by TR Cameron
And I’ll finally get to introduce our mole to Usha when this is all over.
Ozahl stalked forward in search of Grisham’s lone remaining lieutenant. He would have preferred to go after the boss but assumed that Usha would want to claim that particular prize for herself. At least I can keep any additional support from joining that fight. He battered every Zatora in his path with force bolts as he made his way toward the back of the sanctuary and remained close to the wall so those on the balcony wouldn’t have a clear angle on him.
He found Strang in the middle of a triangle formed by downed Atlanteans. The man aimed a rifle at yet another one in the center of the space. A force blast spun the weapon out of his grasp and it clattered on the floor beyond. The Zatora lieutenant turned with eyes full of anger. It was downright rewarding to watch his thoughts play out on his face—the delayed recognition of the identity behind the changed appearance, the surprise, the disbelief, and then the confirmation of his suspicions. He mouthed something Ozahl couldn’t make out and ran to the doors.
His blast of lightning went wide because someone bumped into him at the wrong moment. He growled annoyance and thrust the interloper aside with a burst of force magic, then raced after Strang and grinned. The headlong flight through the empty square headed toward Decatur looked awkward for the big-bodied man. A well-placed telekinetic yank on his foot brought him down in a tumble.
The mage walked slowly toward his foe as the Zatora lieutenant rose to his feet and brushed his trousers off. He seemed almost happy as he said, “So, I was right. It was you behind all this.”
He shook his head. “Not all of it. But if you mean the death of Colin Todd, oh yeah, that was totally me. The hardest part was waiting for the right moment.”
“Why? How did they get you to switch sides?”
“Since you’re about to die, I guess you deserve to know. I was never on your side.” He summoned his lightning, poured the power into the other man, and only stopped until there was no possibility of his survival. “I’m on my own side.”
The battle seemed to be dying down but Usha didn’t care. She hoped her group was winning but again, that wasn’t relevant at the moment. Only one thing was—finding Rion Grisham and killing him. She had wrapped herself in a force shield to avoid unexpected attacks and held her sword one-handed and reversed so the blade pointed back on her right side. She kept her other hand free just in case.
A hail of bullets forced her into cover as the leader of the Zatoras darted up from behind his marble protection. She crawled toward the center of the room, hidden by the wooden pews that separated her position from his. Options for killing him were everywhere—the grand lamps that hung above the front part of the church could be yanked down and the large statues on their high pedestals could be toppled. If she wanted to, she could probably even hit the object he used for cover hard enough to crush him.
But, after all that she’d been through, she needed to make it personal. The fact that he was still around when he should have tried to run told her he felt the same. When she reached the center, she looked at the rubble against the far wall and reached out both her hand and her magic. One of the large pieces of stone, about half her height, glided toward her and hovered in the middle of the aisle. She stepped forward behind it and raced to the altar.
Bullets cracked against her makeshift shield. The impacts flowed through her magical connection and made her ache, but she maintained it. When she reached Grisham’s cover, she leapt over it and released the stone to crash into the obstruction. She landed cleanly but he wasn’t there. Usha dove forward as more rounds whipped past. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet and hurled a wide wave of force in that direction, and her opponent catapulted into the marble pulpit. His head met it first with a resounding thwack, and his face slackened as he slid down it. The pistols he held in each hand fell away.
The Atlantean gang leader crossed the space between them slowly, her gaze fixed on her adversary. When she arrived, he looked dazedly at her and a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. He laughed hoarsely. “So. You outplayed me.”
“You cared about the wrong thing. You were fighting for money and power. I was fighting for my people.”
He coughed and took several moments to catch his breath before he replied. “Keep telling yourself that. It won’t make it true.”
With a sharp motion, Usha slashed the blade across his body to ensure he wouldn’t speak again. She turned and faced the main chamber, where the battle had ended.
“Zatoras still alive, your organization is dead,” she shouted. “Get out of my city in the next twelve hours or you will be, too.”
Chapter Sixteen
“It’s another fine day in New Atlantis,” Scoppic enthused as he stepped into the kitchen on Monday morning. Emalia chuckled and Invel raised an eyebrow at the gnome.
“It is indeed,” she said. “Coffee and tea are in the usual places and today, we have chocolate muffins.”
He clapped enthusiastically and hurried to the low buffet that held the items. She shook her head and grinned at the elf across the table from her. “I had a feeling he’d thrive here. You too.”
Invel nodded. “And this has clearly been good for you as well. It’s not everyone who gets to have a private chat with an Empress.”
She snorted softly. “Shenni’s not all that impressive. Her time on the throne has been notable for political games but little else.”
“That is the primary role of the monarch, isn’t it? Making sure no one threatens their rule?”
“I always thought it was to serve the people.”
He laughed. “You are an optimist.”
Emalia nodded. “Guilty as charged. Speaking of which, we’ll divide our tasks today. I need to spend time in the library looking at Atlantean history while you two continue to go through the things Cali found on Oriceran.”
“What do you hope to find?”
She rose, refilled her coffee mug, and put her second muffin of the morning on a plate. “Options, my friend. I’m hoping to find options.”
The mansion boasted several libraries, and it took her a while to locate the one she sought. It was more or less an official requirement that every noble house contain a set of the authoritative histories of Atlantis. They were produced by the palace each year and approved by representatives from the Nine. That meant there would be nothing particularly exciting in them, as anything controversial would likely be dropped from the permanent record in the process.
However, what she was looking for wasn’t a matter of controversy, per se. One of the things the nobility embraced wholeheartedly was their connection to the traditions of Old Atlantis as well as those of New, and she hoped to turn that to Cali’s advantage. A whisper at the edge of her memory told her something was there for the finding but unfortunately gave her no indication of where it might be hiding.
But if there was one thing that she possessed in abundance, it was patience. She pulled the first tome from the shelf and sat in the large wingback chair to read. The light from the window behind her illuminated the page perfectly. She wiggled to get comfortable and took a bracing sip of her coffee, which was positioned at her left hand on an end table. “All right, book. Tell me your secrets.”
Emalia was yawning through the third installment when she found what she was looking for. It required rereading the passage a few times to be sure she had it right before she stood with a groan and walked as quickly as her tired body was able to into the kitchen. She assumed that if her niece was up and about, that was the most likely place where their paths would cross.
As luck would have it, both the girl and the Draksa were there, arguing over who should get the last muffin. The older woman shook her head and interrupted the disagreement. “I’ll ask Invel to make another batch so knock it off, you two.” She thumped the book on the table to emphasize the point.
Cali laughed, “Dang, woman, you’re saucy this morning.” Her red locks were a tangled mess
and her shorts and t-shirt looked decidedly slept in.
“It’s afternoon.”
The girl frowned and peered at her watch. “Okay, whatever. Scoppic said you were reading history. Did you find anything interesting?”
She sat beside her. “I did. As you know, most of the established nobles love to talk about how awesome everything was in Old Atlantis whenever something happens here that they don’t like.” Cali nodded. “Well, it turns out that long, long ago, the rules of ritual combat were a little different. To avoid decimating entire families, the opponents could agree to end it with a single battle using selected Champions.”
“So, kind of like trial by combat in Game of Thrones.”
Her great-aunt frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Cali sighed. “Honestly, are you aware of anything that’s happened in the last decade? Never mind. Keep going.” She sipped her coffee and waited expectantly.
“Anyway. If the Malniets agree to it, you can end the fight against them with only one more battle.”
She frowned. “Do you have any recommendations on how to do that?”
“A few.” Emalia grinned. “I think I’ll drop by one of the neutral houses and start setting the stage. You send a runner to request a meeting with Styrris this afternoon. My guess is that by tonight, the word will spread widely enough to reach his ears and he’ll feel like he has no choice but to meet you.”
The girl tilted her head and stared. “You’re manipulative, you know that?”
The woman laughed. “It runs in the family.”
Her great-aunt’s timetable had been largely correct. Whatever she had done while she talked to the other houses resulted in an invitation to visit the Malniet mansion at nine that evening.
She’d considered what to wear for an hour and after coming to no particular conclusion, had gone through her mothers’ outfits one by one. While it was an enjoyable way to spend time, she ultimately didn’t want to play the game they expected. Finally, instead of putting on the trappings of the matriarch, she decided to go with a more martial approach.
Comfortable with her choice, she donned her combat uniform and made an extra effort to ensure that each of the compass patches was clean and vibrant. To the usual ensemble, she added thigh scabbards for her new daggers and positioned them on the outside of her leg beside the pouch on the front that held her potions. She wondered if her mother had worn the same weapons, perhaps hidden under the voluminous formal gowns the Nine had preferred at one time.
“Do you plan to talk to him or kill him?” Fyre asked. “The look doesn’t exactly scream ‘conversation.’”
“Either option works for me, but I’ve planned for the first one. If I wanted him dead tonight, I’d take one of the pistols and ask Diana for anti-magic bullets.”
The Draksa snorted from where he sat near the mirror. His position ensured that she had to look at him every time she wanted to look at herself, which summed up the level of his need for attention quite well. “No one in their right mind would let you use a gun.”
“Hey. Diana gave me one, remember?”
“Yeah, a stun gun. Which is all you should ever have.”
She pointed a finger at him. “I’m sure it would work on you, you know.”
He grinned. “Try it. You’d be an ice cube before it gets out of the holster.”
“Go bother someone else, will ya?” She waved a hand at him.
Jenkins spoke in his disembodied voice behind her and she jumped. “Matriarch Caliste, your escort has arrived at the front door.”
“I have an escort?” She frowned.
“Yes, Matriarch. It is customary. You would be within your rights to have one of your allies with you as well. However, having chosen to hold this meeting at his home, Patriarch Malniet is ethically obligated to see to your safety.”
Cali and Fyre made almost identical scoffing sounds at the juxtaposition of “Malniet” and “ethical.” “You know, that’s a good idea. How about you ask Invel if he’d like to take a stroll? And Fyre will join me.”
“Of course, Matriarch.”
She checked her outfit in the mirror again. “I wish I had a sword. It would complete the outfit, don’t you think?”
Her chaperone for the walk was a prissy looking teenage boy. His severe long black coat reached almost to his ankles, and his dark hair was slicked against his head. On a much older man, it might have been a good look. On him, it was pure pretension. She resisted telling him so but she and Fyre spent the entire trip commenting on it telepathically.
Mean spirited? Maybe. Necessary for our entertainment? Absolutely. Besides, he’s trying to imitate his patriarch, which makes him a chucklehead in my book. She also maintained a running conversation with Invel about his business interests and how she might help him expand them into New Atlantis. It was only partially show, as she was certainly willing to do so. But her other purpose was to ensure the opposing family’s representative heard that she was making plans to be in the city for some time in case Styrris was under the illusion he could wait the situation out.
Upon arrival, Fyre and Invel were instructed to remain outside, as they were not explicitly part of the invitation. Both bristled, but she told them not to worry. “It’ll be a quick meeting, I’m sure, and the family is on the hook for my safety.” She looked at her escort. “Get it? On the hook? Because your family symbol is a hook? Oh, never mind.” She followed him into the home and a servant closed the door behind them.
The entrance area was about the same size as her own—which essentially meant far bigger than it had any need to be—but much more lavishly furnished. A thick green carpet ran down a long hallway and about halfway down, an open door spilled a cascade of light into the otherwise darkened corridor. The boy stopped and gestured for her to go forward.
She considered the path ahead and whispered, “Know that if there’s something bad down there, being young won’t stop you from dying with anyone else who takes action against me.” His eyes widened and she was hard-pressed not to laugh at the fear her completely false threat had engendered. Like I’d kill a kid. Hell, I don’t want to kill anyone.
To appear unconcerned, she strolled forward slowly and peered at the art hung on the walls. The pieces were mostly hidden in shadows but appeared to be portraits with small metal nameplates beneath. The alphabet was again unfamiliar, so she assumed it was the Malniet house language. She turned the corner into the den and focused on the merrily burning fireplace. Two chairs were placed in front of it with a round table between them. She walked toward them and veered in the direction of the empty one.
The man in the other made no move to rise and merely stared at her as she came into view. He was light-skinned—almost deathly so—but dark in hair, clothes, mood, and voice. “What do you want, Matriarch?”
Cali shrugged. “The list is fairly long. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me the information you know I’m seeking and let this be done?”
His smile was thin and condescending. “No, I don’t believe I would.”
She set her hand on the back of the empty chair and remained standing. “Then I guess I’m looking for vengeance, justice, that kind of thing.”
He barked a small laugh. “So, will you attempt to kill me now? You won’t leave the house alive. And those you love shall meet their ends soon after.”
“Oh, you mean what do I want right this minute? Sorry, I misunderstood.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Two things. First, I wanted to return this to you.” She slid her hand into her pocket and removed the badge she’d taken from one of the troops at the museum after she and the agents had retrieved the sword shard hidden there. “I thought about giving it to the Empress as proof of your inability to follow the rules, but I realized that was probably what you were hoping for. It doesn’t seem like you to make such a stupid mistake.” She tossed it onto his lap.
He didn’t rise to the bait. “And the other thing?”
“I’ve been doing researc
h. I think a long, drawn-out affair that ends with me cutting through the last dregs of your family to reach you is unproductive for us both. I have other things to do, and you surely have to get on with…well, whatever the hell you spend your time doing. Matriarch Cormier, if the rumors are true.” She shook her head. “Anyway, in Old Atlantis, ritual combat between houses could be ended by an agreement that a single battle would stand for all. I propose we do that now. My Champions against yours.”
“How many?” His tone betrayed no interest, only irritation.
“Your choice.”
He sighed. “I’ll have to consider it. You’ll have my answer within the week.”
Cali nodded. “Sooner is probably better than later. There’s no telling what might happen to your pool of potential fighters in the meantime. It could be they’ll hear rumors of your proven lack of honor. Or about how members of your family keep dying inexplicably.” She grinned. “There are so many possibilities, Styrris, and they increase by the moment.” She raised her left hand from the chair, but the tiny listening device she’d pushed into the crevice at the top corner of the leather remained.
She backed away, her gaze fixed on him, then his silhouette, and finally, only his chair until she was out of the room. Once in the hallway, she spun on her heel and marched toward the open front door, where the boy who had brought her stood and watched her approach. A mental message to Fyre caused him to growl suddenly at the Malniet escort. When he turned in alarm, she slipped the recorder under the frame of the portrait of the severest-looking family member. She continued out the door and waved for Invel and Fyre to fall into step beside her.
