"In the Grafton knight's room? How did he end up there?" Ian pressed.
"I don't know, my lord."
"What about the knight?"
"Gone. His squire too," Janey shook her head. "I followed your orders and knocked. When there was no answer the first time, I left briefly. After waiting in the hall, I knocked again—still no response. When I pushed the door, it wasn't locked."
"And you saw Black Hawk's body?"
"Yes."
"Did you see how he died?"
"What?"
"What wounds were on the body?"
"Forgive me, my lord—I was so frightened I screamed immediately. Mercenaries rushed in, and when they realized it was their leader, chaos erupted. I didn't dare stay and ran straight to you."
"Damn it." Ian cursed inwardly. *You're the first witness, and you sprinted directly to me? Now I look suspicious as hell.*
"Arm up. Prepare for a fight."
Rore barricaded the door with tables and chairs while the three suited up in full gear.
Listening intently, Ian could only hope Denzel would honor their agreement if Black Hawk's men stormed upstairs.
But after a long wait, no mercenaries came pounding. Instead, the commotion below gradually died down.
Then, a knock.
"Ser Lucian? Janey? Are you there?"
"It's Auntie," Janey whispered.
"Martha?" Ian called, though he'd already recognized her voice.
"Yes, ser."
"And us," Denzel added.
"What's the situation?"
"Most of Morgan's men have left. Only four remain with his body," Martha replied.
"Open the door." Ian stepped back.
"Could be a trap," Rore muttered.
"Unlikely. If it were, this door wouldn't stop them anyway." If Denzel had turned against him, resistance was futile.
Rore obeyed, moving the barricade and unbarring the door.
Only Martha, Denzel, and Granson stood outside—no army of sellswords.
"Ser Lucian." They bowed slightly.
"Was the killer caught?"
"No."
"Then why did they leave?"
"Choosing a new leader matters more than vengeance, no?" Granson's voice was bitter. "Only Dorian—an orphan Morgan raised—and a few loyalists stayed, swearing revenge. The rest left in a hurry."
"And why are *you* still here?" Ian smirked.
"I—" Granson hesitated, then sighed. "You see through everything, don't you? Fine. Yes, I was with the Black Hawk Company."
"I stayed because I lack the influence to contend for leadership—and serving you seemed far more profitable. But how did you deduce my allegiance?"
"Two clues. First, your stance on the 'Blackfyre treasure.'"
"My stance?"
"You initially assumed I hired you for something perilous—likely thinking I sought the treasure. Right?"
"You... guessed that?" Granson admitted, stunned.
"So at first, you freely discussed it, probing how much I knew. But once you realized I was clueless, you clammed up—because you didn't want another competitor."
"Had you truly been excluded from the hunt like Denzel, you'd have welcomed me as he did, hoping for a share. Your reluctance meant you were either with the landed knights... or Black Hawk's men."
Granson's throat went dry.
"The second clue was how you addressed Morgan."
"Everyone called him 'Morgan.' He hated 'Black Hawk'—it's a title for the company's leader, not him personally," Granson explained hastily.
"I know. Martha and Janey called him 'Morgan'—they're just inn staff. But *you're* a knight. If even Denzel used 'Black Hawk,' why would *you* lower yourself to call another man 'boss'?"
"So... you knew all along? Then why hire me?" Granson paled.
"I told you—I don't care about the treasure. Since I wasn't competing with Morgan, your allegiance didn't matter. I *needed* his men for my plans... though those are ruined now. Speaking of—you'll still serve me, yes?"
"I formally apologize for deceiving you, ser. If you'll have me, my sword is yours."
"You're forgiven. But never lie to me again." Ian turned to Denzel.
"*I* never deceived you, ser. By Queen Nymeria's name, I swear it," the Dornishman vowed.
Nymeria—the warrior queen who led the Rhoynar to Dorne and established equal inheritance for women—was no light oath.
"I know you didn't, friend." Ian nodded, then addressed Martha. "When can the inn reopen?"
"Morgan's men wrecked the place and scared off the guests, but we have spare tables. Business can resume soon... but what about those four seeking vengeance?"
"I could persuade them to leave," Granson offered.
"Why send them away? They're sellswords too, no?"
"They're single-mindedly fixated on revenge. You'll never hire them."
"Ah, but now..." Ian's eyes gleamed. "I've developed an interest in this so-called Blackfyre treasure."
**(End of Chapter)**