to ponder whether or not to speak, then stepped close and pulled himself higher with his free hand on the frame. He whispered, “I wasn’t meant to see, but I did. They slit his throat right there on the floor.” Sparrow pointed again, and Kalai twisted around. He stared at the rug. He had so many questions, his heart starting to race.
“Here,” Kalai said, and left the windowsill. He half-ran to his desk, afraid Sparrow might dematerialize while he was away. He fumbled for his money pouch and returned to Sparrow with two gold coins.
Sparrow’s eyes widened. He took the coins from Kalai and grasped them so tight, his knuckles turned white.
“You must promise not to tell anyone else about this, all right?” Kalai held the boy’s gaze. “What else do you know about Mister Aihiri’s death?”
Sparrow nodded seriously. “He told me the general was a thief and a liar and that I shouldn’t trust him.”
“General Falka?”
“Mhmm. He got really angry when he found out Mister Aihiri had been keeping secrets.”
Kalai wiped a hand over his mouth. He felt sick. His gut feeling had been right. He had been almost certain when he found the scratched out documents, so many things adding up, but hearing Sparrow put it into words made it all terribly real. “Was Falka here alone?”
“No,” Sparrow said through another bite of his sandwich. “There was a whole group with him.”
“When did it happen?”
Sparrow pursed his lips, brow furrowed with thought. “Maybe a week before you came.”
Kalai’s stomach twisted, and he swallowed, sinking onto the chaise lounge. He stared at the rug. Falka had murdered a man only a week before his arrival. Kalai had been a clueless fool, showing up so conveniently to take over Aihiri’s job. He narrowed his eyes. What was it Commander Landa had told him? That Aihiri had died of old age?
He sat upright again, getting Sparrow’s attention. “Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?”
Sparrow swallowed the last bite of the sandwich and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Falka said all rebels must die.”
Kalai reached through the window and stroked Sparrow’s hair. “You’ve been a big help. Now run along. And don’t linger around here. Stay away from the guard grounds, too.”
“Yes, sir!” Sparrow darted away, disappearing into an alley.
Kalai closed the window and stood. He paced back and forth, staring at the rug in the center of the room.
What were the facts?
The Sky Guard had stolen sacred Sharoani texts from the dragon temples. The old archivist tried to hide them, perhaps even aided the rebels, and Falka had killed him for it. Tauran said the saddle maker, Albinus, was a rebel, and Falka had killed him, too. Kalai rubbed his brow, searching his mind for what he knew about the Battle of the Broken Wings, holding it against what Tauran had told him.
Commander Andreus had risen up against General Falka and the guard. He’d had half the riders on his side, and it had resulted in a massive battle over Valreus, laying ruin to the entire east city section and the old Solar Tower. Almost all the dragons and riders, as well as countless civilian lives, had been lost. Andreus had struck Tauran and his dragon from the sky, getting himself and his dragon killed as a result. Every rider who followed him had died, either during the battle or in the days that followed, hung in the city square. Tauran always spoke of the rebels as bad people, claiming Andreus had turned power hungry and mad, but Kalai realized he knew nothing of their cause. All he had ever heard was the Sky Guard’s side of the story. That Andreus and his followers were evil. Dragon killers.
Kalai sighed heavily and leaned against the desk. He’d have to talk to Tauran. Tauran was the only person Kalai was sure he could trust.
* * *
Doctor Erica’s office was in a large three-story building overlooking Lavender Square, framed by pillars carved into birds. She didn’t work for the Sky Guard, but her patients weren’t common folk, either, and Tauran would have never been able to afford her services after his fall if it hadn’t been for Falka ensuring Tauran the best treatment the Sky Guard could buy.
Tauran initially hadn’t felt comfortable in the marble-floored entranceway and the high-ceilinged corridors with stone figurines lining the walls. But Doctor Erica had dispelled his wariness almost before he stepped through the doorway, clinging pathetically to his crutches. She was kind, but with a firm