The entire building shook, violently. Gwen shielded herself as chunks of debris fell from the ceiling, realising that the assassins must have rigged up a bomb nearby. It hadn't been enough to destroy the building, but it would make it harder for the defenders to muster a response. She glanced around hastily for more targets, rapidly taking out two more of the armed servants. Another had been ploughed under and beaten to death by a pair of young men.
“For America,” one of the assassins shouted, hurling a grenade towards the prone Viceroy. “For freedom!”
Gwen deflected the grenade, moments before it exploded. Bruce let out a bellow of rage and threw himself towards the assassin, his power beating on the air and lashing out in fury. The assassin disintegrated into bloody chunks, his body scattered over the entire room. Another popped up as Gwen shielded the Viceroy, only to meet the same fate. Bruce would find it impossible to hide his true nature in future ...
“Lady Gwen,” a voice said. Two more assassins were approaching from the rear. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Gwen reached out with her magic ... and started, in shock, as her power slipped away from her. A Null, she realised, as the first man grabbed hold of her dress; a power-drainer. The assassins had clearly known who to expect, although they seemed to have been surprised by Bruce. Who were they? She slipped the dagger from her sleeve as the Null leered at her, then stabbed him in the chest. His power vanished as he bent double, allowing her to throw him and his friend right across the room and into the wall.
Never again, Gwen thought, as she checked on the Viceroy. He was alive, but he seemed to be in shock. It was funny how so many Nulls seemed to believe that taking her powers would render her helpless. Did they make the same mistake with male magicians? That trick will not work twice.
She looked up, shielding the Viceroy with her magic. The floor was littered with bodies, some groaning in pain, others either playing dead or actually dead. She hoped - prayed - that casualties had been light, but she knew that far too many people had been hit. Outside, she could hear the sound of gunfire. The assassins, whoever they were, seemed to be engaging the redcoats ...
Bruce, she thought, suddenly. Where are you?
***
In all his life, Bruce could never recall being quite so angry.
He’d issued ordered, specific orders, that the Sons of Liberty were to wait for the new parliament, not put the plan to take New York into action. They'd always known the plan would be a gamble, even if the Royal Sorceress and a number of regiments were trapped to the south, in Amherst. And now they were getting what they wanted without a fight ... rage boiled through him as he tore one of the assassins apart, looking around for their leader. It wasn't hard to guess just who was behind the attack.
Adam, he thought. It had to be Adam. No one else had been so violently insistent on sticking with the French alliance, even though the French were untrustworthy. And Adam had plenty of contacts in New York. He could easily organise a operational cell into attacking the palace, despite Bruce’s orders. Where are you?
He searched, wishing he knew more about his other powers. Gwen had been trained by another Master, not a pair of single-talent magicians. She had advantages he lacked ... it made him wonder, deep inside, just what would have happened if they’d clashed openly, each trying to kill the other. And, thanks to Adam, he might be about to find out. The attack on the palace had been carried out by Sons of Liberty, that much was unquestionable. His only hope of preventing a civil war lay with finding Adam. Where was the bastard?
A figure moved, pointing a pistol towards the foot of the room. Bruce lashed out, slamming Adam hard against the wall. He’d never dared use his powers openly in the palace - only a couple of his manservants were Sons of Liberty - and it felt odd to take the risk now, but he needed to take Adam alive. The wall started to crumble under the impact, pieces of brick and mortar hitting the floor as his power billowed out of control. Adam stared at him, his spectacles knocked from his eyes and hanging from one ear. Bruce yanked them away and threw them right down the hall.
“Adam,” he snarled. He pushed, hard enough to keep the older man in place without risking his ribs. “Why?”
“Sleep,” Adam said. His voice was suddenly humming with magic. “Sleep and dream of peace.”
Bruce shook himself, violently. Gwen had been right. Charm had to be subtle to be devastatingly effective, certainly against a strong-willed enemy. And Adam was a Charmer ... no wonder so many people had trusted him, even though he was a damned paper-pusher instead of a fighter. He’d known everyone, controlling everything from money to the ebb and flow of intelligence. A French agent in that position could practically use the Sons as his very own weapon.
“Damn you,” he growled. He heard the sound of ribs creaking and pulled back, slightly. “Why?”
“To start a war, of course,” Adam said, dropping the Charm. “Do you believe there will be an American Parliament after this?”
Bruce risked a glance behind him. Dozens of bodies lay on the floor, blood seeping from open wounds. The assassins hadn't been very precise, part of his mind noted; they’d missed their target, but left dozens of others dead or wounded in his stead. And yet, so many dead or wounded, all among the great and the good, would shock public opinion on both sides of the Atlantic. It was just possible that Adam would get his civil war after all.
Gwen was bending over Bruce’s father, her back to him. He felt a stab of regret, mixed with a love and tenderness he hadn't thought he could feel. None of the girls he’d met in New York had felt quite right for him, even Jane. They’d all felt like puppets in his hands. But Gwen was different. He’d never imagined a life with her, yet now he couldn't imagine a life without her. Maybe their shared powers had drawn them together, but it didn't matter. The thought of being separated from her was intolerable.
“Kill her,” Adam said.
Bruce whirled. “Try to Charm me again,” he hissed, “and I’ll burn you to ash.”
“No Charm,” Adam said, as casually as if he were ordering dinner. “Just simple pragmatism, my friend.”
“You’re not my friend,” Bruce snapped.
Adam shrugged. “The war will start, will it or not,” he said. “Once word gets out, the redcoats will turn on the Sons, hunting them down like dogs. That girl is a weapon, a weapon in the hands of your enemies. Kill her now or watch her turned against you.”
Bruce stared at him in horror. The argument seemed logical, too logical. He checked and rechecked his logic, as Gwen had taught him, but found no objections, no hints that Adam might be Charming him towards a specific conclusion. If the Sons had to fight for their freedom anyway, after the carnage Adam had wrought, which side would Gwen take?
He shook his head, bitterly. Gwen had always put her duty first. She’d made that clear to him, back when she’d explained the advantages to both sides of sealing the agreement with a marriage. She might have strong feelings for him - she wouldn't have kissed and cuddled him during the long train ride without them - but she wouldn't let it interfere with her duties. And if they came to blows ...”
“Do it,” Adam whispered. “Her back is turned. There’s no risk.”
Bruce swallowed. It had been his mother’s side of the family that had turned him towards the Sons. America deserved better than to be held down by the British Crown for the rest of eternity. There was so much potential in the continent, for better or worse, so much growth for society once the British Crown lost its grip. He’d worked hard to develop his powers to serve the American cause, yet he’d known it would mean coming to blows - eventually - with his father. Gwen had offered him a way out ...
... And Adam might have slammed it closed.
“I hate you,” he hissed.
“It matters not,” Adam said. He didn't seem concerned, even though he had to know Bruce could kill him in an instant. “Kill her now, before she turns. You have no choice.”
Bruce could imagine it. Gwen wouldn't be expecting an attack, not from him. He could take off her head before she even knew she was under attack, leaving her body to crumble on the floor while he ripped the palace apart. His father would die, buried under falling masonry, while Bruce flew back to the camp to rally the troops. There would be risings all over the colonies, as planned. And then the redcoats would counterattack. Sorcerers would arrive from Britain, trained and experienced enough to defeat him. The carnage would be unimaginable ...
... And Gwen would be dead.
“There’s always a choice,” he said. His mother had told him so, back when he’d been a child, back before her death. “And there are always options.”
He drew back his fist and slammed it into Adam’s face. The Charmer rocked backwards, slamming his head into the wall before slumping, unconscious. Bruce punched him again, just to be sure, then let his body fall to the ground. It was funny just how small he looked, in that moment, so small and harmless. And yet, he might just have succeeded in sparking off a civil war. Bruce stared down at him for a long moment, then turned to Gwen. She was just rising to her feet.
“Your father is fine,” she called. The sound of shooting from outside was fading away. “I didn't find any damage, but I put him to sleep for a while. It’ll do him good.”
Bruce nodded as he surveyed the room. A handful of people were climbing to their feet, looking rather shamefaced now the fighting had come to an end. Others, clearly wounded, were gasping for help. His eyes sought Raechel and found her, doing her best to bandage a man who’d been shot in the shoulder. He had no idea why Adam had brought her to New York - he couldn't think of any other explanation for her arrival - but he was glad he had. If she hadn't brought the warning, it was quite likely his father would have been killed in the assassination attempt. And, in so many ways, he loved and admired his father.
And yet you were planning to betray him, his own thoughts reminded him. One more think you owe Gwen.
“Raechel’s wounded,” Gwen said. “Can you help me take her up to my rooms?”
Bruce nodded. Help - servants and soldiers - was already flooding into the ballroom. He spoke briefly to one of the servants, telling him to get his father to his bedroom, then watched as Gwen levitated Raechel into the air. The younger girl didn't seem very happy with this treatment, but clearly didn't see any point in arguing. Bruce followed the two women, forcing himself to take one last look at the carnage before they walked up the stairs. He’d never liked Lady Sofia, or Lady Harrington, but neither of them had deserved to be killed so brutally. The ton was going to be in mourning for weeks.
Or maybe they’ll all attend Lady Sofia’s funeral, just to be sure she’s dead, he thought, nastily. Lady Sofia had been respected, but very few people had actually liked her. She was just too loud and wealthy to be ignored. The old lady knew too many secrets for anyone to be comfortable around her.
“I’m fine,” Raechel insisted, as they reached Gwen’s rooms. “Really.”
“You’re bleeding,” Gwen said. She placed Raechel on the bed, then gently touched the gash on her leg. “Let me Heal it.”
Bruce watched, impressed, as the wound slowly closed. The Sons hadn't been able to find a Healer, even though they’d looked. Healers were rare. He’d tried to Heal himself, but he’d never managed to get it to work. In truth, he’d assumed it was a talent he didn't possess. But if Gwen could do it ...
“Sleep,” Gwen ordered, firmly. “We’ll chat tomorrow.”
She walked into the next room, Bruce following her. “We need to talk.”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “Adam ... that man ... he wanted to start a civil war.”
He stared at her, unsure how she’d react. He didn't want to fight her, not again, and yet Adam had had a point. Gwen was too dangerous to be allowed to live, if they had to fight a civil war. Had he been a fool to give up his best chance of killing her? But the thought of ending her life was unbearable.
“They were Sons, then,” Gwen said. “Not Frenchmen.”
“Adam was working for the French,” Bruce said. He was sure of that, now. Adam had controlled the secret communications conduits to the French, after all. Who knew what else he might have been saying? He’d certainly had no shortage of money for the cause. “And I didn't recognise the assassins.”
“Then we blame everything on the French,” Gwen said. Her mouth twisted oddly, as if she was remembering something. “Adam was a traitor twice over, to the Crown and to the Sons; he tried to start a war to ensure the colonies would eventually wall into French hands. That should be sellable, I think.”
Bruce eyed her. “Are you sure?”
“People will want to believe it,” Gwen said. “Can you keep the rest of the Sons from doing anything stupid?”
“I think so,” Bruce said. Adam wouldn't have been able to rope in every Son in New York, he thought, not without alerting him ahead of time. Even Adam hadn't known the identity of every last Son within the city. “But without the speech ...”
“It can be given tomorrow,” Gwen said, firmly. “As long as everything is blamed on the French, we should have time.”
Bruce nodded, slowly. If Gwen was right, disaster could be averted and there would be no civil war. And even if she wasn't, they could keep a lid on everything long enough to smooth out the crisis. The Viceroy wasn't dead, after all. That would have made it impossible to talk London out of ordering quite draconian measures.
“Thank you,” he said. He looked towards the window. “I have to go, if I’m to get to the camp quickly.”
He hesitated, then caught her in his arms and kissed her as hard as he could. Gwen kissed him back, her power beating against his ... for a moment, he wanted to forget everything and just make love to her. He could do it, too. She wanted it as much as he did ...
... But there was no time. They couldn't delay.
“I love you,” he said, drawing back. It was the first time he’d said it, to anyone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Opening the window, he wrapped his power around him and hurled himself into the night.
***
Gwen watched Bruce fly into the dark sky, then touched her lips gently, savouring the sensation. She’d been tempted, more tempted than she wanted to admit. The link they shared was real, but she had her duty. And so did he. Turning, she walked back into the bedroom. Raechel, somehow, was not asleep.
“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly. “I should have been quicker.”
“You did fine,” Gwen said. She patted Raechel’s hand, gently. Irene would probably be a little more scathing, afterwards, but for the moment Raechel needed encouragement. “You saved us all.”
“Thanks,” Raechel said. “He ... he Charmed me. He wanted me to tell everyone that it was the Sons who killed the Viceroy.”
“But you escaped,” Gwen said. She’d wondered why Raechel had been left alive, but if someone had hoped she’d bear witness to the attack ... she shrugged artlessly, dismissing the thought. “And the Viceroy survived. I think you did very well indeed.”
She kissed Raechel on the forehead, very gently, then rose. “Try to sleep,” she urged, quietly. When Irene returned, she’d send her up to sit with Raechel. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Forty
“They say he didn't say a word before he died,” Raechel said slowly, as she looked up at the gallows. Adam’s body was swinging on a rope. “Is that true?”
“True enough,” Irene said, dispassionately. “He was a strong and capable mentalist. There was little hope of extracting anything from him, even through torture.”
Raechel shuddered. “And was he tortured?”
Irene waved a hand at the body. “Does he look tortured to you?”
“I don’t know,” Raechel said.
She shook her head. Adam had been bound and gagged, then marched to the gallows and hanged. She didn't know if he’d been offered the traditional last meal, b
ut the trial had been the shortest formality on record. There wasn't a single person, British or American, who wanted to spare his life. Adam’s name would be remembered longer than Benedict Arnold, for much the same reason. He’d been a traitor to everyone.
Irene snorted, then led the way back to their new house. No one had connected Raechel Slater-Standish with the crazed girl who’d fled the Sons, riding to bring a warning to the Viceroy and that was for the best. As far as the ton were concerned, Raechel had vanished; she’d probably taken up residence in a friend’s house while exchanging letters with her guardians. Raechel hated the thought of not being given credit for her success, but she knew that her safety hinged on her remaining anonymous. She couldn't be an effective agent if everyone knew who she was.
“You did well, for your first mission,” Irene said, once they were safely indoors. There were no servants in the new house. “The Sons knew who you were, which could have been fatal if things had gone differently, but you had no way to know it. Overall, you did well.”
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