Servant of the Crown

  Manhouch XI still had many years left to him.

  Tamas watched him take two more shots, considering each for several minutes before setting his cue to the cloth, each shot more masterful than the last. After that third shot Tamas dare to speak up.

  “How may I serve you, my lord?”

  The king pointed the cue at him. “You may serve me by standing just there and not speaking unless spoken to.”

  What was he, a schoolchild? Tamas felt his cheeks warm and a flare of indignity. “Yes, my lord.”

  The old king took several more shots over the next twenty minutes. There was only one in which he scored less than six counts on a stroke, and when it happened he swore quietly to himself.

  Tamas had seen similar behavior from senior officers. They would call a man in and ignore them for some time, going about a leisure activity like solitaire, letter-writing, billiards, or what-have-you for some time before addressing the subordinate. It was meant as an intimidating tactic. Something to make the victim feel insignificant.

  Of course, the king didn’t need to make it clear he was more important than you. The king, if Tamas guessed correctly, was sending an entirely different message. And it was to the royal cabal. Tamas could very well have been as important as a piece of paper.

  Tamas let his mind wander to Erika. She has occupied his thoughts quite a lot the last few weeks. More than she should, that was for certain. They had trained nearly every day for at least a few hours, either shooting out in the glen or dueling in an abandoned warehouse in the factory district of Adopest.

  She had learned the basics of controlling her powder trance almost immediately, and Tamas had no doubt that she could defeat any two men at a time with her newfound speed and strength. It was remarkable, really. He had never met a woman of that age with such grace and confidence. And the way she smiled at him made him wish that he was half as good a student for her dueling techniques as she was for shooting.

  After his tenth shot, Manhouch glanced at the grandfather clock at one end of the billiards room and nodded to himself. “That’s about right,” he said. “You may go.”

  Tamas ducked a bow. “Thank you, your majesty. My lord, if I may?”

  “You may,” Manhouch glanced at Tamas with some annoyance. “But if you’re about to say anything that isn’t advice in improving my game, I suggest you not.”

  “I think it is, my lord.”

  Manhouch set the cue on the far end of the table and rolled it beneath his fingers. “Oh, is it? Well then this is something I had better hear.” There was a note of bemusement to his tone, as well as danger. Be careful, it said. You are a worm to me.

  “My lord,” Tamas said, swallowing hard, wondering if he were about to commit career, political, and possibly literal suicide all at once. “I’d call your memory back to a couple of weeks ago. I mentioned a hearing in which my status and rank were up for review, and a request that you step in on my behalf?”

  Manhouch snatched up his cue, looking somewhat disappointed. “And I told you no. That’s quite enough, Captain. Do not lie to me again.”

  “I didn’t, your majesty,” Tamas rushed ahead. “If no one represents me at the hearing I will lose my status and rank, and I will be no more use to you.”

  Manhouch paused lining up his next shot, watching Tamas like a cat watches a mouse.

  “The cabal will have won,” Tamas finished, his mouth dry.

  “I don’t know what you think you know, Captain. But you’ve overstepped your bounds. Leave.”

  Tamas tried not to seem as if he were fleeing, but he couldn’t help a hurried step as he left the king’s billiards room.

  Tamas left his horse with the boy at the stable down the road from the small house he rented in a northeastern borough of Adopest.

  It had begun to snow on his way back from Skyline Palace. Three inches lay on the streets when he left the stable and he guessed there would be that much or more again in the morning, turning to muddy slush with the daily traffic. He could sense that it would be a miserable winter and wished that he was on campaign in sunny, warm Gurla.

  There was a chill deep in his bones. He didn’t think even a warm bath would get it out. He had made a terrible mistake with the king. At the very best all chances of future favor were gone. At the worst? He might not even have to wait for a hearing. He could awake in the morning to a message that his rank had been withdrawn and he was back among the non-commissioned soldiers.

  The thought left him sick to his stomach, and at first he barely noticed the figure that hurried up from behind and fell into pace beside him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Erika brushed the straw out of her hair and straightened her bicorn. “I was waiting for you in the stables but I fell asleep.”

  “I can see that. But what are you doing here?”

  “I thought we could go shooting.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to decide what she was getting at. She noticed the look and gave him a sly smile. “It’s almost midnight,” he said.

  “You said I would have to learn to shoot at night.”

  “And it’s snowing.”

  “Adverse conditions,” she replied, her smile widening to a grin.

  Tamas felt the corner of his mouth lift slightly. Erika was already shooting better than most infantrymen. Once he taught her how to float a bullet she would take the apple off a tree at three quarters of a mile. Spending the night out in the country with a gorgeous woman, shooting pistols and muskets, sounded like the best idea he’d ever heard.

  He cursed silently to himself. He had to remember who she was. Fighting his urge to say yes, he shook his head. “Not tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “I … I just don’t think it would be appropriate without a chaperone.”

  “Not appropriate? You keep telling me how well I’m doing and you still insist on helping me adjust my aim. That’s not appropriate.”

  Tamas thought about standing behind her, pressed close, his hand on hers under the stock, arm around her shoulder as they look down the rifle barrel together. He suppressed a smile. Pit, what was he doing? He couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t stopped me.”

  “Maybe I like it.” Erika swayed into him, her shoulder gently knocking against his chest, and then gave a playful skip. “Come on. Tell me what the matter is.”

  Tamas stopped and watched her walk on ahead. When she noticed, she came back around, eyebrows raised expectantly.

  “I’ve just come from an audience with the king,” Tamas said.

  Erika’s playfulness was gone. She leaned forward. “Really? A private audience?”

  “It wasn’t anything good. This is the second time he’s called me in and had me stand there while he ignored me.”

  “Perhaps he’s testing you.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s using me in some game with the cabal. I’m no use to him otherwise. Just a common soldier.”

  “You’re a commoner who has risen to the rank of captain. You’re nothing short of extraordinary.”

  Tamas looked up sharply to see if she was mocking him, but her expression was in earnest. “No,” he said. “It’s the cabal. I know it. But anyways, that’s not it. Tonight I tried to use that knowledge to get him to help me.”

  “You tried to leverage the Iron King?” Erika said, giving a nervous laugh. “How big are your balls?”

  Tamas blanched at her choice of expression. “It was a mistake.”

  “I’ll say. What did you want his help with?”

  “Nothing,” Tamas said. This wasn’t something she needed to know. She might want to offer help, and he could not accept it. He would feel too much a cad.

  She leaned closer to him and looked up. He could have kissed her without bending more than a few inches. “I don’t think it’s nothing,” she said. “Is it about that duel with Captain Linz?”

  “It is nothing for you to concern yourself over,” he s
aid.

  She stepped away. “If you insist. Do you have anything scheduled tomorrow?”

  “No,” Tamas said. He was an unwanted soldier without a campaign. He was under suspension. What few duties he had left to him could be finished in a couple hours each week.

  “Then we should leave the city tonight. We can shoot until our eyelids are heavy then camp until afternoon. Then in the evening we’ll work through the fencing forms I’ve been showing you.”

  They had arrived at the door to his small, first-floor tenement. Tamas used the opportunity to turn away from her. Every instinct was telling him to say no. If he went, it could be nothing but practice, even if he wanted something more. Even if she wanted something more, which seemed beyond possible.

  He tried to tell himself that her flirtatiousness was just his imagination. There was no possible way that a girl of her cleverness and station would allow herself to feel anything for a commoner.

  She looked at him, eyes half-lidded, biting her bottom lip. His heart hammered in his head.

  “All right,” he said breathlessly. “Let me just …”

  He caught it then. It was very faint, and at first he thought it just his imagination. But a moment later the scent intensified.

  Jasmine perfume.

  “No,” he said.

  “You just …” Erika began.

  Tamas cut her off. “No. I can’t. Too much to do. This is just … just child’s play. You should go. Now.” His voice rose until the last word was nearly a shout. Erika stepped back, her face scrunched with alarm, her hand on her sword, and Tamas realized how violently the words had come out.

  “I’m not a child.” Erika said. Her tone was steel.

  “Yes, you are. Now leave.”

  Erika whirled on her heel without another word, striding through the falling snow. Tamas couldn’t help but feel a deep regret as she left, but he knew it was for the best.

  He cracked a powder charge and sprinkled half of it on his tongue. The scent of jasmine intensified, and Tamas could feel the presence of the Privileged on the other side of the door. He removed the iron key from his pocket and turned the lock, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  He kept a hand on the butt of his pistol and peered through the darkness with his heightened senses. His was not a large home. The living space was nothing more than a coal stove, a table, two chairs, and a cupboard. A door to his left led to his small, cramped bedroom.

  Privileged Dienne sat on the other side of the table, fingers steepled in front of her face, wearing her gloves. The window behind her into the courtyard of his tenement was open, allowing the snow to blow gently onto his floor. She was flanked by two of her cabal guards, their hands resting on the pommels of their sabers. Two more guards stood to either side of the door, and when he had closed it they moved almost silently to take up positions behind him.

  The attack came so quickly Tamas could hardly react. The two guards each grasped one of his arms, yanking his hand away from his pistol. He spun toward one of them, wrenching his opposite arm free, grasping for his belt knife.

  His free arm was snatched again, and he was forced into a brief wrestling match. His powder trance gave him more speed and strength than both men together. He cracked one in the nose with his elbow and finally got a hold of his knife. He brought it up and around.

  And found himself unable to move.

  He strained at the invisible bonds that held him, eyes seeking Privileged Dienne. Her fingers twitched slightly, and he could feel the trickle of sorcery that she pulled into this world.

  His arms were forcibly returned to his side, his knife and pistol taken from him. By the time the sorcery released him, the two guards held him in such a way as would force him to break his own arms if he struggled.

  “Who’s the girl?” Dienne asked, finally breaking the silence.

  “No one of importance,” Tamas said through clenched teeth.

  “Shall I go after her, my lady?” the guard beside her asked, his voice a bass rumble.

  “We’ll find out who she is soon enough,” Dienne said, waving dismissively. “Captain Tamas, you have one opportunity to tell me what the king wishes of you. If you don’t, I will begin to burst the molars in the back of your mouth, one at a time, until you have no teeth left.”

  Tamas relaxed completely, letting himself sag against the two guards that held him. “I won’t be able to talk through that kind of pain.”

  “You’re a powder mage. I suspect that your pain tolerance is rather high, and considering how well you saw me in the dark I imagine that you’re running a powder trance right now. Don’t try to toy with me, Captain. You’ll do fine.”

  “Why do you care what the king wants with me?”

  “This isn’t a conversation,” the guard holding Tamas’s left arm said. “You will not ask questions.”

  Tamas turned his head and coughed, as if clearing his throat, then spit a wad of phlegm into the guard’s eye.

  He was rewarded with a punch to his gut that doubled him over, the pain shooting like a bolt through his powder trance. He remained that way, stars floating before his eyes, until the guards forced him back up.

  “What did that gain you?” Privileged Dienne asked.

  The bastard on my left doesn’t have a proper hold on me anymore, Tamas thought. He said nothing aloud.

  “You’re very stubborn,” Dienne said. “I’ll give you this; the king wants you because you’re a powder mage. But I imagine you know that already. Regardless of what he may have told you, you will gain nothing from serving him in any capacity. In a few months your rank will be stripped from you. You will be discharged from the army, and no one in all the Nine will be willing to employ you in any profession that has even the slightest scrap of dignity. You will spend the rest of your life shoveling shit or mining coal, wishing that I had killed you. Now what did the king want?”

  Dienne might as well have admitted that she was behind his suspension, confirming Tamas’s suspicions. Not that the knowledge gave him any satisfaction. He could feel the pressure build in the back of his jaw. It started as a niggle, then an increased force, as if someone was drilling his molars from the inside out. He gave an involuntary whimper.

  The pressure lessened. “What was that?” Dienne said, leaning forward with a smile.

  “He’s playing you,” Tamas finally got out.

  The smile disappeared. “Explain.”

  “What does he want me for? Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “You’re trying my patience.”

  “And you’re trying mine. If you’re going to torture me, get on with it. But I just told you what you wanted to know.”

  Dienne stared at him as if she were looking at a particularly hideous dog. Tamas wondered if anyone had ever shown her any kind of defiance in her life as a Privileged. “Have it your way,” she finally said with a snort.

  Tamas felt the pressure in his teeth increase suddenly, and he anticipated the scream that was about to tear itself from his throat.

  “That’s enough of that,” a voice said.

  The room grew very suddenly still. The guards all looked at the Privileged, Dienne’s posture was suddenly stiff as if there was something pressed against the small of her back.

  “If you so much as twitch a finger I will splatter your heart across the front of Captain Tamas’s nice uniform.” Erika’s face appeared in the open window just over Dienne’s shoulder. “Tell your guards to step away.”

  “Do it,” Dienne said.

  Tamas was released, and the four guards pressed themselves into the corners of the room without protest.

  “Now hold your hands in the air, fingers splayed,” Erika instructed the Privileged. Dienne’s raised her hands slowly, and Erika reached one hand around to pluck off the gloves, one finger at a time. When she had pocketed the gloves, she said, “Tamas, get out of here.”

  Tamas’s mouth was dry. He snatched up his knife and pistol, then put on his hat. He wa
sn’t about to argue.

  “You’ve just killed yourself in the most painful way you can imagine, girl,” Dienne said.

  “And you’ll kill yourself in a very fast way if you move even the slightest bit,” Erika said.

  Tamas unlatched his door and swung it open with one elbow, trying to watch the guards and Privileged all at once. He checked to be sure his sword was still attached to his belt—the guard hadn’t bothered taking something that would be no use to him in such close quarters.

  He stepped out the door and immediately began to sprint, following Erika’s tracks in the fresh-fallen snow. He slid around the corner, then around another until he reached the rear entrance to the courtyard behind his tenement. Erika met him there, pistol still in her hand.

  “You saved my life,” he said. The thought floored him.

  “Just returning the favor.”

  Tamas was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “No time to explain,” Erika said. Her hair was soaked with sweat, and as he clutched her shoulders he could tell that she was trembling fiercely.

  “Powder,” he told her. “It’ll help with the nerves.”

  “I don’t …” she fumbled with her belt pouch.

  Tamas took a powder charge from his kit and tore it open with his teeth. He took her by the chin, pulling her lip down with one thumb, and pressing the powder into her gum. She licked the powder away and looked up at him.

  She smiled as he pulled away. Her trembling had stopped. The whole exchange had taken just a dozen heartbeats, but Tamas knew that it had been too long.

  “We have to run.”

  “I took her gloves.”

  “She’ll have extras.”

  As if to prove his point, Tamas felt his sixth sense pricked as sorcery was pulled violently into this world. He hugged Erika to him and threw them both backwards. The fireball that tore through where they had just been standing cut through the brick of the tenement like a cannonball.

  They leapt to their feet, sliding on the snow, and began to run.

  “She won’t open up entirely,” Tamas said. “Not in the city.” I hope, he added silently.