The lost ashes

The forest held its breath as Lucian and Dante returned to the chariot, their search for medicine having taken them deeper into the woods than planned. The cold bit at Lucian's fingers as he adjusted the satchel of herbs - willow bark, feverfew, and other common remedies they'd scavenged from an abandoned village apothecary. None as potent as what Kael truly needed.

Dante's nostrils flared as he trotted ahead, his massive hooves punching craters in the fresh snow. The skeletal horse suddenly stiffened, his ears twitching forward. Lucian's hand drifted to the dagger concealed in his coat before he even saw it.

The carefully arranged camouflage of pine boughs had been torn aside. Their hidden chariot now stood exposed, its door slightly ajar like an invitation.

"Someone was here," Lucian murmured, eyes scanning the treeline for movement. The snow told no tales - no footprints, no disturbed earth. Only the violent parting of their concealment.

Dante needed no prompting. Blue flames erupted across his body as he transformed mid-stride, flesh melting away to reveal the nightmare steed beneath. He reached the chariot in three bounding steps, his skeletal muzzle pushing the door wider. "Kael!"

The sight within gave them both pause.

Kael sat upright on the cot, color already returning to his cheeks, a half-finished bowl of soup balanced in his palms. He blinked at them, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. The rich aroma of herbs and roasted game filled the cramped space.

"You're looking remarkably alive for someone who nearly died yesterday," Lucian drawled as he stepped inside, shutting the door with his heel. His sharp eyes darted across every surface, noting the unfamiliar scent lingering beneath the soup's aroma. "And since when do you cook?"

Kael frowned. "I don't. I thought you left this." He nodded toward a slip of parchment resting on the bedside table.

Lucian plucked the note between two fingers, holding it to the dim light. Two words in elegant script: From your friend.

"Well, well," he murmured, gloved fingers trailing along the cot's edge. "Someone's been playing nursemaid."

Dante's skull swung toward Lucian. "You didn't—"

"Obviously." Lucian plucked the soup bowl from Kael's hands, swirling the contents thoughtfully. "Carrots, potatoes, wild thyme - locally sourced. Freshly made, not reheated." He brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. "No bitter almond scent."

Kael's eyes widened. "You can smell poison?"

"No," Lucian admitted, "but it's dramatic, isn't it?" Before anyone could react, he took a deliberate sip.

Kael nearly launched from the bed. "ARE YOU INSANE?"

Lucian swallowed with theatrical relish. "Relax. If they wanted you dead, they'd have used something faster than soup-based poison." He licked his lips. "Though the thyme is slightly overdone."

Dante's skeletal jaw clacked in annoyance. "Could we focus? Who broke into our magically concealed chariot to play housekeeper?"

Lucian was already moving, his investigator's gaze sweeping the interior. His fingers danced across the shelves until they closed around a small glass vial tucked between two medical texts. "Ah."

The label read in precise lettering: For fever and deep wounds. Dosage: 3 drops in water.

"Fascinating." Lucian uncorked it, sniffing the contents. His eyebrows rose. "Willow bark, feverfew... and silverleaf extract. Military-grade analgesic."

Kael's frown deepened. "Since when do you know medicine?"

"Since always," Lucian said, examining the vial in the light. "I spent three months posing as an apothecary's apprentice in CryoIsle. Best way to learn which poisons leave traces and which disappear cleanly."

Dante snorted. "Of course you did."

Lucian crouched, running a finger along the floorboards near the storage chest. "Dust patterns disturbed here... and here." He pointed to nearly imperceptible scuff marks. "Light footsteps. Confident movements. Knew exactly where to look."

His gaze locked onto the chest. With deliberate slowness, he lifted the lid.

The urn was gone.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"They took the ashes," Lucian said flatly.

The reaction was instantaneous. Kael's fist slammed into the wall hard enough to shake the chariot. Dante's flames flared violently, casting eerie blue shadows across the walls.

"WHAAAAAT?!"

Lucian sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yes, yes, very dramatic. But consider this—" He held up the empty vial. "Why go through the trouble of healing Kael only to steal funeral ashes? Not for gold. Not for power."

Kael's voice came out strangled. "Then why?"

"Sentiment," Lucian murmured. "Or strategy." He pocketed the vial with a sharp motion. "Either way, we're dealing with someone who knew Elara and Jasen... or knows enough to use them against us."

Dante's flames dimmed to smoldering embers. "So what now?"

Lucian's smirk returned, sharp as a razor. He tossed the empty soup bowl in the air, catching it neatly by the rim. "Now? We follow the trail of someone polite enough to leave us dinner before robbing us."