Free Drakenfeld by Mark Charan Newton Page B

she was first discovered?’ I asked. ‘Just the facts.’
    ‘The temple had been locked,’ Veron continued. ‘When we came in, it was said there was a key in the lock on the inside There’s no other way in or out of this place,
except through those doors.’
    ‘No one saw anything?’
    ‘No. Waiting on the other side were hundreds of guests, who’d been standing there for about an hour before the room was opened in the climax of the ceremony. Not one of them saw
anyone come in or out.’
    ‘I may need a few moments.’ I made a quick inspection around the room and asked for Leana to do the same, inside and out. As we did, a few officials and senators came to observe what
we were doing. I felt their gaze upon me, and wished they would go away so we could concentrate.
    The temple was at least fifty paces wide, austere for a place of worship perhaps, and in stark contrast to the rest of the building we had just experienced. The flagstones were all made from
white and blue marble, and seemed secure enough – I could perceive no trapdoors, no holes. The walls were composed of thick limestone. Some were covered by rich, beautiful red drapes, and I
peeled them back in case there was another door – but there was nothing. I took the hilt of my blade and bashed it against the fat blocks like a hammer, but along all sides both high and low
the sounds were as I expected. I moved over to the damaged door to see that the heavy iron key was indeed still on the inside.
    Outside, however, there was no sign of blood on the floor or walls.
    There were no windows here, no open roof. The only light came from candles and paper lanterns – of which there were many. Several votive offerings of food and cups of water lay on an altar
and incense was burning. To one side lay the mask of Trymus, a garish, white and purple chequered object with gold trim.
    ‘Maxant was to wear that for his triumph,’ Veron commented when I paused by it. He added dryly: ‘Soldiers aren’t known for their sense of fashion.’
    ‘Who lit the incense?’ I asked, examining the smoke. Gentle blue wisps carried the deep woody aroma around the temple. Several small, unlit pyramids stood to one side.
‘It’s been burning for some time now.’
    No one seemed to know the answer to my question. I inhaled the smoke, noting that it was the same kind of sandalwood that could be found in any temple in Vispasia.
    ‘It must have been like that when everyone entered,’ I continued. ‘This incident occurred around an hour or so ago, it seems, and may I confirm that no one had come in for some
time beforehand?’
    Veron consulted with one of the soldiers from the King’s Legion, who stood resplendent in his purple robes and polished armour. ‘Not even so much as a pontiff,’ he confirmed.
‘As I say, none of the guests saw anything.’
    ‘I have many more questions, but let me summarize to be clear: around midnight, the king’s sister Lacanta was found with her throat cut. The weapon is not here. None of her jewellery
has been removed and she has – I will assume for now – not been tampered with. The temple was locked and sealed, and the key left in the door, on the inside. There’s no other way
into the temple unless one was a god; no way out, apart from through those doors.’ I pointed towards them. ‘There is no blood outside that we have seen thus far and, finally, it appears
that whoever was in here with her lit incense at the altar of Trymus.’
    Leana moved in closer. ‘All of this on the night of a big celebration.’
    ‘Maybe the killer wanted to scare the guests,’ Veron offered.
    ‘Perhaps, though there are more subtle ways of scaring people.’
    ‘The killer might worship Trymus.’ Leana indicated the statue and offerings.
    ‘Another possibility – it’s a rather morbid sacrifice, if it is one. It’s not uncommon for his temples to receive blood donations, though it is usually from oxen, goat or
chickens. How long do you