Milisend turned to her. “My dear friend, you know me better than anyone, even Regaume. And so you know why I must try. I will never be happy if I sit by while they take him to the gallows.”
“Even if you save him, where will you go? And think of your mother, your sisters…”
“If I’m with Regaume, I will go anywhere. Mother and Father are no longer the people they once were. My sisters will understand. You can tell them about all of this.” Milisend held up her mask. “They will understand. Or they won’t, it makes no difference to me anymore.” She put on the mask.
Rosellen could not help but smile. “They would never understand this…”
Milisend put on the slippers.
“I will miss hearing about your adventures,” Rosellen continued.
“I will miss your care and love,” Milisend said. “Your companionship, advice, good gossip, and helping me sneak out of the palace to see Regaume all those times…I’ve never known a better friend. You’ve always been by my side, Rosellen. Since we were girls.”
“I’ll be here still, should you ever sneak back in to visit.”
Rosellen handed her the black dagger for her belt. Milisend took it and gave her a long hug, then pulled the hood over her head.
“Regaume will be saved for sure,” Rosellen said, adjusting the hood.
“He saved me first,” Milisend said. “I was never meant to wed any lord.”
“I suppose not. I hope that you—”
They were startled by the fierce shouts of men in the corridor. The clash of steel was sudden and loud. Rosellen gasped and they hugged.
“They are here!”
“Hide!” Milisend said. She pulled the dagger from her belt and moved toward her closed door. Her hand trembled in front of her as the screaming grew louder. The stone floor shuddered with the fall of armored bodies. She forced herself to reach for the door, dagger ready.
She jerked it open and stepped into the corridor. Soldiers lay scattered and broken, red with burns and deep gashes in their armor. Her heart leaped into her throat as she stepped around them. An orange light glowed from around the corner. She quickened her pace as she realized the assassins were circling around toward the princesses’ common room.
She neared the corner and smelled the burning of lamp oil and flesh. She turned the corner and felt the heat through her leathers. She saw two smoke-shrouded figures enter the common room at the end of the corridor. One had long, shining blades for hands. The other was on fire, yet not in pain.
Milisend rushed forward, fearing for her sisters. She felt a certain inevitability grip her, yet the screams of her sisters propelled her forward. As she neared the burning door a body was thrown out into the corridor. It was Tronchet, the robe lapels on his chest aflame. He hit the wall and fell, silent. Milisend took the sword from his hand and stepped into the doorway.
Avalane and Brielle were already dead. The figure with the blades, a woman, was approaching the last Crownblade in the room. She skated into the Crownblade using wheels that flipped down from her boot toes and from the heels. The Crownblade broke his sword on her armor, and she killed him swiftly.
Then the other figure drew Milisend’s gaze. He walked in armor that blazed like a hearthfire. He was busy deliberately touching everything with flaming fingers. Curtains, furniture, anything that would take the fire. Black smoke collected quickly in the high ceiling. Then the burning man walked to Brielle’s personal chambers, dispatching a wounded soldier who had been hiding.
The woman seemed to be resting, or waiting. Milisend surged in toward her, eyeing what looked like a gap in the armor on her back, just under her shoulder. The woman noticed her at the last moment and turned, but it was too late. Milisend plunged the dagger into the gap.
The woman screamed and pulled away, taking her dagger. She struggled to reach the blade in her back. Milisend raised Tronchet’s sword, but Rosellen’s scream distracted her. Then the burning man appeared in Brielle’s doorway. Rosellen was alive for the moment, held fast in the man’s burning hands.
Milisend lowered her sword as the woman struggled to remove the dagger. But the burning man did not demand she throw down her sword. He was happy to wait. Rosellen screamed as his fire leaped onto her dress and into her hair. Milisend looked at the blank, unfeeling mask covering his face. His armor shimmered golden bright.
Milisend charged at him, and he tossed Rosellen aside. She brought her sword high as the burning man stepped toward her. He moved a bit but let her strike him on his shoulder. Sparks erupted, and Milisend felt an intense heat. The burning man reached for her sword. She nimbly skipped around him, looking for a weak point in his armor as Regaume had taught her to do. The burning man appeared amused as she became frustrated.
The blade-handed woman had positioned herself at the exit. Milisend felt tears wet the inside of her mask and the cold grip of death again. The faces of the Crownblades, Tronchet, the lord ministers, and others better with a sword than she flashed through her mind.
Walking slowly, the burning man maneuvered Milisend into a corner. She was summoning her courage for a final charge at him when his head suddenly bent forward. He turned around, and the spear that had jabbed the back of his helmet fell to the floor. Rosellen tried to recover the spear for another jab, but he smacked the weapon away and took hold of Rosellen’s head. She struggled and screamed out before falling limp.
Milisend picked up the spear and whacked the burning man in the head and ran past him toward the door. The woman was bent over, her white hand out of the bladed gauntlet and still reaching for the dagger in her back. Milisend jabbed at her, but the armor deflected and broke the spear tip. The woman repositioned herself in the doorway and slashed out at Milisend.
Milisend gave up on the door and jumped through the shattered window to a rooftop close below. She looked up after landing, seeing the burning man looking down at her briefly before disappearing.
She got up and ran across the rooftops, her heart heavy with grief.
103. BRUGARN
Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry
Midsummer, 3034
“The time for dithering is over, Voufon,” Brugarn said. “As Lord Minister of Laume, your lands lie north of Alpenon. Asteroth requires your immediate aid to prevent the Rugens from marching on Eglamour.”
“Toulon is the greatest realm of Donovan,” she said. “Laume has a fraction of your soldiers and resources, and I’d have to cross my army through mountains if the Laume River Valley is taken. My ministry would be left undefended.”
“If Laume must be sacrificed to save the kingdom, then we should accept that,” Meltres said.
“Who is this whom I’ve neither asked for nor have need of his advice?” Voufon asked.
“You must remember Meltres,” Brugarn said. “He was our ambassador to Maillard’s ill-fated Empire Alliance Council. I’ve chosen Meltres to organize the defenses of southern Toulon.”
“You’re jesting,” Voufon said. “He looks like a sickly scribe. Has he ever ridden a horse?”
“Actually, I served in Alpenon years ago with my cousin, General Chaultion,” Meltres said.
Voufon shook her head in disbelief.
“I neither asked for nor have need of your advice on such matters,” Brugarn said to her. “What I want from you, Voufon, is your army. You may think it small, but if the Rugens break past Asteroth and march toward Eglamour, your army’s attack on the Rugen flank would slow them down until I receive Henrey’s forces from Elmbrel and other armies from the east. Your soldiers will buy time for the rest of us.”
“At what cost?” Voufon asked. “Is Laume to be destroyed because you and your underlings did not prepare?”
“I require your complete loyalty.”
“You are not the king.”
“He is sitting on the throne,” Meltres said.
“You have no crown and you do not wield the Rhunegeld,” Voufon said. “Sit where you l
ike, but you are no king.”
Brugarn smacked her, and she stumbled to the floor. “Not yet,” he said. “This conversation is over, Voufon. Go say farewell to your sister, if the queen still recognizes you and anyone else through her popaver fog. Then return to Laume to gather your forces. One of Chaultion’s commanders will accompany you to make sure you do it right.”
Voufon came to her feet, shaking but with defiance in her eyes. Brugarn was still uncertain whether she would submit to him. He would never know. As Voufon opened her mouth to speak, a peculiar gurgling sound came from Meltres. He fell forward, landing facedown on the floor. Two tiny crossbow bolts protruded from the back of his head. More shots came from behind the throne, one sinking into Voufon’s thigh.
Brugarn hopped from the throne and ran toward the middle of the floor to shield himself behind Voufon as the Crownblades reacted. He turned to see a masked, armored man running out from behind the throne, his bulky forearms shooting bolts at the Crownblades that encircled Brugarn.
Brugarn dove to the floor, catching a glimpse of another masked assassin coming through a window. Voufon screamed as the crossbow bolts ricocheted off the columns and walls. Brugarn felt one bite into his shoulder, then his neck. Then his legs. Voufon’s body fell on top of him, her blood spilling on him.
He screamed out as orange smoke engulfed him and the Crownblades. A glowing red sword swept through the cloud, cutting down Crownblades left and right. Wounded and pinned, Brugarn reached for the hem of Voufon’s red-soaked robes. He pulled the fabric over his face as the orange smoke thickened. He felt the taste of vomit in his mouth but pressed the fabric into his face, trying to breathe as sparingly as his racing heart would allow.
The screams of his guards filled his ears, and the stench of the smoke burned his nose. He squeezed his eyes and mouth shut and felt his mind fog as the blood drained out of him.
---
When Brugarn awoke he found himself in his comfortable bed. Two blurry faces hovered over him. When his eyes cleared he saw his physician and Arthan.
“Where…are they?”
“They escaped,” Arthan said.
“My lord, you must rest,” the physician said.
Brugarn’s head was spinning. He felt weak, and his body hurt all over. A heap of bloody rags and crossbow bolts were stacked on a table near his bed. But for once he was glad to see Arthan. “Tell me…” Brugarn whispered.
“I was at Clonmel when we heard the attacks,” Arthan said. “I brought my men, but we were too late for the king’s daughters. We found their charred bodies…When we came to your chambers the two assassins were still fighting the Crownblades. We flooded in, and they disappeared. In addition to most of your guard force, Lord Minister Voufon and Sir Meltres perished.”
“Reimvick?” Brugarn whispered.
“We still have him. And we’re still searching in Borel for Arasemis.”
Brugarn cleared his throat. “Arrest Vesamune…I will have my revenge…”
“We don’t think the Rugens are behind this anymore.”
Brugarn shook his head on his pillow. “It’s war…”
“I will arrest her,” Arthan said. “The king, in case you were concerned, is safe. And we’ve moved the queen into the lower chambers of the king’s tower, so we could consolidate the remaining Crownblades. Hamelin says he has less than fifty, plus the regular palace guards. My Racharders are also on patrol inside and around the palace.”
Brugarn nodded, then they stared at each other for a moment. Brugarn recognized that he was in a vulnerable position. If Arthan wished, he could quietly end Brugarn’s life. Brugarn could see those thoughts bubbling behind the lord minister’s eyes.
“I must thank…you for saving me…from them. A second time…”
“It is my duty.”
“Yes…”
He was confident the son of Maillard would let him live. He lifted his hand with his wist ring. Arthan hesitated but finally grasped his hand. Brugarn smiled, but Arthan did not. He turned and departed. Brugarn looked at his physician.
“Popaver…Make me sleep.”
104. MARLAN
Cellars of Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry
Midsummer, 3034
“Who was the black-masked woman?” Marlan asked, rolling a keg away from the cellar wall for a seat.
“And how did she know where we would be?” Rodel asked.
“Maybe she was just lucky,” Fetzer said, staring at the candle. “She moved quickly though, like she’d been trained in aerina arcana. And she wore black leathers head to foot, like a dark widsemer.”
“I’m not sure it was her intent to be there to fight us,” Juhl said, lifting her arm as Rodel finished wrapping her torso. “Except for stabbing my shoulder blade, she was completely defensive. And she escaped as soon as she had the chance, so unlikely a bodyguard.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you succeeded in killing the princesses.” Marlan said. “We can report this mystery woman to Arasemis when we return to Borel. He may have ideas about her.”
“You didn’t have trouble with Brugarn and Voufon?” Fetzer asked.
Marlan sighed. “So we thought. Rodel filled them with bolts, and I used the poison clouds. We couldn’t confirm the bodies because Arthan and more Crownblades flooded in.”
“Did you kill him?” Fetzer asked.
“He had that sword, the one that absorbed alchemical clouds at the warcastle ruin and made Juhl sick. This time it absorbed the heat from my sword. It was harmless against my armor, of course, but not Rodel’s.”
Rodel held up his left arm. “Melted the cocking rods on my side here, rendering my left arm crossbows useless. I ran first, fearing I had been wounded.”
“We hid in various rooms before coming here,” Marlan said. “On the way we heard guards describing Brugarn as still clinging to life.”
“So are we to deviate from the plan, to make another attempt on him?” Fetzer asked.
“No, we must move forward,” Marlan said. “If he is mortally wounded like he must be, we would be wasting our time breaking through his guards. If he lives, we’ll have another opportunity after we finish the king.”
“So what next?” Juhl asked.
“From what we can tell, the king’s tower must be the northern one,” Marlan said.
“The merchant brought us in over there,” Fetzer said. “It cannot be the king’s tower. Not enough Crownblades standing guard. It must be the southern tower.”
Marlan shook his head. “Wish we had that final letter Arasemis was expecting from our palace supporter. If we only knew who he was, and where he was…”
“One of the master’s many failures,” Fetzer said. “Which reminds me, would Arasemis fake illness to avoid the danger of this task?”
“You’ve gloated about stealing his lamp armor,” Juhl said. “Now you dare to accuse the master of cowardice?”
“Only the most daring members of this Order will survive these tasks,” Fetzer said, glaring at her.
“Fetzer also took his time burning those women,” Juhl said to Marlan. “He enjoyed it too much, in my opinion. And he endangered us by starting those fires.”
“Their deaths were supposed to be quick and clean,” Marlan said. “And fire-setting is not part of the plan, not until the task is done.”
“These are cruel rulers of multitudes,” Fetzer said. “They deserve much worse than brief suffering at death. And look what that fire has bought us: more soldiers distracted with putting it out than looking for us.”
“The youngest princess was just a girl,” Juhl said. “I don’t love any of them. But Candlestone is meant to be quick and clean. Deaths are meant to be precise and with little suffering.”
“I’m still disappointed that you stole Arasemis’s armor,” Marlan said, “but I won’t force it off you. I’m only using an obscurant in my mechan veins because I don’t want to risk poisoning any of you. Your fire
must be similarly controlled, or it will cut out your lamp oil reservoir. We must work together to finish this.”
“The south tower is the king’s tower,” Fetzer said.
“I think it’s the northern one,” Marlan said.
“We cannot split up this time,” Rodel said. “It will take all of us to reach the king.”
“South tower, Marlan,” Fetzer said.
Marlan stared at him, knowing they could not take the time or the risk to scout the towers again. Part of Marlan was glad Fetzer was wearing the lamp armor. It was fearsome and would make torching the palace easier at the end. And Marlan’s faith that Fetzer was a prophetic leader of Candlestone was strengthened by seeing him in the mechan that Arasemis had chosen for himself.
But Arasemis was still the master, and disobeying the master was disloyal to the ancient Order. Yet Marlan’s conviction that Fetzer would come around was not shaken. He knew he would learn to respect Arasemis and properly prepare to succeed him as master when the time was right. Marlan knew Fetzer would lead Candlestone well when he learned self-control.
“Fine, south tower,” Marlan said. “If you’re right, we’ll kill the king, then escape the way we came, and you can torch everything. If you’re wrong, we may not make it to the north tower. Juhl, are you patched up enough to continue?”
Juhl nodded. “I’m going to keep that woman’s dagger for the next time I see her.”
“Rodel?”
“I transferred the left side bolt cartridges into my right. It’s awkward to run with the rods engaged only on one side, but it’s minor. And I have the candle alchemy bag right here. I’m ready.”
“Fetzer?”
“I want to be the one to kill Erech.”
Marlan knew that the honor of killing the king was his, as Arasemis’s designated leader of the task. “We must get to him first. Then whoever has the best opportunity will take his life,” he said simply.
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