Right now, it was back to the task that had been entrusted to him.
First, though, he really needed to tend the cut on his cheek. It was going to scar, but he didn't need to make it worse. He paused at a public fountain to clean his face, so he didn't look so much like a mad terror running amuck in the city, and then got directions to the nearest healer.
An hour later, he was patched up and ready to go to bed, but his work was only beginning. Thankfully, the healer had given him the locations of the town's three goldsmiths. One was even close, and then he could swing by the inn and get his horse before heading for the two across town.
The air was only getting colder as the day went on, and would be well into deadly once dark fell, but there was nothing he could do about it. He'd get as far as he could today, and then sort out what to do tomorrow.
Do his best not to think about how damned lonely his life seemed suddenly.
Argh, whatever. He had been alone before and it hadn't killed him; he'd be just fine now too. Well, he'd be fine eventually. Especially now he didn't have to see Everard and Odilia again.
Pinching his eyes shut, he took several deep breaths, until the stabbing, twisting pain in his chest subsided. Opening his eyes again, he pressed on, more relieved than was warranted when the little sign for the goldsmith shop came into view.
The shop was surprisingly warm as he stepped in and closed the door. Rubbing his face to thaw it a bit, he approached the counter. On the other side of it, an old man slowly rose from a chair where he'd been working on some bit of jewelry and stiffly walked up to the counter. "Can I help you, young— Oh, sir knight, my pardon. What can I do for you?"
"You are Master Spyro?"
"I am."
"Thank you for your time. I am hoping to find where this might have been made. I know it's apprentice work, but I don't know where the work was done. Does it look familiar to you?"
Affixing a loupe to one eye, Spyro gingerly took up the hair charm and examined it. "I haven't had an apprentice for years now; the last one moved on to study in a larger city. Young folk, you know. She tended more toward insects and flowers. I never knew her to make animals. This particular style though, more stylistic and fanciful than accurate… you might try Jofferson."
"That's the one at Red Circle?"
"That's him," Spyro said with a smile that was polite and distracted. "Anything else I can do, Sir Knight?"
"No, thank you for your time," Leonine replied. "I appreciate the help. Good day."
Back out in the cold, he headed quickly for the inn, tense and irritable for no good reason. Well, no, he had hoped this first stop would provide answers, and instead he was going to have to go all the way across town after all. By the time he got back, it would be well into dark. He just wanted rest.
Duty first, though. Reaching the inn, he paused long enough to grab a mug of hot cider before going to get his horse. By the time the stable hands had his horse ready, the cider was gone and Leonine was feeling moderately better.
He rode off, pulling up his cowl to ward off the worst of the miserable wind, setting the horse to an easy pace, so they wouldn't endanger pedestrians or spook any animals milling around, the usual assortment of chickens, goats, and other livestock brought in toward evening and when the weather was too miserable for grazing. He did not miss sharing sleeping space with goats.
The goldsmith on Red Circle had a handsome shop, nothing remotely like the sad little shack he'd visited first. Leonine was vastly more acquainted with the first type of shop, but technically he could now afford this second one quite easily. It was a strange thought that didn't feel quite real yet.
His chest gave a twisting ache as he thought of all the goods he would have happily bought for Odilia and Everard. Jewelry, fine fabrics, the best wines, horses, even a carriage… He would have given them anything. Everything. Still not enough.
Sighing, he tethered his horse to the post in front of the shop and headed inside.
Two clerks were at the counter, and behind it at the worktable were four figures bent over their work—three women and a man. At the very back, sitting behind a massive desk, was presumably the proprietor, a man nearly as big as the desk.
"Good afternoon, Sir Knight," one of the clerks greeted. "How may we be of service?"
"I need to speak with the proprietor on a matter of Queen's business, please," Leonine said. The clerk's eyes widened before he caught himself, and then he was gone, heading brisky but smoothly to the back of the room.
The proprietor rose and immediately headed for the counter. "I'm always honored to serve Her Majesty. What can I do?"
"Master Jofferson?" When he nodded, Leonine continued, "Would you look at this charm? I am attempting to find who made it, though I realize it's apprentice work and so pinning down an exact maker is difficult."
Jofferson snorted. "Not hardly. This is Spyro's work, from our apprentice days. You can see by this tiny 'X' here on the hoof. We aren't legally allowed to mark them for sale, but we had our own private little tells." He handed Leonine his loupe and pointed to a tiny mark on the front right hoof. "There."
Leonine looked, stones sinking into his stomach, the back of his neck burning with anger and humiliation. "He said this was likely done by you."
"Spyro is a damned liar, and he's had a lot of practice," Jofferson said. "He worked here once, right alongside me, years and years ago. He was more interested in shoddy work and fleecing customers, though, so out he went. Guess he's still up to his old tricks."
"Damn it!" Leonine snatched up the charm and bolted, untethering his horse and heeling it to a fast pace, shouting for people to get out of his way as he raced back across the city.
When he reached Spyro's shop, he threw himself off his horse and into the shop.
He wasn't remotely surprised to find it empty, only that Spyro hadn't bothered to lock the door.
An old man couldn't have gotten too far, even with his significant lead.
Stupid, he was so stupid. Such an obvious, careless mistake, a child's trick and he'd fallen for it like a fool. Cimar would be ashamed of him.
Recrimination would have to wait. Leaping over the counter, he crossed to the door at the back of the shop and then up a set of creaky steps to the room above the shop.
Also empty, but showed signs someone had packed in haste. Multiple someones. The killers had been here. Leonine slammed his fist against the wall. Damn it.
Moving further into the room, he made a cursory search for anything useful, but only came up with a secret compartment in the floor that had been opened and never closed again. A stash. So Spyro and the killers had made a run for it, and had suitable funds to do so. Fuck.
Returning outside to his horse, Leonine swung up into the saddle and headed off. If they'd raided a stash and whatever they could hastily throw in a knapsack, they weren't planning on hiding in the city. Nor was it likely they'd double back to the royal city. No, they were headed further east, either northeast to the larger city there, or slightly more dead east to the large port city where ships were happy to take on last minute passengers, no questions asked, as long as the money was good.
Thankfully, they wouldn't have had time to reach the fork, so he didn't have to play that guessing game—yet.