Already some attendants were glaring at Felice, as the loser was expected to make a dignified retreat. She spotted Constance over near the Emperor, talking to a black-garbed man, but the First Adjudicator didn’t look Felice’s way.
“Say hello to the Emperor for me,” Felice said.
“I must admit,” said Stryden, “I didn’t expect this turn of events.”
He was standing so close to her, she could smell his breath. Garlic and pepper. Phew! What had he eaten for breakfast?
“I was bored,” Felice said. She didn’t owe him an explanation, and she’d better watch her step with the man. Only someone unhinged would plan to assassinate the Emperor. She glanced around, hoping to see Squall or Whisper and catch their eye, but no luck.
The unruly crowd was beginning to calm down somewhat. She didn’t have much time before she had to get off the dais, and Stryden would be presented to the Emperor.
“Bored…yes, I sympathize. What is the meaning of all this?” He gestured to encompass the hall. “People playing a game, using hours of their intellect and time, for what? A few ducats and some nice words? What good could all these people have done if they’d used their time for other purposes? Could they have made our society better? Greater? Perhaps. There are street urchins dying out there.”
That you killed. Perhaps Stryden was correct. No, she knew he was. But there was a purpose to playing Dominion: it helped hone her mind to razor sharpness. Her skill enabled her to see patterns, to conceptualize them.
“People die every day,” she said dully. “If you find something you enjoy, then why not take advantage of that? There’s enough misery in the world. Hold on to things that bring you happiness.” A bright flash to her left caught her eye, and Felice flinched, but it wasn’t a knife, only an old man adjusting his spectacles after they’d been knocked askew in the commotion.
“Do you think the dead street urchins would agree with you? What chance did they have? What happiness did they ever experience? Better to die fighting for something greater.”
His words froze Felice’s heart for a moment before it resumed hammering in her chest. By the ancestors! He doesn’t intend to survive. And if I spoil his plan, he’s bound to have contingencies to escape.
Felice closed her tired eyes and stood there, trembling. She was exhausted, her acid splash wounds itched, and she had a headache. Her options had narrowed to a meager few, and none of them good.
With one gloved hand, Felice placed the Crow and Moon in her pocket, fumbled with the poison vial, and dusted the piece.
“Sir Stryden,” she said, “or should I say Slake?”
Stryden raised his eyebrows, but otherwise offered no other reaction. Around them, the crowd had almost returned to normal, and the attendants on the dais were readying a presentation area between the Emperor and the Dominion board. She didn’t have much time. As soon as they were ready, she would have to leave, and Slake was barely twenty yards from the Emperor.
“The ends do not justify the means,” continued Felice, voice rising. “Why fight for something if it means causing innocent deaths? If we’re also monsters, then what are we fighting for?” She found herself quaking. “You’re not very good at hiding your megalomania.”
A sizeable drinks cart filled with bottles and glass containers brimming with liquids was being wheeled onto the dais for everyone to partake of in celebration. Ancestors, is that the acid? Felice’s sores itched at the sight. But it couldn’t be: as it had passed, some of the nobles had taken full glasses and were sipping happily. Not acid. But it had to be. She was missing something important.
Slake offered a brief smile. “Only around you, my dear.” He nodded to several men in the crowd close by.
Felice saw they bore scarred knuckles and the telltale bulges of concealed weapons in their coats. Assassins on Slake’s payroll. If they got into a fight with Constance’s people, it could be a bloodbath.
“Do you know how many innocents, how many children, have died at the hands of your thugs and assassins?”
Slake sneered. “And how many have died for the sake of the Emperor’s pride and greed? There are always casualties in war, but at least I’m on the right side. And sometimes, one casualty can win the war.” He clutched something in his hand. A small silver object.
A trinket. The one Constance told me about. Slake’s way of disrupting the Emperor’s sorcerous shield.
“The magistrates will determine whether you’re in the right,” Felice said. “Surrender now, peacefully, and you’ll have your grievances heard.”
“There’s no justice in a corrupt empire. You should take a closer look at your so-called allies. You could try to have me arrested, but it will get quite violent. I hate to think of the casualties. Not to mention, there are an awful lot of people on this dais and in the crowd.”
Colored patches of light from the chandelier spotted the floor around her. Felice frowned. At her feet and everywhere on the dais were the newly replaced tiles. What had Avigdor reported about Stryden’s businesses? He owned a roof tile business. The powder from the warehouse could be compressed into tiles.
Bloody ancestors… the workmen… Slake has replaced the tiles.
Felice looked to the sky, pleading for inspiration.
And her gaze came to rest on the elaborate chandelier. Colored crystals as big as her head.
She had to make him think she hadn’t figured out his endgame, and she needed to get close to him…
Felice grabbed Slake by the collar and pulled him near and slipped the Crow and Moon piece into his coat pocket. “Know this,” she hissed. “I will hunt you down.” She let go of his coat, tugged off her gloves and shoved them into her pocket. Her eyes wandered to the chandelier again. It was suspended from a thick rope, which looped through an iron ring bolted to the main roof beam. One of the attendants came up to them, gesturing for Felice to move off the dais.
“Goodbye, Felicienne Shyrise. I hope you enjoy the presentation. I’m sure it will be one you never forget.”
Felice brushed off the hands of the attendant, who now looked angry. Her eyes followed the rope to where it was secured to a hook on a far wall—where a man was surreptitiously sawing through it. The bearded supervisor.
Pignuts.
“I don’t think there will be one,” Felice said.
Slake’s eyes widened just as she threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug and tangled her legs in his. They crashed to the tiled floor. Shouting erupted from her right.
“Clear the dais!” she yelled. Slake struggled to free himself. Felice was barely able to hold onto him.
“Protect the Emperor,” she heard Constance scream. “That’s all that matters.”
No, it’s not. Felice’s arm muscles protested as Slake thrashed wildly. Any second and he’d be free, and then dozens might die. She clung on for dear life and managed to glance toward the bearded man just as Squall and Whisper barreled into him, knocking his knife flying. They wrestled him to the ground, and Felice allowed herself a moment of relief. But even as she did, she could sense something was wrong.
Contingencies, she thought. Slake would have planned for almost anything.
A wavering shield sprang up around the Emperor, and his guards formed a defensive ring outside of it. One after another, warlocks threw up their own multicolored shields that covered them like protective skins.
There was an almighty crash as glass shattered and liquid spilled across the dais. The stubbly attendant had pushed over the drinks trolley. Tiles bubbled and crumbled as the alcohol began to dissolve the compressed alchemical powder.
Hissing incandescent lines streaked from the warlocks toward Felice and Stryden, only to fizzle and dissipate into vapor. Mouths opened in shock, and Felice realized the stolen trinket must have neutralized their sorcery. They would have killed her along with Slake. It was only because he was close to her that she’d survived.
Warlocks positioned themselves in front of the Emperor wh
ile others bustled him away, barging through the crowd and trampling those who fell. Screams of panic sounded.
Slake’s forehead slammed into Felice’s, and she yelped in pain. Her grip loosened, and Slake broke free. As she stood, trying to grab hold of him again, he punched her in the face and she staggered, ears ringing, vision blurring. Guards brandishing blades rushed toward them.
Slake leaped from the dais and ran, shoving people aside. Felice screamed in frustration as he escaped. Now that the Emperor had been bundled away, there was no reason for Slake to sacrifice himself. He looked back and laughed, knowing she would try to save as many people as she could.
Something hissed through the air, and Felice only had time to see a crossbow bolt flash across the room—and slice through the rope securing the chandelier. The crescent-bladed bolt buried itself into a wooden beam.
The chandelier plummeted toward the dais.
Bloody ancestors.
Felice closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders against the coming wave of agony.
Her skin tingled, and she felt a pressure, as if she’d dived underwater. Crystals shattered all around her. Dehydrated acid meant to rehydrate in the alcohol, which was already mixed with the toxic powder.
But the harsh sting of acid didn’t eventuate, nor did the lethal vapor. Felice still breathed. Screams sounded, agonizing wails of pain and torture.
Abruptly, the pressure subsided. Felice opened her eyes.
Acrid fumes assaulted her, and she coughed. She was standing in an island of calm, an exact circle of untouched dais, centered on the man standing close to her. The black-clad man Constance had been talking to. His shirt was closed with silver buttons in the shape of flowers. He was a warlock. The pressure she’d felt had been his sorcerous shield, which had protected her.
Toxic fumes overcame attendants, guards, and spectators. Men and women writhed on the ground, acid burns eating through clothes and skin and bone. A small boy wailed over the inert form of a woman.
“You might have saved the Emperor,” the warlock said to Felice. “You have his attention now. Though some find his regard too much for them. Time will tell.”
Felice’s gaze traveled over the injured, the dead and dying.
Two guards grabbed her by the arms. She was dimly aware of Constance rushing over, along with her soldiers and a few dozen of the Emperor’s guard, with swords drawn.
“Stop!” Felice shouted. “What are you doing?” They didn’t know if she was friend or foe.
“Don’t kill her!” Constance said firmly to the soldiers.
Pointed and sharp steel withdrew as the guards obeyed the First Adjudicator. They rushed Felice away, along with Constance and everyone else in the Emperor’s entourage.
Behind them, the casualties remained.
~ ~ ~
“Well,” Constance said, “that didn’t end as well as I expected. You disappointed me, Felice.”
“I disappointed you?” Felice said incredulously. “The warlocks would have killed me if it hadn’t been for Slake’s stolen trinket.”
“You’re alive. They reacted to a threat. There are always casualties in war.”
Slake’s exact words. Felice seethed inside. “I told you about the acid. I told you there could be an attempt on the Emperor’s life.”
“But you had no specifics. Specifics, my dear. And you should have obeyed my orders. The Emperor’s life is paramount. Instead, you prioritized civilians.”
They were in a warehouse close to the Dominion tournament hall. The Emperor’s soldiers had broken in and were using it both as a safe house and as a base of operations. Of the Emperor there was no sign.
“I worked out Stryden was Slake,” Felice said. She ticked off her points on her fingers. “His records had been falsified. His skill in Dominion was superb. He was interested in me from the first day of the tournament. He owns a roof tile business, which was where he made the tiles they replaced. The dehydrated acid crystals rehydrating in the alcohol, well, I’ll admit I didn’t see that one until it was too late. I did better than you and your people. Who is Slake, really? Why does he want to kill the Emperor?”
Constance waved a hand, as if Slake was of no importance. “He’s an extremist. Thinks the Empire would be better run by a council or some such nonsense. He’s against dictators. Wants to wreak havoc and chaos in the hope the Empire will destabilize. As if thousands of years of stability could come undone with one death. Personally, I think his father must have been too strict on him. Anyway, in the end, he ran like a coward.”
Felice doubted it was as simple as that. The last thing Slake would want was to die without purpose…or be captured and tortured, then executed. “So what happens now? I did everything you asked. The Emperor is alive.”
“Yes, he is. You caught the Emperor’s eye, and that of his warlocks, and I have a…proposal for you. Against my better judgement, I’m going to offer you a job. A position in my department. But you have to swear to follow my orders in future, and the priorities of the Adjudicators.”
“I’ll think about it. I’m willing to work with you if I get to do things my way. I’ll get you results, but on my terms.”
Constance paused, as if that was the last thing she thought she’d hear. “Don’t think too long, Felicienne Shyrise. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life chasing stray husbands and burying urchins. You could go far, with the proper training.”
Hedgehog’s death wasn’t a trifle to be thrown in her face like that. He deserved better.
No doubt Felice would be supervised by Constance. Still, the idea had some merit. After what had happened, she felt a strong need to try to right some of the wrongs in the world, to make the cities safe for urchins like Hedgehog and Flo. She’d need resources greater than those she could command on her own, access to information, and to broaden her own abilities. And this job might give her what she needed.
“I accept, then,” Felice said.
Constance beamed at her. “Then you’re officially a Fifth Adjudicator, reporting directly to me. Squall and Whisper will be your aides. Do with them as you see fit.”
“There’s one other thing I think you should know,” Felice said. “I slipped a poisoned Dominion piece into Slake’s pocket. With any luck, he’ll turn up dead.”
~ ~ ~
Felice reached up to touch the sign of the Crow and Moon before entering her office. For luck, she told herself. But if she was honest, she didn’t believe in luck.
She removed her boots at the door and managed to stub her toe on the corner of her desk before lighting a lamp. Rummaging around, she found a cleaning rag and gingerly removed her gloves from her pocket. She wrapped them in a few layers of paper and tucked them into the back of a drawer along with the vial of poison. They’d be safe there until tomorrow. She shucked off her coat and bundled it up for washing. A few washes.
Taking a bottle from a drawer, she poured herself a decent measure of Maidens-Tears, a strong spirit and expensive to boot, but she enjoyed a glass after each successful case.
Snuggling into her chair, she propped her feet on the desktop and settled back to relax and enjoy her drink. Then she noticed a small paper-wrapped box on her desk. Dried flowers had been pressed into the wrapping. A present. Perhaps it was from Constance? Or that warlock fellow?
Felice placed her glass on the table and shook the box. Something was loose inside. She unwrapped the present and examined it. Carved wood, some sort of aromatic timber. She smelled it. From the far south, likely cherry. Tiny brass hinges and a clasp were all that decorated the plain exterior.
Inside, there was a crystal bottle of green glass on top of another object wrapped in a red cloth. Oh! Was it… Felice removed the stopper and brought it to her nose, breathing in the delightful scent. Jasmine and rose and ambergris.
Her favorite.
She froze for an instant, heart hammering in her chest. She examined the bottle. Was there something inside?
A dead fish the length o
f her middle finger stared out at her. Its blank eyes were still shiny, and the colors of its orange and blue-striped spiny body hadn’t faded. It was a slake, the poisonous fish.
Felice placed the bottle carefully on a sheet of paper, removed the other object, and unwrapped it. A chill ran through her blood, and she shook her head.
Slake was always one step ahead of the game.
It was her Crow and Moon piece.
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Also by Mitchell Hogan, the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence, in reading order:
At the Sign of the Crow and Moon: A Sorcery Ascendant Prequel Novella Page 8
