Free A Bolt From the Blue by Diane A. S. Stuckart

intersecting graveled paths, just as mine had.
    “We will leave your father to question the guards at the gate,” came his swift decree, “while you and I keep our search to the quadrangle and the outbuildings.”
    “B-but what of Constantin?” I choked out, for I’d not thought the Master would abandon the dead youth. “We cannot leave him unattended in the garden.”
    “I have settled him there decently, and the gate is locked so that no one other than I may enter again.”
    I nodded and poised myself to begin the hunt. Before I could take another step, however, the Master put a stilling hand upon my shoulder. The movement mirrored my father’s earlier comforting gesture, but Leonardo’s expression was filled with cold purpose.
    “I shall not let you go, Dino, until I have your promise that you will attempt no heroics. If you see someone who appears suspicious, do not draw attention to yourself. Follow him at a distance and see where he takes refuge.”
    He paused, and his grip on me tightened.
    “But under no circumstances are you to confront any man, no matter that you see a spent crossbow dangling from his hand and guilt written upon his face. I have already lost one apprentice this day, and I will not lose another.”
    My gaze dropped to the splash of fresh blood—Constantin’s blood—across the Master’s tunic, and I felt my features harden into the same cold mask of determination that he wore.
    “I promise, Master, that I shall confront no one . . . but I vow that I shall find who struck down my friend and bring him to justice.”
    “Then, quickly, to work.”
    We parted on those words, each taking a different direction across the quadrangle. Despite my urgency, I kept a restrained pace, aware that I had the advantage in this search. Being both young and humbly garbed, I was likely to be overlooked by almost everyone I encountered. Leonardo, on the other hand, garnered attention simply because of his handsome features and confident air. The fact that he was well-known here at the castle made it more difficult for him to wander about unnoticed.
    But while I might have drawn little scrutiny, no one escaped my gaze as I walked past him . . . or her. I dared not assume that a woman could not have been Constantin’s assassin. After all, I had already encountered more than one murderous female in my time here at Castle Sforza, so that I knew full well how deadly the fairer sex could be. And a crossbow was a light enough weapon that most women could capably handle one.
    Still, what could have driven anyone, male or female, to murder someone whose kindness to his fellows was surpassed only by his talent with a brush?
    I gave a furtive swipe at my damp eyes, willing away the tears. Later there would be time enough to grieve him. For the moment, I must set aside my sorrow and search out the one responsible for this tragedy.
    But after many minutes of fruitless searching, I feared that the killer had slipped through our grasp. I had stared into the faces of both servants and nobles, some of whom I saw daily and others who were unknown to me. I’d peered into privies and stables, startling more than a few men and beasts but finding no likely suspects.
    Once, I thought I glimpsed the same robed figure that I’d suspected of watching me at the parade grounds, and my heart began to beat faster. Barely had I begun my pursuit, however, when the swaddled form vanished behind a columned portico. But even as I cursed my bad luck, the figure reappeared a moment later at the public fountain.
    Aha, I have you, I thought in triumph and rushed in that direction. But by then the concealing hood had slipped back to reveal an old woman’s crinkled face, and a fragile, bony hand reached to cup a bit of water for drink. Shaking my head in mingled dismay and relief—for, in truth, what would I have done if the figure had proved to be a burly man with a crossbow wrapped in disguise?—I decided further searching was