to say,” Athril sat back down on the couch, grabbing for the pillow, “having these two,” he jerked his thumb at Havilliard and Westfall, “pick me up was a wise choice. I thought she,” know his thumb was aimed at Faliq, “had come to carve out my lungs.”
“That’s just her face,” Westfall said quietly, earning him a pillow to the face courtesy of Faliq. “What? It’s true!”
“Anyway,” Aelin said pointedly, giving Westfall a very tired look, “once we had the ring, we sent it out for testing.”
Rowan hummed, pulling the ring out from his pocket. “You said it was poisoned.”
“The interior, to be specific,” Athril pulled a briefcase out from underneath the couch and took some papers out. “There were only trace amounts left by the time we found it. The rest was absorbed into Orlon’s skin. Based on what Dr. Towers said, it wouldn’t have taken long for the poison to do its job.”
“What’s the name of the poison?” Rowan looked back over to Aelin, “If we know the name and the ingredients that could help us find the real killer.”
Aelin raised a delicate brow. Really buzzard? Her expression asked. Still trying to defend your mistress?
“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Westfall, of all people, told him. Rowan would have thought his participation in this conversation had ended, and yet he continued on as if he himself was the expert on the poison. “It’s an unknown. We have a breakdown of the ingredients though,” he nodded at Athril, who stood and handed Rowan several pages worth of data. “They’re very rare, which is good, and should help us narrow down the suspects. In fact, it already has.”
“Have you ever been to Valg, Rowan?” Aelin asked, moving over to stand before the fire and warm her hands. The hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck stood up, knowing that Aelin ever acted nonchalantly like this when she was at her most dangerous, when she had something up her sleeve.
Rowan hadn’t ever been to Valg. There was no reason for him to, considering what a crap hole the place was. It was full of empty buildings, the hollowed out husks of addict-addled bodies, and rusted over pipes. There was only one reason people ever went there and that was to die.
With her back to him, Aelin continued, “It’s a horrible place, run by three brothers who care nothing for it besides whatever money the junkyards and desperate bring in. But it does have an interesting collection of foliage that are renowned for their toxicity.” Turning around to face him again, Aelin’s face looked like it had been cut from marble, betraying none of the emotions Rowan was sure were raging through her.
“Why are you telling me this?” It was nothing new to the Cleaner. The King brothers, Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan, were well known by the world for their brutal business practices and known in the Underworld for their vast supply of drugs and poisons.
“I’m telling you this,” Aelin said slowly, taking in a deep, slow breath, “because all of the ingredients in the poison originate from Valg and because of Maeve’s connection with it.”
Rowan frowned, trying to connect the dots and finding he couldn’t. There was no connection between Maeve and Valg. Silently, Rowan told her so.
Shoulders dropping back, Aelin stood up straighter. Rowan felt as if a stone dropped into his stomach, knowing he was about to be proven wrong.
“Maeve was married before, did you know?” Aelin cocked her head to the side, almost inquisitively. “It was only for a year or so, but it was legal. Apparently it ended in fire and brimstone, but I’m sure Maeve wouldn’t call it a complete loss.”
Athril handed him another piece of paper. It was a copy of a marriage certificate.
“Look at the names, Rowan.”
He did, and what he found there took the air right out of his lungs. Orcus King. Maeve had been married to Orcus King. Orcus King, the mastermind behind all the poisons produced in Valg. If Maeve had been married to him, had gained knowledge of his formulas and ingredients, then it’d be easy for her to . . .
“I need some air,” Rowan shoved the papers back into Athril’s hands and stormed out of the manor. There was a chill to the night, a welcomed sensation to combat his burning skin. He was going to be sick. Maeve was vicious, he always knew that—she didn’t become a mob boss by being nice, he knew that—but this was her family. Family was everything and she just—if Aelin was right then she just threw that all away.
Rowan closed his eyes and found a pair of chestnut eyes staring back at him. The wind carried the sound of a laugh, warm and infectious and familiar. Bile rose up Rowan’s throat. He’d give anything to just—and Maeve had thrown—he was going to be sick.
“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice broke through Rowan’s thoughts, through the laughter and the bile, and brought him back down into himself.
Dragging a hand down his face, Rowan turned to look at Adarlan’s Assassin. Standing before him now, Aelin looked so small and vulnerable, but she was looking at him as if he looked the same.
Opening her mouth, Aelin was about to say something else but Rowan cut her off, “I’m in. Whatever you need me to do.” He swallowed down the last remnants of the bile and resolved himself, “I’m in.”
