1. Keelan

Chapter 1

Keelan

L ieutenant Grieve’s chair wailed as he leaned back and crossed his arms over his brawny chest. His navy Guard cloak trailed behind, held in place by a silver clasp fashioned in the shield of the Melucian Empire. Unlike my shiny new clasp, his bore the dings and patina that came with seasoning and experience.

His glare might’ve come from those things, too.

“A missing ledger, huh?” I stared at the single sheet of parchment sitting on the desk in front of me, struggling to hide my disappointment.

Grieve’s office was dimly lit by slivers of afternoon sun filtering through dusty windows. It was crammed with shelves that held more cases than I could count. Most were important—murder, smuggling, disappearances.

Not missing account logs.

“You wanted a case, Rea. Here it is.” Grieve’s gravelly voice was like a rusty chain yanking a cart out of a ditch. My eyes jerked up to find his gaze boring through me. “You’re a year out of the Academy. Besides, that book is important to its owner. Think of the victim, not your own pride. You’re not too good to chase down a missing ledger.”

I gulped down my frustration—and the embarrassment from being scolded by my new Lieutenant.

After years of training, I’d been hoping for something with a little more weight: a break-in or a robbery, maybe even a smuggling ring. I wasn’t expecting to be assigned to find some Merchant’s book of numbers the man likely misplaced in a forgetful moment. Still, this was my first real assignment, and I knew better than to push back. The shopkeeper—and the Lieutenant—deserved better from me.

“I understand, sir.”

Grieve cocked a brow and leaned forward. “Do you?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get it done.”

Grieve’s stare lingered a moment before he nodded and sat back, his ancient chair protesting once more. “Good. Hadrin Albrecht runs an accounting office down near the western docks. His business isn’t what it used to be, but he’s still well connected. If he’s claiming theft, we take it seriously.”

I picked up the parchment, scanning the details. The ledger was stolen two nights ago with no sign of forced entry.

“Any leads?” I set the paper down.

“What you see is what we’ve got.” Grieve motioned to the parchment, then stood and began straightening his cloak. “Just remember, Rea, you represent the Guard now. Polish that clasp before you leave.”

“Yes, sir.” I grabbed the parchment, tucked it into my cloak’s inner pocket, and turned to leave. Grieve’s voice stopped me at the door.

“You’ve got potential, Rea. Your Gift could set you apart. Don’t screw this up by thinking it’s beneath you.”

I stared into his unflinching eyes as the weight of his words settled into my chest.

The truth was I didn’t think the case was beneath me—I just wanted more. I wanted to make a name for myself, to do something important, something that mattered.

But if this was where it started, then so be it.

The streets were busy as I made my way across town to Albrecht’s office. The late afternoon crowd was thick with dock workers, shop owners, and city folk going about their business. My boots thudded against the cobblestones, splashing in murky puddles left by recent rains.

I reached the western docks, where the scent of fish and sweat filled the air. The river that ran through the heart of Saltstone moved slower than syrup on hotcakes and was half as clear, but trade flowed throughout the capital thanks to its pungent waters.

Albrecht’s office was tucked between a tavern and a shipwright’s workshop. The door creaked as I pushed it open and stepped into a cramped but brightly lit room. Shelves stacked high with ledgers and accounting books lined the walls. Flames danced in glass globes above polished lanterns scattered throughout. A reed-thin man wearing spectacles with lenses that made his eyes bug out sat hunched over a pile of parchment behind a small desk.

When I entered, the man looked up.

His bulging eyes scanned me, taking their time reaching my face and, though it seemed impossible, widened as he watched me duck beneath a beam in the low ceiling.

“You’re the Guard they sent?”

His words held none of the confidence I hoped my cloak might inspire, but still I pressed forward.

“I am. Guardsman Keelan Rea,” I said. “Lieutenant Grieve sent me about your missing ledger.”

Albrecht’s eyes flickered toward the door, as if he expected someone else to follow behind me. I was used to that reaction—people expected Constables to be older, tougher, with hair streaked gray. I might’ve been a foot taller and more muscular than most men, but I still looked young, even for my age.

“Thank you for coming,” Albrecht said, clearing his throat and wringing his hands. “I was unsure if the Guard would take this seriously.”

I motioned toward the chair across from his desk.

When he nodded, I dragged the chair back and sat, then pulled out the parchment with the case details. “I understand a ledger was stolen from your office. When did you notice it was missing?”

“Two nights ago,” Albrecht said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I keep it locked in the back office behind a reinforced door. When I went to make the day’s notations, the door was open and the ledger was gone.”

“Were you here all day? You didn’t hear anything?”

“Yes.” He nodded his head, then shook it. “And no. It’s as if someone just . . . appeared inside.”

I studied him for a moment. His nervousness felt real, but there was something else, a hesitation, a subtle shift in his tone. The skin of my neck began to itch the longer I stared. He wasn’t telling me everything.

“What kind of records were in the ledger?” I kept my voice low and neutral.

Albrecht’s hands unclasped only to clamp onto the edge of the desk. “Just . . . accounts. Debts, transactions, payments. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

His eyes darted away from mine.

I felt the lie in his words like a ripple in still water. The itching grew until it felt like a thousand stings pricking between my shoulder blades.

“Mr. Albrecht, I need to know what was in that ledger if I’m going to help you.”

He swallowed, his gaze still avoiding mine.

“It is . . . sensitive,” he muttered. “I handle finances for clients who do not want their dealings made public. Wealth makes men tight-lipped, if you get my meaning.”

“Who are these clients?”

Albrecht shifted in his chair, his face pale. “People with connections. Nobles, Merchants, powerful families.”

“Criminal element?”

His eyes fell to the desk and fixed as though looking up might burn his eyes.

“Mr. Albrecht, what was in that ledger? Was it a single client’s information? What would cause someone to steal it?”

He blinked a few times. “It contained information on a number of . . . prominent people in Saltstone. Any one of them—or their rivals—might want those pages.”

I leaned back, considering. “And do you have any idea who might have taken it?”

He hesitated again, still not looking up. The silence stretched between us.

“No,” he said, his voice a whisper. “I . . . have no idea.”

My Gift screamed in the meat of my back. Another lie.

“Can you describe what this ledger looks like?”

Albrecht hefted a book from his desk. “Like this one. They all look the same. Brown leather binding, my own hand on the spine. I keep them uniformed so no one client’s ledger stands out.”

“How many of these little books do you have here?”

His sheepish smile was almost warm. “Hundreds. I have many clients.”

“All right,” I said, standing up. “I’ll need to take a look around your office, check the back where the ledger was kept.”

The accountant nodded, standing. “Of course. This way.”

He led me through the narrow hallway into a small back room where the door hung ajar. Inside, shelves lined the walls, filled with more ledgers and stacks of parchment. A small round table in the center of the room was empty, save for a single inkpot, quill, and lantern.

“This is where I kept it,” Albrecht said, gesturing toward a heavy iron lock on the door. “The door was still locked when I found it, but the ledger was gone.”

I kneeled by the door, inspecting the lock. It looked sturdy enough, not the kind of thing an amateur thief could pick easily. There were no dents on the metal, no scratches, and the floor beneath the door was free of chips or wooden shards one might expect if the door had been pried open.

“Has anyone else been in here recently? Any visitors or clients?”

Albrecht shook his head. “I never let anyone back here. These ledgers are the life of my business.”

I almost winced at the sting between my shoulder blades.

Another lie.

I scanned the volumes on the shelves. Every book had its place. Every shelf had a label. Even the spines lined up perfectly against the front of each shelf, as if the man had taken a ruler to them in some obsessive cleaning ritual.

There was only one hole in the wall of binders.

“When did you notice the ledger was missing?”

“This morning. I lock everything up at night and start the next day by digging out the ledgers for that day’s clients. Pulling ledgers off the shelves is the first thing I do each day.”

That made sense, and the empty space in the rows of binders was about as subtle as a black cat sitting in a row of white puppies.

“Mind if I look around the rest of your shop?”

“Of course.” Albrecht held out a hand toward the front of the building. “Whatever you need.”

There were three rooms in the cramped space: the front where Albrecht did most of his work and met with clients, the locked storeroom where he kept his documents, and a tiny room containing little more than a cot and side table.

“Sleep here often?”

Albrecht chuckled. “More than I might like. Definitely more than my wife likes, and she’s not shy about telling me so.”

I grunted as I kneeled to look under the cot. I didn’t suspect the thief hid under there, but dark corners made me curious. Stretching my back as I rose, I turned toward the front. “Have you noticed anything else missing? Anything from your desk or the shelves in your office?”

“I went through everything.” Albrecht shook his head. “As you can imagine, my inventory lists are catalogued. If something was missing, I would know it. It didn’t even look like the dust around the older ledgers had been disturbed.”

Despite the clutter of hundreds of ledgers, the shelves remained orderly and neat.

“What do these numbers mean?” I ran my finger down the spine of one book, noting the blocky lettering scrawled along its length.

“It’s my own code for the client’s name. ‘A’ is the first letter of the alphabet, so it’s a one, and so on. I use the first letter of a client’s first name, then the first three letters of the last name.”

“Why use a code?”

He waved around the room. “This is where I meet everyone. If I used names, everyone in town would know who my clients are.”

“Are most of your clients concerned about privacy?”

His widened eyes and quirked lips told me how stupid my question was.

“ Every client is concerned with privacy, regardless of their business. Some far more so than others.”

His eyes darted away as he said those last words, making the tiny hairs on my neck hop to attention.

“Mr. Albrecht, who were the clients in the missing ledger?”

The man blanched, all color draining from his face so quickly I thought he might pass out.

“I could never . . . that is private, Guardsman. Please, don’t ask me—”

“I understand.” I held up a palm, then turned and scanned the shelves one last time. “I’ve seen enough for the moment. I need to check a few things out but will be back with more questions. In the meantime, if anything else comes to mind, anything at all, please contact me.”

Albrecht nodded, the tense lines around his eyes easing for the first time since I’d arrived. “Of course. Thank you, Guardsman.”

The stale air of the docks filled my lungs as I made my way out of the river district. Albrecht was lying about something—several somethings, if my intuition and Gift were aligned. Add to that, protecting client confidentiality was one thing. The man’s complete unwillingness to offer any information on their identity when far more sensitive information was missing was frustrating.

Whoever had taken the ledger knew what they were looking for, and whatever was in it wasn’t just sensitive information. It was dangerous.

I scratched the stubble on my head and tried to think of next steps. Other than the accountant’s lack of forthrightness, I didn’t have any clues. But this was my first case, and there was no way I could return to the compound without making any progress. Grieve would tear me a new one.

For the briefest moment, I thought about visiting Sergeant Sted. He’d been my mentor since my first days living with the Mages. He had also served in a Guard cloak for more than thirty years. Unfortunately, Sted was more of a hit-you-over-the-head kind of Guardsman, and I needed a figure-out-who-dunnit counselor.

My lips curled for the first time that day.

I knew who might help.