Rodian stepped inside.

In older times the room had probably been weapons storage, when the keep housed the earliest royals and their armed forces. From Rodian's brief encounters with the domin, he expected the office to be a disorganized mess. He was not wrong.

The age-darkened old desk was nearly buried in books and papers, and even a few small wooden boxes. One hefty volume with a frayed cloth cover lay open atop the pile. A large cold lamp, its crystal still holding a dim glow, sat on one corner near an old mug filled with stained quills. Stacks of parchment or paper were piled on the floor below short oak bookcases, equally as aged as the desk.

Somewhat somber though not gloomy, the study's inner wall appeared to run flush with the tower's outer one beneath the rising stairs. Three sides of the room had narrow, paned windows set deep into its thick walls. These had once been arrow slits for archers to defend the keep. Through one Rodian had a clear western view of the city over the keep's wall and that of the inner bailey.

The dwarf likely expected perfect order from everyone—including himself—outside this room. But here he did as he pleased. Rodian knew the type.

Not wishing to been seen as herding the others, he stepped aside and waited as Sykion and High-Tower entered. Il'Sänke softly closed the door behind all of them.

"Only two chairs," High-Tower grunted.

Rodian gestured for the premin to sit. He remained standing and pulled a small journal from his belt.

"Have you determined a cause of death?" Sykion asked.

Rodian was careful with his answer. "A healer from the city's hospice examined the bodies this morning." And he had specifically sought one outside of the guild's influence. "His findings are not yet complete," he added.

This was a half lie, and he didn't add that the healer could provide no conclusive findings. If the victims had died by some fast-acting poison, inhaled or absorbed through the skin, the healer found no such evidence. However, Rodian couldn't allow this interview to turn around, making him the one being interrogated.

"Does either young man have blood relatives in or near the city?" he asked.

"No," the premin answered. "Jeremy's family is from Faunier, but his parents have both passed over. Elias's family resides on the western coast, near the free town of Drist. I believe his father is a fisherman. We have already sent word of this tragedy."

Rodian nodded and took a few notes. "I'll need the names of the victims' friends and immediate acquaintances, anyone of close personal attachment, and what their daily routines involved and with whom. Particularly if there were any noted contentions, whether of a personal or professional nature. Also the whereabouts of all such individuals last night."

The premin stared at him.

"This is routine, but necessary," he assured her.

Her thin lips parted once and then closed as she turned her gaze on High-Tower.

The dwarf walked around behind his desk and dropped heavily into a wide chair suitable to his people's bulk. It seemed a bit calculated to make Rodian feel like an initiate or apprentice summoned for a private lecture. High-Tower huffed once.

"All apprentices and journeyors here are friends," he growled. "But they are too busy to be close… or sweethearts who form attachments. They are here to study—not chase each other about like goats in spring." He cleared his throat. "And they do not contend with each other, except in betterment of our pursuits. Proper debate is encouraged as the crucible from which we extract truth. You will get no such list of names here… as we cannot provide one."

Rodian warmed with an edge of anger.

If these pretentious scholars thought they could stonewall him, they were seriously mistaken. When he took command of the Shyldfälches, he'd already solved four murders long considered unsolved by his predecessor. He hadn't climbed to his position by being easily waylaid.

"The names will help limit the investigation's scope," he replied dispassionately

"Are you asking for alibis?" the premin demanded, though the barest hint of worry leaked into her reedy voice.

"Of course," he replied. What had these people expected in a murder investigation? "I assume all three of you were in residence last night?"

"This is outrageous!" High-Tower growled, loudly enough that it reverberated from the walls. "Offensive insinuations… and a waste of time!"

"I could ask Lieutenant Garrogh to bring several men to gather this information," Rodian said. "Though that would be more time-consuming—and invasive—they will speak with everyone who lives here. No matter how long it takes. I would prefer to be… expedient."

No one spoke for several breaths.

"I was in the new east library with several apprentices," Sykion said, "instructing them in proper tutoring of initiates. Domin High-Tower, I believe, was overseeing cleanup after supper. We do not employ servants here and equally share all daily tasks. Domin il'Sänke—"

"I was out alone," the Suman interrupted, adding with a shrug, "and I have no one to attest to my whereabouts."

Rodian studied him. "You were out after the supper hour? Why?"

"I took a letter to the courier's office at the docks. Just a note to my home branch of the guild."

"The courier's office isn't usually open past dusk."

"The day passed too quickly," he replied. "I lost track of time and hurried but was too late."

"Why not wait until morning?" Rodian countered. "It could take days or more before finding a ship leaving for the Suman coast."

"I heard of one already in port," il'Sänke answered. "I wanted to be sure my letter was aboard for its return trip."

Rodian made another quick note in his journal. It would be easy enough to check whether any vessel was headed that far south. As he was about to press the matter, High-Tower cut in.

"I am certain you can locate citizens who saw il'Sänke near the docks—which are always busy, Calm Seatt being the most major port to the north! Now, if there is nothing else, I suggest you—and your men—get to the streets with your questions."

"What were Jeremy and Elias doing out after dark?" Rodian asked. "You seemed anxious last night concerning a 'folio' they'd been carrying."

The room sank into silent tension. Il'Sänke's eyes narrowed slightly, and Rodian caught the slight shift of Premin Sykion's slim shoulders.

"The folio has nothing to do with their deaths," the premin said, calm and poised. "And any regret at its loss is meaningless compared to the lives of our own. The work it held can be redone."

Rodian listened politely to the barest rise of pitch in her voiheich in hce. He'd struck a sensitive spot.

Perhaps the folio was only a happenstance theft. Perhaps it had nothing directly to do with these deaths. But it did have to do with something of serious concern to these three.

"Last night," Rodian continued, "Master a'Seatt said that you've been sending draft work to his shop for transcription. He handed over a folio to Jeremy and Elias to carry back. What did Master a'Seatt's people copy for you yesterday?"

Domin il'Sänke shifted one step closer. His dark fingers laced together across the front of his waist.

"None of us would know from memory," he answered. "Master a'Seatt's scriptorium is one of several employed in such work. Drafts are sent to multiple scribes' shops in the city."

"Every evening?" Rodian asked.

"At dawn," Sykion answered, appearing too satisfied with il'Sänke's explanation. "The guild is working on a large-scale project. We do have some sages who are skilled in scripting, but we prefer the expertise of the private scribe shops for materials to be added to our libraries and archives."

She paused, pivoting in her seat to face him fully.