Rough, Sara Fields [the top 100 crime novels of all time txt] 📗

The Cult would be weakened.

“You will see to it that the rumors are put to an end. Arrest those spreading such filthy lies,” Neegan sneered.

“But is it true, my lord? Did Borgan really die of poison?” the beta pressed.

“It does not matter,” he snarled, leveling the other man with a glare so menacing that it would have broken many a weaker soul. The beta shuffled anxiously from one foot to the other. It appeared that he knew better than to say anything further. For a long and extremely tense few seconds, Neegan stared back at him before he turned away.

“I would like an update on the king’s activities. Does he seem bothered by the omega’s disappearance?”

“He seems indifferent, my lord. I haven’t noticed much of anything outside the usual,” he answered.

“Such as?” Neegan questioned.

“Sometimes I catch him staring off into the distance for a period of time. He’s been mildly distracted, but that’s all,” he replied.

Neegan tapped his fingers on the desk. He appeared to be mulling something over, but he thought better of whatever it was and waved the beta away. Once he left, Neegan opened the drawer once more and pulled out the journal he’d been reading. I couldn’t make out the words written in it from my position. From the look on his face though, I could tell they were important.

Eventually, he grew tired and placed it back inside the drawer. He left the room, and I waited several minutes before I slipped out of my hiding place. I stayed silent, maneuvering into the room through a hidden door without a sound and opened his desk. I reached inside and slowly removed the journal and sat down behind the massive piece of furniture.

The moon cast enough light onto the book so that I could read it without any issue. At once, I saw that it was a detailed account on Magnar. It described his life, from his birth to what he’d done a week ago at the crowning, to smaller details such as his favorite foods and what he preferred to do when he didn’t think he was being watched.

I perused the journal, more curious than I cared to admit. Magnar enjoyed mead and wine, as well as more traditional dishes such as smoked pork and baked vegetables. The more I flipped through the book, the more I wondered what had steered him into a life as a Cult member. According to record, he had grown up far away in the wilds. His parents had died, but he was raised to be a fierce warrior. His village had been raided long ago and he’d been conscripted into the city’s army. At first, he fought his new position, yet after about a year or so, he accepted it without protest.

I turned the pages, and I came across a written record of his ascension in the Cult. He’d started as a foot soldier, running small errands and performing tasks for someone called the Recruiter. There wasn’t enough information for me to guess as to his identity. Several years later, Magnar was assigned to someone else nicknamed the Acolyte. Now though, he answered to someone called the Prophet. From what I could gather, those three names were quite high up in the Cult’s power structure.

A beam of light peeked in through the window and I gasped quietly, realizing that I had spent the entire night reading about Magnar. Quickly, I slid the book back where it belonged and slipped back into the hidden passageway. Not a minute later, I heard the door lock creak and Neegan stepped inside with a mug of steaming coffee.

I’d have to be more careful.

I left him in his study. I’d come back that night to read the rest of the journal, but I would have to wait until it was safe. I returned to my bedroom, suddenly feeling exhausted. I slept for much of the day and when I awoke, I made my way toward the kitchens and donned the servant’s dress I’d stolen the other night from the stores. When no one was looking, I slipped into the pantry, poured myself a flask of coffee, and took a basket of food. Just before I left, I saw a small wine barrel hidden in a corner on the shelves. There was a message carved into the wood.

“A special gift for King Borgan.”

Unable to stem my curiosity, I lifted it and looked at it more closely. I hadn’t thought much of the king’s death since I’d arrived, but the beta’s words last night had sparked my suspicions.

There was a very small insignia engraved onto the bottom that I recognized as my father’s seal. The small barrel still had some liquid inside it. Quickly, I took it as well as the other food I’d gathered and escaped back into the passages once more.

I returned to the room I’d claimed as my own. As soon as I made myself comfortable, I ate and drank my fill, all while staring at that small wooden keg. The sound of a rat skittering across the floor echoed nearby and I chewed my lip.

I had an idea. I grabbed a small metal plate and poured a small amount of wine into it. Then I carefully placed it in the hallway outside my room and left it there. I sat quietly on my bed, listening for any sound and then I heard a small coughing noise. Carefully, I got up and tiptoed so that I could see outside the door.

The rat that had been wandering the halls would no longer be bothering me. Whatever was in that wine had made sure of that. I turned away. I didn’t want to see anymore.

The discovery of the poisoned wine changed things and the longer I sat there thinking on my bed, the more questions I started to have.

Why would my father’s mark be all the way here