Stormcaster

  Swearing, Samara yanked his bow from his saddle boot and sent an arrow flying. He was a good shot—it pinged against the creature’s armor and fell into the water. Lyss watched the beast until it disappeared into the sun.

  “Thrice-cursed dreki,” Samara spat. “That’s twice this week it’s gone after the horses.”

  Turning her attention back to her troops, Lyss saw that one rider had taken a particularly bad spill. He stood, his foot at an impossible angle, and limped toward the barracks.

  Lyss shuddered.

  “Trust me, General, you feel it more than he does,” Tully Samara said. “You must develop a thicker skin.”

  “If only we had bloodsworn horses,” Lyss said, shaking her head sadly, “and bloodsworn ships. We’d be unstoppable.”

  Samara smiled thinly. “I understand that there are more of your countrymen on the way to join the bloodsworn. That should make you feel at home.” Having planted his daily thornbush, Samara heeled his horse and trotted away.

  But even a thornbush grows a flower sometimes. And sometimes the loveliest flower has poison at its heart.

  That afternoon, Lyss met with the empress on her pavilion by the sea. The empress’s current favorite, Tarek, was there, fanning her with a palm leaf and feeding her sugared grapes from a golden bowl. He was very young, extraordinarily handsome, and absolutely terrified.

  “You should choose a lover, General,” Celestine said, licking sugar from her lips. “You are welcome to Tarek when I am finished with him.” She patted his cheek fondly.

  Lyss’s cheeks heated. “No thank you, Your Eminence.”

  “Would a girl suit you better?” The empress gestured toward a small group of maidservants sunning themselves on the cliffs nearby. “If none of them suit, we could go farther afield depending—”

  “I’m . . . ah . . . really quite busy with . . . other things,” Lyss said.

  “Too bad,” the empress said. “You’ve been working so hard, and I’ve been trying to think of a way to reward you.”

  Lyss cleared her throat. “Your praise is all the reward I need, Empress.” And a promise that I won’t have to join your undead army.

  “I think this will please you,” Celestine said. “You’ve been saying that you would like to have more officers to work with you in order to manage our numbers. Yet, as we’ve seen, the bloodsworn do not do well in a command position. So—I have a surprise for you.”

  She clapped her hands, and her maidservant went into the palace, returning with a small group of battered-looking prisoners, most wearing bits and pieces of Highlander uniforms.

  “These men claim that they were officers in your army, Captain,” the empress said, gesturing toward them. “Experienced at command of troops in the field. If you can persuade them to serve me without joining my bloodsworn, I will let them live.”

  Lyss gave the candidates a look-over. Of the six, three were unknown to her. From the looks on their faces, however, she was not unknown to them. The question was, did they know her as Captain Gray or as the heir to the Gray Wolf throne?

  The other three, she recognized. Demeter Farrow, a Waterwalker and lieutenant in her salvo; Munroe Graves—son of Lydia Byrne Graves—an artist turned artilleryman; and, finally, like a recurrent bad dream, Quill Bosley.

  Bosley. He was definitely the sort to survive when so many other, more worthy soldiers had died. Lyss took a deep breath, then released it. Just when you think things can’t get any worse.

  They’d all seen hard use, from the looks of them, Farrow in particular.

  Celestine disentangled herself from Tarek and levered to her feet, “Wetlanders!” she said. “Welcome to Celesgarde. Your lives have been spared because you have been selected to join my army, under the command of General Gray. Do well, and you will be richly rewarded. Disappoint me, and you’ll find that there are other ways to serve.”

  The others stood silently, their eyes shifting from Celestine to Lyss, but swiving Bosley instantly fell to one knee. “Empress,” he said, head bowed. “We will not disappoint you.”

  40

  MASQUERADE

  “King’s Guard black might be your color,” Robert said, looking Hal up and down. “You would give any citizen of the empire the shivers.”

  “If so, it’s more the uniform than the man,” Hal said, hoping he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. He buckled his belt, with its empty scabbard, hoping he’d be given a weapon to fill that scabbard before long. He attached the braid that said he was a private. Privates are a copper a pound—not worthy of notice. At least that was the hope.

  That was about as much as he knew of the plan. Hal was the sort that wanted to know from the start what he was getting into and how he was going to get out.

  You should’ve given up on that a long time ago, he thought.

  The door banged open, startling the both of them. Hal expected Destin Karn, but instead it was Lila Barrowhill, this time clad in scribner blues. She shut the door behind her, strode over to them, and looked them up and down. “This,” she said, stabbing her forefinger into Robert’s lapel, “goes on the left side, not the right.” He stood there, speechless, while she unpinned a badge and repinned it on the other side.

  “Who are you?” Robert managed.

  “My name’s not important.” She turned to look at Hal. “Yours is correct,” she said. “Quit gaping.”

  “Is it just my imagination, or do you work for everyone?” Hal said.

  “That’s me—everybody’s girl. Do you have your masks? Good. If there’s anything you want to bring with you, get it now, because you won’t be back.”

  That, at least, is good news, Hal thought.

  Lila tossed Hal a large cloth sack. “Put all your clothes in here and give them to me. You’ll want them later, when you stop being a blackbird. And hurry. It’s important that I get you two into position before we get this party started. We can’t risk your running into people who might recognize you without your masks.”

  Hal began stuffing his and Robert’s clothes into the bag.

  She opened the door and stood aside. “After you,” she said.

  When they walked out into the corridor, the guards that were usually there were gone.

  “Now,” their escort said, “glower at everyone and walk like a blackbird until I get you under cover.”

  “How does a blackbird walk?” Robert whispered.

  “Like he’s got a burr up his ass,” she said.

  Hal did his best to comply as they descended to the ground floor of Newgate Prison and out into a light rain. Robert took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hal knew that they might be going from the pot into the fire, but he felt the same relief to be out of Newgate.

  Even though it was a short walk from Newgate to the palace, they were accosted along the way by multiple people—at least their escort was. Everybody seemed to know Lila, from a farrier at the stables to a pantry maid taking a break outside the kitchens to another clerk who called, “Hey, Lila, will you be at the Cold Crow tonight? I’ve got to win some of my money back.”

  “No,” she said, without missing a step. “I’m working tonight. Maybe at the turn of the week.”

  They did stop and wait when a velvet-clad merchant drew her aside for a hurried conversation. When she returned, she growled, “Everybody’s job is the most important.” She put on speed, as if to make up for lost time.

  “Is that your name? Lila?” Robert said, hurrying to keep up as they circled around to the back of the palace.

  She shot him a look. “Damn,” she said. “I was beginning to like you. Now I have to kill you.” She pushed open a door that was hidden behind a clump of shrubbery. “In here.”

  She led them through what seemed to be a servants’ entrance to a pantry and staging area that was no longer in use. Hal could hear the clamor of musicians trying out their tuning in the next room.

  “Is that the ballroom?” he said, tipping his head toward the sound. He’d been in there b
efore, for parties during the holidays.

  “Yes,” Lila said. Opening a cabinet, she pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside were two standard-issue blackbird swords and two daggers.

  She handed out the weapons. Hal slid the blade home with a satisfactory hiss.

  Lila opened another cabinet. It was stuffed with what appeared to be black oilskin cloaks. Again, standard issue for the King’s Guard here in the south, where winter was more often rainy than cold.

  “Leave the cloaks in here until you need them,” she said. “When the party gets under way, ease out and mingle.” She opened the door that should have led into the ballroom, but all Hal could see were thick blue draperies. “The hostages will be wearing animal masks covered in sequins—badgers, lions, elyphants, dragons, and so on. They’re all different styles and colors, so the hostages will be harder for the King’s Guard to notice when they congregate. Get word to each one of them to drift toward the punch bowl when the temple sounds the quarter hour before ten o’clock. Also—tell them to keep their masks on until they are told to remove them. We don’t want anyone picking them out.”

  “That’s a lot of information to deliver,” Hal said. “Wouldn’t it have been safer to let them know the plan before they come up to the ballroom? What if we miss someone? What if someone notices us making the rounds?”

  “Lieutenant Karn wants to make sure nothing leaks beforehand. There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “But—”

  “There are twenty-eight adults. See that you get to everyone, and make sure you’re not noticed.” She paused, and when there was no more protest, she went on. “At ten o’clock, all hell breaks loose, and you will herd them behind the curtain and out through the exit door, handing each one a cloak to put on as they come through. Got it?”

  “Where do we go once we get outside?” Robert’s eyes were alight with excitement. He was all action, waiting to happen.

  “The postern gate will be open, but you won’t go there. You’ll go back to Newgate.”

  “Newgate?” Hal shook his head. “Why do we go back there?”

  “Because it’s close, and because nobody will look for you there. Once you’re there, you’ll get further orders.”

  “What happens at ten o’clock?” Robert said.

  “Like I said. You’ll see. Now, I have errands to run.” She left through the door they’d come in, leaving Hal and Robert staring after her.

  “What just happened?” Robert whispered.

  “Damned if I know,” Hal said.

  Destin Karn descended the now-familiar staircase to King Jarat’s secret prison, Luc Granger at his heels, along with a small crew of the king’s handpicked blackbirds. There were so many ways this complicated plan could go wrong, with so many untried civilians involved. So he’d have to feed them information just in time for them to put it to use. And he’d have to find a way to do it with Granger shadowing his every step.

  The hostages were already assembled, dressed in their party clothes. Lila and Marina had done their work well, with help from Jocelyn, Destin’s tailor friend. They wore a combination of clothing fetched from their capital apartments, clothing they’d had with them in the Pit, now carefully cleaned and repaired, and some new acquisitions by Lila for the children.

  He took a quick head count. All present and accounted for, including the Matelons. He asked Lady Heresford to hand out the masks. The children, especially, were smitten with the animal masks, arguing over who would get what. He noted that Harper chose a dragon mask, and her mother a badger.

  “No pushing,” he said, feeling like a stand-in teacher at a grammar school. “There are enough for everyone. Does everyone have a mask? Good. Don’t put them on until we get upstairs. I don’t want anyone stumbling and cracking their head open, because I’ll have to clean up the blood.” I do enough of that as it is.

  The lýtlings seemed to find this hilarious. Their mothers, less so.

  Granger seemed unmoored in this sea of women and children, as if they drained all of the swagger out of him, leaving the nastiness behind. “Tell them we’ll cut the whelplings’ throats if they make a scene,” he murmured to Destin.

  “Good thinking,” Destin murmured back. “That’s guaranteed to put them in a party mood.”

  Taking a step away from Granger, Destin addressed the hostages. “Now, just a word of caution before we go upstairs,” he said. “I know you’ve been put in an awkward situation. This might seem like an opportunity for a show of opposition—some kind of demonstration to embarrass the king in front of his guests. Trust me, it’s not. It will accomplish nothing, and it will damage Queen Marina, who stuck her neck out for you. Most importantly, it will put you at risk, since there’s no telling how Jarat will react. Does everyone understand?”

  There followed a grudging mumble of agreement.

  Destin took a deep breath. “Let’s go,” he said.

  41

  WALLFLOWER

  It seemed to take forever to get the party started. Hal spent that time going over Lila’s orders in his head, worrying about all the things that could go wrong. Who was Barrowhill anyway? She looked like a Southern Islander, and maybe she was, because she swore like a sailor. Was she some minion of Karn’s? Had she been spying on the thanes when they’d met at Temple Church?

  Karn must have a whole network of people to call upon. But how many of them could be trusted to go along with freeing the hostages?

  Finally, the band started up in earnest, and Hal could hear various dignitaries being introduced as they entered the ballroom. When it sounded like the room was sufficiently full of people, he pulled on his mask and motioned to his brother to do the same. “Let’s go.”

  They closed the door gently behind them and found their way to an opening in the drapery. Hal peered out, but flinched back when he saw somebody standing just outside, next to the punch bowl.

  The man wore an Ardenine dress uniform and a red hawk mask. He had his back to them, but the general’s braid on his shoulders and the shape of him made him easily identifiable as General Marin Karn. He stood, glaring out at the room, arms folded, like a stump rooted to the floor.

  Hal raised his hand to stop his brother, who was trying to slide past him. “It’s Karn Senior,” he hissed.

  Robert peered out. “Poor Karn’s a wallflower,” he whispered.

  “Shhh!” Hal knew his brother was trying to dispel the tension, but there was nothing humorous about Marin Karn.

  What with the music and the announcements and all, Hal didn’t think they could be heard, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  King Jarat sat on a raised dais at the far end of the room, his mother and younger sister at his side. One by one, the loyal thanes and their ladies were introduced and walked the length of the room to pay their respects to the king. Botetort, Beauchamp, and Larue, each with his lady on his arm. And then the guests from the far reaches of the empire—the ambassador from Bruinswallow, the Thane of We’enhaven, the Lord Governor of Tamron, and the Lord of the Isles.

  The walls were lined with blackbirds—no, King’s Guards—sleek in their dress uniforms. Intermingled with them were officers from the regular army. Their assignment tonight would be to dance with any lady in need of a partner. They were armed, though, and from their expressions and posture, they seemed to be expecting trouble.

  To Hal’s relief, the king summoned Karn Senior to meet the military governor of Watergate, or some such. Once he walked away, Hal and Robert were free to slide out from behind the drapes. They joined the perimeter of social conscripts and waited.

  The king really had spared no expense. The ceilings were covered with billows of silk that met in the middle. From that midpoint dangled a huge red hawk made of papier-mâché—the kind that held prizes and candies. Masked servers walked around the room, offering smoked snails, quail eggs, and caviar, along with little biscuits filled with roast meat. Liquor was flowing at several bars. One entire wall was given to desserts.
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  On any other night, Hal would have taken advantage, given his long period of ascetic living in the north. But tonight his stomach was tied in knots, and he was in no hurry to chance these fancy foods.

  It wasn’t long before there was a stir in the entryway, signaling new arrivals. There was Destin Karn, gliding across the dance floor to speak to the king, who smiled and nodded. Hal watched with interest as Karn Junior and Senior exchanged stiff nods, their body language as hostile as could be.

  They really don’t like each other, Hal thought, recalling his conversation with Destin Karn at Newgate. I wonder why.

  Karn Junior spoke hurriedly to the band, which played a fanfare, bringing everyone’s attention to the dais.

  Jarat stood, Queen Marina and Princess Madeleine beside him. “Welcome to the heartbeat of the empire,” he said. “Celebrations with good friends and allies are important, even amid the uncertainties of war. We have with us tonight some of the fairest flowers of the realm. Though some in their families have taken up arms against us, we have invited them to join us in the hope that this gesture might be a first step in reaching a permanent peace.”

  “That’s a shitload of scummer,” Robert murmured.

  “When a king is shoveling it, you listen and you smile,” Hal said, clapping along with the other guests.

  “Ladies, come forward,” King Jarat said.

  And they came, straight-backed women ushering their children, walking the length of the room, and curtsying before the royal family. As they did so, the royal crier called out their names. “Lady Patrice DeLacroix and children. Lady Christina Heresford and children. Lady Danielle Oberon.”

  “He’s not using their titles,” Robert muttered.