Chapter 340: The Funeral Was Written First (1)
The Capital courier sat upright in the plush armchair near the cold hearth of the lavish guest room, as stiff and formal in death as he had been in life. His white-and-gold coat was neat, his boots were polished, and his eyes stared fixed and glassy at the plaster ceiling.
On the polished floor, his leather dispatch satchel lay open and empty. A cold draft blew through the open casement window, stirring the hem of the curtains as dusk settled over the Academy compound.
Helion did not step toward the chair. He turned in the doorway, his golden armor catching the amber glow of the corridor sconces, and faced the stairwell.
"Hold your posts," Helion ordered the two stairwell sentries. His golden eyes went from one guard to the other. "Do not speak to each other. Walk twenty paces down opposite ends of the hall and face the stone until my officers take your statements."
