I grimaced. “Which means that the merchant guild hasn’t been actively searching out the merchants that formed the consortium all this time, as we assumed.”
“What,” General Daeriun said, voice tight, his patience worn thin, “consortium?”
I stared at him a moment, uncertain where to begin. “Before I claimed the throne, Alendor, one of the merchants in Amenkor, began forming a consortium, using a few merchants from Amenkor and others scattered up and down the coast. Tarrence was the consortium’s connection in Marlett. They were attempting to take over all the trade in Amenkor, perhaps attempting to gain control of the Skewed Throne itself, but I . . . interfered.”
“She kept them from eliminating the remaining merchants in Amenkor,” Erick said, in a low rumble. There was pride in his voice, even though he spoke quietly. “And then she mastered of the throne itself, so that they could not use the ruling Mistress and her insanity as a mask for their own actions.”
“But,” Daeriun said pointedly.
I forced myself to look away from Erick.
“But,” I said, “by the time I’d taken the throne, Alendor and his consortium had fled Amenkor. We sent out warnings through the merchant guild, and I was assured by the merchants in Amenkor that if Alendor or any of his cohorts were found, they’d be punished.
“It wasn’t until later that we learned Alendor had run to the Chorl. He, with the help of Baill, the captain of the palace guard in Amenkor, stole supplies from Amenkor during the winter and handed them over to the Chorl.”
Daeriun watched me intently, brow furrowed in thought. Then he turned to William. “And you think that not only Alendor but his entire consortium turned to the Chorl, helped them.”
William nodded. “If Tarrence is here, then he—or someone else in the consortium—probably initiated the contact between the Chorl and Demasque. Demasque controls the most significant trading fleet in Venitte. And he, like Vaiana Parmati has . . . ambitions.”
“He’s greedy,” Daeriun said shortly, vehemently. “He’s been a thorn in Lord March’s side since Olivan Demasque—Artren’s father—died and Artren took over the business.” He looked at me. “That still doesn’t explain how Haqtl knew of the Stone Throne.” He glanced toward Sorrenti, still seated rigidly in the center of the room, barely breathing.
“If Alendor’s consortium brought Haqtl into Venitte for a meeting—with Demasque or any of the Council—I think Haqtl would have felt the throne. He would have known it was here.” I paused a moment, then added, “I did.”
Daeriun’s eyebrows rose. “Would all of the Chorl Servants know? Would the Chorl priests?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. If anyone with any amount of power could feel the throne, then it wouldn’t have remained such a well-kept secret for so long. I felt its presence through Sorrenti . . . and I think I only felt it then because I’d touched the Skewed Throne. I’m connected to both of the thrones somehow.” I paused, thinking back to the last time I’d Reached for Amenkor. When I’d returned, I’d recovered far too quickly, even taking into account the help of Marielle and the others using the links.
Perhaps I was more connected to the Stone Throne than I thought.
I shrugged the thought aside, turned back to Daeriun. “Haqtl has felt the power of the Skewed Throne as well. He was there when I defeated the Ochean, when I destroyed the throne to save Amenkor. He may have recognized the power behind the Stone Throne, where the other Servants—both Chorl, Amenkor, and those here in Venitte—would not. Marielle hasn’t mentioned sensing anything unusual. Nor Ottul. If any of the Servants from Amenkor or of the Chorl could have sensed it, it would have been them.”
Daeriun’s thin frown twisted. “But would Ottul have told you if she did?”
I thought of Ottul sending out a killing blow on the Defiant, of her in her cabin afterward and since, of her face when I placed part of the Fire inside of her. “Yes, I believe she would have.”
The general seemed surprised at how quickly I answered.
“But it doesn’t matter whether Haqtl knew back then or not,” I said. “He knows now. Alonse overheard us discussing the throne and reported it to Demasque.”
Daeriun snorted. “But does he know where it’s hidden?” He took a step forward. “Do you know where it’s hidden?”
I stilled, my face expressionless. I couldn’t honestly say I knew exactly where the Stone Throne was hidden—
But at the same time, I knew. I’d felt it, on more than one occasion. Its power was unmistakable. It permeated the area around it, made the river heavy with its presence.
I was saved from answering by Sorrenti. He gasped, sucking in a large gasp of air, noisily, as if he’d been holding his breath far too long underwater and had just surfaced. Everyone in the room turned, but only William jumped, startled. Erick and I had been expecting it; Daeriun was too much a soldier to be surprised by something so trivial.
After the first deep breath, Sorrenti broke into a coughing fit, wheezing as he leaned forward, eyes watering.
Everyone waited silently, William moving to pour a glass of wine, setting it down by Sorrenti’s side.
As soon as Sorrenti regained marginal control, Daeriun asked, “What did you find?”
Sorrenti took a sip from the glass. Eyes still red, he said weakly, “There’s definitely something hidden on Vaiana Parmati’s estate. I can’t see into an entire wing of the manse, nor the level below the main house. There’s some kind of warding in place.”
I stood abruptly. “We have to attack them. Now. Before whatever it is they’ve started by killing off their network of spies becomes an all-out attack.”
“No.”
The single word settled into the room like stone.
I turned to Daeriun, tried to smother the instant irritation from my voice with little success. “But you know they’ve already started moving.”
Daeriun faced me, a solid wall, arms crossed over his chest, a pose that reminded me forcibly of Erick. “I know. But after what happened at Demasque’s manse, Lord March will not allow the Protectors to search Parmati’s estate, nor will he grant you permission to raid with the Amenkor guardsmen. He can’t risk that again.”
“But he’s searching the Council members’ ships!”
“That’s different. He’s searching all of the ships that enter the harbor, including those owned and operated by Council members. If he raids one of the Council members’ estates, he’s singling them out. Unless you have evidence that warrants the raid, of course. And smells and the Sight are not going to be enough to sway the Council.”
I glared at Daeriun a long moment, but he didn’t waver. Finally, I let the tension in my shoulders relax. “What about the Seekers?”
Daeriun didn’t move. “What about them?”
“I’ve had them following Demasque and Parmati before this, but they’ve never risked entering their estates. We didn’t want to push what grudging concessions Lord March and the Council had given us. But I can send them inside. They can find out what’s behind the wardings, without being seen. I doubt the wardings have been set to keep people out, only to keep Servants from seeing in.”
I glanced questioningly toward Sorrenti, who nodded in agreement.
Daeriun considered, taking enough time that I began to wonder if he would answer at all.
Sorrenti must have thought the same thing, for he suddenly said, casually, as if we were discussing the weather, “They could go in just to see if military action is warranted, perhaps bring us evidence, something more solid than a scent or the Sight.”
Daeriun remained silent a few more moments, then exhaled slowly. “Any . . . action on your part cannot be approved by Lord March. And if the Chorl are hidden there, and if Lord March approves a raid based on what the Seekers see . . .” He trailed off into silence.
Erick stirred. “No
matter what happens, nothing can be done about it today.”
“Why not?” I said, already planning to send Westen and Tomus to Parmati’s estate. I’d have done it even if Daeriun had not agreed. Because I knew that’s where they must be hidden. Nowhere else made sense. And I was tired of Lord March and Venitte and all of its political maneuvering.
Erick nodded toward the window, toward the gray-black darkness outside, the rain that now came down so hard I could hear it roaring against the walls, against the roof above. A torrential downpour. Nothing could be done in such weather. Even with the river, I would barely be able to see three feet in front of my face.
“And tomorrow it’s going to be next to impossible to get anything done,” Sorrenti said, rising from his seat.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the last day of the Fete,” Daeriun growled. “Everyone anywhere near Venitte will be here, even with the warnings we’ve posted and the ban on masks and the searches at the outskirts of the city. And with the weather as it is now, everyone’s remained inside, expecting it to break so they can enjoy the Fete tomorrow. The streets are going to be impossible to pass through. You won’t be able to go anywhere in a hurry, and forget using a carriage.”
“Besides,” Sorrenti said with a tight smile, “as a visiting dignitary, you’ll be expected to attend the Masquerade in the Stone Garden. All of the members of the Council of Eight will be attending, as well as Lord March.” His smile widened as I frowned. “I’ll send Brandan Vard as an escort. He can accompany you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw William frown as well.
* * *
The moment the rain broke, halfway through the night, Keven woke me and I sent Westen and Tomus out to Vaiana Parmati’s estate.
I couldn’t return to sleep after that. For a while, I Reached and tagged along with Westen, then withdrew when I realized it was tiring me too much. And I wasn’t willing to call on Marielle or any of the Servants to support me, not for something so trivial. If I was connected to the Stone Throne, the connection wasn’t strong enough to support such intensive use.
So I waited.
Not long after first light, the early signs of the revelers sounded from outside the estate’s gates. Within an hour, the streets became crowded with people, all dressed in vivid costumes, almost everyone with a mask, but those few without one had faces painted garishly. More so than any of the previous days of the Fete, as if everyone had saved their most outlandish outfits for this last day.
For the Masquerade.
I snorted. So much for the ban on the masks. Or the warnings about the Chorl.
The rest of my retinue gathered in my rooms, Marielle, Heddan, and Gwenn, Ottul trailing behind them. Heddan and Gwenn fidgeted with nervous excitement, both of them slipping quietly to the window after a few moments, pointing out particularly wild outfits as they passed on the street outside the gates. Erick came to replace Keven, arriving with Avrell and William in tow.
And still no Westen.
All of them tried to start conversations, but they ground down into nothing, the tension in the room too high.
Then Brandan arrived, servants bringing in the trunk with the costumes.
“We won’t be needing those,” I said sharply.
“Some of you will have to wear them,” Brandan said. He glanced significantly at Ottul. “With all of the warnings we’ve circulated through the city, she can’t be seen in public. She’ll need a mask. And I’d suggest that at least a few others wear masks or costumes so that she blends in more.”
I hesitated, caught Gwenn’s pleading look, Heddan’s carefully neutral one, then nodded.
Both Heddan and Gwenn shot toward the trunk, Ottul following more slowly.
And then Westen arrived, Tomus a pace behind him. Both looked wet, clothes smudged with mud and dirt, a few strands of grass.
“Report,” I said, although I could see that Westen’s lips were pressed tight together with concern.
“We infiltrated the estate,” he said quietly, stepping close. Both Erick and Avrell moved forward so they could hear. “There wasn’t anyone there.”
“What do you mean?” I said. “They have to be there. There’s nowhere else in Venitte they could be.”
“They were there,” Tomus interjected.
“How do you know?”
“Someone was housed there,” Westen said, shooting a glare at Tomus. “The entire wing was set up to house an army. Its rooms were lined with cots, recently used. It looked like a barracks, complete with a kitchen and dining hall. She could have housed over a thousand troops in there, and they’d never have to leave that wing. But they’re all gone. I’d say they left an hour or so before we got there, probably while it was still raining.”
“What about below the ground floor?”
Westen shrugged. “Supplies and numerous empty crates.”
Erick swore and shook his head. “Whatever the Chorl needed for whatever it is they have planned.”
“We know what they have planned,” I said. “They want to conquer Venitte. They want the throne. We even know that they intend to attack today. We just don’t know how they intend to do it.”
“And we know that they intend to hide in the crowd using the masks,” Erick said. “We’ll have to alert Daeriun that they’re already on the move, that they’re already mixed in with the crowds.”
“Get Catrell,” I said sharply, turning to Westen. “Get all of the guardsmen here in the estate ready and send them into the streets in groups. Have them work their way up to the Stone Garden.”
“Should they search for the Chorl as they move?”
I considered for a long moment, but I’d already made too many mistakes dealing with Lord March and the Council members.
“No. Forcing people to take off their masks would stir up too much trouble, and there are too many people on the streets. Just get them up to the garden as fast as you can.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m going to the Stone Garden. Daeriun is most likely going to be there. And if he’s not, then either Lord March or Sorrenti will be.”
He nodded, motioned to Tomus, and then they both left.
Erick sidled closer. “What about the others?”
“Tell William, Marielle, and Brandan as soon as you get the chance. But not the others.”
“Not Ottul?”
I watched the Chorl Servant for a moment as Gwenn forced her to try on the blue-white mask that Brandan had offered to me. She stiffened at first, then relented.
As the mask fell down to hide her face, I saw a tentative smile.
I tried to recall if I’d ever seen Ottul smile before, but couldn’t. It softened her.
I said, “Tell her. I trust her.”
Thirty minutes later, we were all in the courtyard, the sun blazing down, the street outside a cacophony of noise as partyers yelled and screamed, horns and whistles blowing, tambourines rattling, the mass of people flowing upward, toward the central marketplace called the Stone Garden, a riot of color.
Daeriun had been right. There would have been no way to get a carriage out into the flow. Not without killing someone.
I watched as the gates were opened and a contingent of Amenkor guardsmen forced their way into the mass of people, their mostly brown uniforms marring the bright costumes like an ugly stain. Westen watched them go as the next group formed up, then saw me and moved to my side.
“I sent a group down to the docks to warn Bullick,” he said, “but it’s going to take forever for any of us to get anywhere.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m coming with you.”
I started to protest, but halted when I saw his expression. I’d seen it a hundred times during the grueling training sessions with him, in Amenkor and here in Venitte.
He was
n’t going to back down.
“Where’s Catrell?” I asked instead.
“He left with the first group. He thinks he knows where Daeriun is. The general has the Protectorate scattered in large groups throughout the city, but with the Chorl force marching down from the north, he’s likely going to be in the northern part of the city. That’s where he’s focused the majority of his defensive preparations.”
I grunted. “Then let’s go.”
Erick barked an order and a group of Amenkor guardsmen formed up around us, hemming us in tightly. Westen, Erick, and Avrell stayed close to me; none of us wore masks. The rest came up behind, their masks making them seem out of place.
The gates were opened, and then we became part of the crowd.
Every instinct I’d learned and honed on the Dredge came instantly into play. I slid beneath the river as the entire group was absorbed and subsumed, Erick’s careful arrangement of guardsmen broken effortlessly as they were shoved and shifted out of position. Beneath the river, I heard Erick curse, heard him barking orders to get everyone back into place, the scent of oranges strong. But it was useless. The stream of people couldn’t be avoided.
And so I let myself merge with the eddies and currents around me, used the river to begin to nudge that person wearing a sun mask to one side, edged that group of drunken men dressed like dogs to the other. Sinking deeper, I concentrated on the street ahead and behind, began drawing the guardsmen that were already straggling, already being separated from the group, back in.
A moment later, I felt someone else enter the flow, and another. Marielle and—
And Ottul.
I cast a quick glance backward.
The blue-white mask turned toward me, nodded slightly, then returned its attention to the crowd.
I shuddered. I didn’t like the masks, didn’t like the denseness of the river, the thickness caused by too many people in such a tight area.
But we were moving toward the Stone Garden.
I settled back, began working with Marielle and Ottul to move us along faster, keeping everyone together, while at the same time keeping an eye out for any sign of the Chorl. Erick continued to bark orders, swearing occasionally under his breath, although he’d relaxed a little as well. We wound our way up through the streets, Brandan occasionally breaking in with directions, pointing out a route or a side street. The crowds thickened, then spread out as the streets widened, grew dense again as everyone converged on the central marketplace. A man blew a horn to one side. A woman shrieked, with raucous laughter. Another man—dressed like an ibis with a narrow beak and feathers tied to his arms in the shape of wings—towered over the crowd on long, thin stilts like legs, sauntering past.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 113
