A bit later, Demos alluded to how stuffy it was inside and headed out to get some fresh air. His left temple was aching ominously, telling him that a new migraine was going to be hitting shortly. The wide terrace decorated with marble statues of half-naked girls with pitchers on their shoulders was empty. The laughter of the guests drifted up from the garden.
Demos sat down at the top of the narrow side staircase leading down to the fountain, pulled out his smoking accessories, and started filling his pipe. And even though he knew Ihraz was watching him, he couldn’t figure out where he was watching from. When he decided to play hide-and-seek, the Ennian didn’t give anyone else a shot.
The manager in charge of the festivities had outdone himself. Small candles in glass candleholders hung from fragile threads, creating the illusion that they were floating in mid-air, and Demos felt much better in the gentle glow than he had in the packed and brightly lit hall.
I can hide here for a bit, at least.
The reception had done him in. The duke lit a match with one of the candles and puffed into his pipe, though his enjoyment of the silence wasn’t long-lived—footsteps approached from behind him. A man and a woman spoke animatedly in Ennian. Demos recognized one voice as belonging to King Enrige, though he didn’t put himself through the trouble of getting up and greeting the king the way etiquette dictated.
You’re the last person I want to see, and you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to jump up and start bowing all over the place. This is a private audience that nobody has to do all that for.
“Your Grace?” The Gatson was a good actor, and his feigned surprise was convincing as he stopped next to the master of the house. “How unexpected, really!”
“An excellent evening, is it not?” Demos asked without turning to look at the king. “Such a clear sky—it’s almost like we can see the Crystal Hall.”
A subtle hint that now’s not the time. Will Your Bombasity deign to notice it?
“The weather really is lovely. But as long as we’re here, let me introduce my daughter Vittoria to you.”
That’s a low blow, you sly dog. I can’t not be respectful to a lady.
Clenching the stem of his pipe between his teeth, Demos fumbled for his cane and pulled himself to his feet. Vittoria dipped into a flawless courtesy to which Devaton replied by bowing and kissing her hand.
She was a sight to behold. Tall for a Gatson, she was graceful and, out of step with the imperial fashion, didn’t try to turn her face deathly pale. Her dark hair was tucked into a heavy headpiece in the shape of two horns, and the semi-transparent veil over her face reminded Demos that the southern girl was strikingly beautiful even for the palace. A layered dress with a long train was littered with the innumerable pearls, for which Gatson was renowned.
But the whole picture was ruined by her arrogant and icy stare. Not a single muscle in Vittoria’s face twitched when the Burned Lord flashed her an abominable smile.
Revolting, but I like it, curses. Unbending hubris! An imperishable confidence in her own superiority over the world. It’s either a defense mechanism or incredible temerity.
“Lady Vittoria,” Demos said with a ceremonious bow. “It’s an honor.”
She got a close-up look at all my burns and scars, and nice work by her—she didn’t show a bit of fright or disgust. Excellent upbringing.
“You’re so kind, Your Grace.” Vittoria gave him another impeccable courtesy, lowered her eyes, and fell silent.
Devaton smiled politely and turned to her father.
“I’ll admit, you caught me unawares.”
“That’s my daughter for you. She’s far too beautiful not to muddy a man’s mind,” Enrige said with a grin as he stroked his pomaded beard. “Be careful, Lord Demos. Nobody can stand up to Vittoria’s charms.”
We’ll see about that.
“I hope you received my invitation?” the treasurer asked, changing the subject.
Enrige nodded.
“Of course, though let’s talk business later. For now, I just wanted to pay my respects to the master of the house and, needless to say, show Vittoria your mother’s famous garden.”
And you just happened to find me on the far side? Yes, I’m sure.
Demos twisted his lips into a smile.
“Feel right at home, Your Majesty. I would be delighted to show you around, but, unfortunately, I have to head back inside.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the Gatson replied with a smile. He pulled Vittoria closer. “I’ll look forward to speaking with you.”
Enrige took his daughter by the arm and helped her down the stairs. Devaton watched them go as they strolled grandly down the main alley and spoke with animated gestures. The breeze nearly pulled the delicate veil off Vittoria’s headpiece, though the king grabbed the piece of cloth and returned it with a laugh. The girl chuckled in a pleasantly low voice. Behind the royal family, at a respectful distance, followed a colorful retinue that had appeared out of nowhere.
It was only then that Demos remembered the pipe that had burned out in his mouth, and he cleared his head with a shake.
Vittoria had indeed done a number on him.
***
At the entrance to the ceremonial hall, where the elite were twirling in dance, Ihraz met Demos.
“The chancellor is here.”
“Have Lahel show him to the blue office. And make sure nobody bothers him there.”
“As you wish, Master.” The servant melted into the colorful mob.
How does he do that? You blink, and he’s gone.
While the residence formally belonged to Demos, his mother ran the place, which meant that the many peepholes and secret passageways got a workout. Lady Eltinia knew how to get information. She’d taught Demos the same, and he would’ve been lying if he’d claimed he hadn’t made extensive use of that knowledge.
And that’s the problem: you thought you’d teach me what you’re so good at, and that would make me adopt your worldview. But I’m only half-Ennian, mother, and I see the world differently. I know all your ways and methods, I can unlock latches and crypts, and I can anticipate almost all your moves. You’re frustrated by the fact that I took the best of your love for intrigue and went a step further, following different rules in a new place. And in the meantime, you continue playing the same old cards from the Ennian deck as though you’re still living in Sifares. Wake up, mother. The game is too dangerous for people like us.
Lahel was waiting for her master at the door to the office. He’d loved it ever since he was young—the cool, windowless space stored the old maps and scrolls his father had kept in Amellon’s library. Demos adored studying the ancients. Of course, he’d had to study them under the watchful eye of his father.
I forgot how calming it is here. I’ll have to stop by more often.
Irving was sitting in the massive chair and looking around at the bookshelves. Recent times were wearing heavily on him—the skin was tight around his skull, his eyes were sunken, and there was an unhealthy pallor creeping over his face. Still, the look in his eyes was as clear as ever.
“I knew you were an educated man, Lord Demos, but I wouldn’t have expected such a passion for the history of the Ancient Empire,” Allantain said when the door closed quietly behind Devaton.
Demos lit a few tall candles and settled into the chair across from the chancellor.
“Inherited from my father. I just wish I had time to study it all.”
“Maybe it’s better that way. The church doesn’t approve of excessive interest in the Ancient Empire.”
“After what you and I did, the masters would be happy to burn us for treason even without the books,” Demos replied.
Irving chuckled gruffly.
“You think so? After we did them a service by keeping the state from falling into turmoil?”
“It’s a question of how we accomplished that. They might not be happy that we didn’t share all the information with them.”
“Whatev
er the case, what’s done is done, and nobody besides us knows about it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. What if we’re missing something?”
“If someone’s in the loop, why haven’t they said anything?”
“They could be waiting for something.”
“But what?” the chancellor croaked. “If someone is trying to spring a coup, my advice would be to do it now while the new emperor hasn’t been selected and the country is being run by the Small Council. As soon as we have a new ruler, playing the old ruler’s last will as a trump card will be hard. Also, the document itself is gone, and I don’t remember any copies being made.”
“What about Izara? We still haven’t found her,” Devaton replied with a guilty shrug. “Although, I hope to shed light on that secret soon.”
Irving said nothing, instead massaging his aching joints.
“It’s dangerous, Demos,” he said finally. “Very dangerous.”
“My younger brother is in the Order. Renar is too young to have much influence, but he was still able to help me trace a thread.”
“I hope you’re successful. In the interests of the state.”
Or your own?
“Of course,” Devaton replied with a nod. “What else is on your mind, Lord Irving?”
Allantain fixed his colorless eyes on the treasurer.
“I’m still not sure I should bring you into it.”
“Color me intrigued,” Devaton said with a crooked smile. “Although, I’m not pushing. I know too many secrets as it is.”
“It’s awfully tempting to take it with me to my grave rather than exciting your young mind. After all, I’m the last person alive who knows about this.”
Demos impatiently drummed on the table with his fingers.
So, why say anything at all?
“It’s up to you, Lord Irving.”
“You’re a wise man, Demos, and you can decide what to do with this,” the chancellor replied. “We’re conspirators, you and I, but, believe me, what we did is an innocent prank compared to what I’ve seen in my lifetime. Everyone involved paid with their lives except for me.”
Devaton leaned forward.
“Continue.”
The chancellor pulled the long chain with its octagonal pendant off his neck and handed it to the treasurer.
“To start with, I want to leave this with you. When the time comes, you’ll understand.”
Demos looked the pendant over carefully.
“Nothing makes sense yet.”
“I don’t want to put you in any risk—my duty isn’t yet complete, and taking you with me to the Crystal Hall would be a crime against the empire. You have much left to do.”
“Are you sick? Or is someone threatening you?” Demos wasn’t able to keep the tension out of his voice, and it cracked.
Why can’t I shake the feeling that you’re here to say goodbye? This is really strange and unlike you. What’s gotten into your skinny ass, Irving?
“Death has been breathing down my neck for a long time, my friend,” the old man said with a shrug. “Whether it comes on its own or is aided in its hunt for me is unimportant—I’m ready. But I want you to swear that whatever happens, neither my son nor my nephew will be involved. Until you decide to make public what you learn, if, in fact, you decide to do so, swear that nobody will touch them. Can you do that?”
“They won’t find out,” Demos replied gruffly.
What’s going on?
A slender needle of pain appeared somewhere deep in his skull.
“Also,” the chancellor continued, “don’t show anyone what I gave you. I want them to be sure that the secret died with me when I go.”
“Who are they?”
“You can find that out if you want to know.”
“We’ll see, Lord Irving. We’ll see…” Demos rubbed his temples in an attempt to hold off the spasms.
Allantain stood up with a groan and leaned on his bone-encrusted staff with visible relief.
“See? I can’t even walk without help—the end is almost here.”
Devaton laughed mirthlessly and nodded at his cane.
“I’m half as old as you, and I need one, too. What does that say about me?”
“Death is right behind you, too, my friend! That’s obvious. On the other hand, you have the strength to string it along. The closer people are to the throne, the more often they find themselves dead. I’m long since an old man, and what I hold in my head has aged me even faster. My advice to you, Demos, is to never take on the role of chancellor, even if the entire Small Council begs you on their knees.”
“I’d like to see that.”
Irving laughed revoltingly.
“Enjoy the sight, but turn them down. Taking the job would only finish what that fire started. Forgive my tactlessness, but I want you to be clear about that. The chancellorship would kill you.”
A shadow rippled across Devaton’s face. Irving peered closer at the burns, and Demos glanced at his hands as they gripped his cane. In the gloom of the office, the ugliness wasn’t as striking, but it was still there.
“Does it still hurt?” Allantain nodded at the scars.
Demos shook his head wearily.
“Not anymore. Years have passed, but I still remember it as if it were yesterday.”
“You’ll never forget that. Get used to it.”
“I’m not trying to forget. I do sleep badly at night, though.”
“It’ll get worse, believe me. Just in case, goodbye.”
Allantain walked out, leaving the treasurer alone with his strange gift. Demos turned it over in his hands, though he couldn’t figure out the meaning. But the pain in his head wasn’t letting him focus.
I’ve seen something like this. I just wish I could remember where.
Lahel stuck her head inside the door. Demos hurriedly dropped the mysterious object in his pocket.
“Your mother would like to see you, Master.”
“It’s been how many years? And she still kicks me out of this office,” he replied with a sad smile. “Nothing ever changes.”
“What’s that?” The bodyguard had noticed the chain peeking out of his pocket. Demos stuffed it back inside before standing up.
“I wish I knew, my dear. I wish I knew…”
Chapter 27. Ellisdor
“Okay, there are four of them,” Jert summed up, taking the torch Artanna handed him. “The night’s going to be long. Are you at least going to let me have some fun after this, Commander?”
“You didn’t get enough of that, you dog?” the Vagran shot back, remembering that Gregor was there. Jert had screwed up royally by seducing the ambassador’s servant girl, but the Hundred leader wasn’t about to turn him over to the duke. A scandal wouldn’t exactly have helped a partnership that was already on shaky ground. “Get to work, Copper.”
They’d gathered in a small room that had once been a spot for the guards to relax. After Lord Rolf died, the underground areas weren’t used as much, the guards heading up to where it was warmer and the prisoners enjoying better treatment. They tended to be housed in the Lower City’s new jail. Most cells down where they found themselves were used as storerooms, in fact.
“Get on with it—we’ve lost a ton of time as it is,” Gregor said, staring unblinkingly into the dark entrance. Aldor stood next to the duke, both hands on his massive bunch of keys. In the meantime, Artanna lit a thick candle and placed it on the empty table. The wax crackled grumpily, the flame illuminating part of the woman’s face.
“As you wish,” she replied, getting up from her bench.
Jert stopped her.
“Let me. I’m going to start by just talking.”
“We tried that,” Voldhard replied irritably. “It didn’t get us anywhere.”
“You may not have asked the right questions in the right language,” the Ennian said with a respectful smile. “If my guess is right, we’ll get our guy without making any innocents suffer. Wouldn’t you
prefer it that way?”
Gregor nodded.
“If you have a plan, Ennian, go for it. I need results, not chatter.”
Copper grinned.
“Oh, you have no idea how helpful chatter can be.” With a wink at everyone there, he headed down into the darkness of the dungeons. His soft footfalls echoed in the air. Suddenly, Jert stopped to run his fingers across an outcropping in the wall and breathe in deeply. “Stinks like a crypt, smells like loneliness and despair. I love it.”
After watching Copper continue on, Gregor turned to Artanna.
“You trust him?”
“Of course not,” the woman snorted. “He’s a mercenary.”
“That’s odd,” Aldor said. “It looked to me like you and your fighters trust each other.”
“Yes, because I pay them well and on time.” The Vagran shivered in the cold and pulled her cloak tighter. “If I stop paying them, Vezzam and Shrain will be the only ones to stay, and even they won’t be around long. Don’t worry, Aldor. Copper may be a bastard, but he’s smart.”
Gregor shrugged.
“But how can you keep people around that you don’t trust?”
Artanna fixed her eyes on Voldhard.
“Maybe you should think about how wise it is to trust everyone you have close to you.”
Jert walked slowly across the wet stone slabs and thought back to the delights the golden-haired girl had to offer. A nasty draft licked at his legs, and he was still feeling the frustration in his nether regions. It was just a shame that Artanna had interrupted him—he’d been in the middle of an interesting experience with that Latanian girl. Incidentally, he’d never had a Vagran, either. But right then wasn’t the time to think about missed opportunities.
The first thing Jert noticed was that the conversation with the servants had gotten off to a good start under Gregor Voldhard—there wasn’t an untouched patch of skin on their bodies. Taking a deep breath, he made a mental note not to get the duke angry at him.
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