The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns (38 page)

“I thought it would be harder, to kill somebody.”

“I know.”

“You tried to talk me out of coming.” Cyte opened her eyes. “Thank you.”

“It didn’t work.”

Cyte gave a weary shrug. “The effort has to be worth something.”

“All right!” said Raesinia, behind them. “You’ve got all that?”

“I’ve got it, Princess,” Danton said. “Afterward—”

“Afterward you can have whatever you like, Danton,” Raesinia said, with a glance at Winter and Cyte. “But those people are waiting to hear your story.”

“Okay.”

Danton got to his feet. Raesinia smoothed the front of his ruined shirt and tugged on his cuffs for a moment, then gave up.

And then Danton—changed.

It was astonishing to watch. He straightened up, altered his stance, ran a hand casually through his hair. A moment earlier he had given every appearance of amiable dullness—on the verge of idiocy, Winter would have said. Now his eyes were full of fire, and he moved with an obvious sense of purpose. Captain d’Ivoire stepped aside and the orator mounted the table and raised his hands for silence. To Winter’s amazement, he got it, or as close to silence as a crowd of that size could manage. The shouts and arguments snuffed out like candles in the wind as he cast his gaze about the room.

“You might want to move down the stairs a bit,” Raesinia said to Winter. “There are going to be a lot of people coming this way in a minute.”

Winter and Cyte stepped away from the doorway, and Raesinia came to stand with them. Rose, so still and quiet Winter had forgotten she was there, came with her.

“You really think he can convince them?” Winter said in a low voice.

“Call it a hunch,” Raesinia said.

“Brothers!”
Danton began. “And here, in this pit, we are truly brothers. I say to you . . .”

—

The crowd of roaring, cheering men surged up the stairway like water bursting from a broken dam. They passed the tiny group of Armsmen fighting a rearguard action and hit the Concordat troops opposing them with the force of a tidal wave. The soldiers who had loaded muskets fired them, and here and there in the mass a man went down, but these were pinpricks on the flanks of the great beast that was the mob. The black-coats were bowled over, disarmed, grabbed by many hands, and borne in triumph down to the cells, while the rest of the crowd pushed on toward the front gates.

With the death of Captain Ross and the roar of the mob outside, the Concordat soldiers manning the barricade were in a fragile state of mind. The firefight at the stairs had put them on edge, and the swelling chorus of shouts coming up the corridors only heightened their anxiety. Some of them turned around to see what was coming, and a few had the presence of mind to fire. No one thought to try to wheel the great mortar around, with its massive load of canister, until it was far too late. The enraged crowd was on them.

Squads of women sat on the soldiers to keep them down until they could be safely detained, and the older children scurried about picking up the fallen muskets. A gang of men set to work heaving the huge iron bar away from the door. It opened to reveal the astonished besiegers clustered around their ram, huddled together with weapons raised in expectation of a trick or sortie.

A few minutes later, the crowd inside had dissolved into the crowd outside. Cheers spread from the gate like ripples on the surface of a pond radiating out from a dropped stone, until the entire island seemed to ring with hoarse shouts of joy and triumph, peppered by the
pop, pop
of muskets fired jubilantly into the air.

The Vendre had fallen.

RAESINIA

“R
aes!”

“Cor—”

Raesinia didn’t have time to get the word out before the girl hit her at speed, knocking the wind out of her and hugging her so tightly she had trouble sucking in another breath. Raesinia let this go on for a while, but eventually she tapped Cora on the shoulder, indicating that a slight decrease in pressure would be appreciated. Raesinia didn’t really
need
to breathe, but it was difficult to talk without air in her lungs.

“Cora,” she got out, once she was able. “Are you all right?”

“More or less,” Cora said, still pressed close against Raesinia’s shoulder. “They were a little rough when they tied us up.”

“They didn’t . . .” Raesinia hesitated, and Cora gave her a squeeze.

“I’m fine. The black-coats were threatening some of the women, but the captain replaced them with Armsmen before anything came of it.”

“Thank God.” Raesinia had been having waking nightmares of finally taking the prison, only to find a pile of mangled corpses, in spite of what Abby had told her. “Have you seen Sarton? We heard he was taken as well.”

“I saw him just now,” Cora said, and made a face. “He was walking around on the old prison levels. They have machines there for . . . well, for a lot of unpleasant things. You know Sarton and machines, though, whatever they’re for.”

“I know.” The ghost of a smile crossed Raesinia’s lips, then vanished. “Cora . . .”

“What about the others?” Cora looked up. Her hair was a rat’s-nest tangle,
and her eyes were red from crying, but there were no tears there now. “Were they arrested?”

“Maurisk is downstairs, arguing with someone, I suspect. Faro as well.” Raesinia closed her eyes. “Ben . . . Ben’s dead.”

She felt Cora’s hands tighten on the back of her shirt. “He . . . you’re sure?”

“I was with him. He saved my life.” That was a lie, of course, but she thought it a kind one under the circumstances. “Orlanko’s men tried to kill us both.”

“Ben . . .” Cora swallowed hard. “God. I never thought things would get this bad.”

Guilt made a lump in Raesinia’s throat. “Neither did I.”

There was a long silence. Eventually Cora loosened her grip and stepped away. They were in one of the Vendre’s tower rooms, long disused and empty except for dust and an ancient table and chairs. Raesinia went to one of the latter and sat down, gingerly, half expecting it to collapse. It let out a groan, but held for the moment.

“What the hell
happened
?” Cora said. “The guards wouldn’t tell us much. Just that there was a mob attacking the prison.”

“They arrested Danton,” Raesinia said. “The Armsmen did, I think, but afterward the Concordat must have thought it was time to make a clean sweep. They picked people up all over the city.”

“I know,” Cora said. “I was at the church in Oldtown. We sent everyone out the back when we saw them coming. I was going to try talking to them, but they just kicked in the door and grabbed me before I could say a word.”

Raesinia nodded. “They’re onto us, obviously. It was bound to happen eventually. I just didn’t think the Last Duke would try something like
this
. He’s supposed to be smarter than that.”

“But where did this riot come from?”

“All over. A woman named Mad Jane brought a huge gang of Docksiders over because they’d taken some friends of hers. I went to the Dregs and helped Maurisk round up the students and hangers-on. And once it got started people showed up on their own. I think half the city must be down there now.”

Cora shook her head. She glanced at the gun slit in the wall, where a faint gray light was just starting to make itself felt against the glow of the candles.

“It’s nearly morning,” she said. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know.” Raesinia shook her head. What she wanted more than anything else was
time
. Time to let emotions cool, time to gather the scattered
members of her cabal and make a proper plan, time to get her own head in order. Time to mourn Ben the way he deserved. But she was equally aware that she was not going to get it. Half the city might be gathered in the streets, but they wouldn’t stay there for long. Something was happening, and it was happening
now
, whether she wanted it to or not.

If we don’t get control of it, someone else will.
Right now the fall of the prison had produced a triumphant atmosphere, but the anger was still there.
And God only knows what’s happening at Ohnlei. If Father is dead, then Orlanko will be trying to take control.
There were too many variables, too many possibilities.
Maybe I can leave Cora and Maurisk in charge here, and—

There was a knock at the door. Cora started and spun.

“It’s me,” said Sothe.

“Come in,” Raesinia said.

Cora looked surprised but said nothing as Sothe slipped in and shut the door behind her. Raesinia gestured wearily from one to the other.

“Sothe, you know Cora. Cora, this is Sothe. She’s an . . . agent of mine. She’s been working with us since the beginning. I trust her with my life.”
Or the nearest equivalent.
“We couldn’t have taken the prison without her.”

Cora frowned, then bowed in Sothe’s direction. “Then I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Sothe said, with a glance at Raesinia that told her they’d have words later. “It’s part of my job, after all.”

“What is your job?” Cora said, curious.

“Chambermaid,” Raesinia said. Sothe suppressed a smile. Cora looked between them and shook her head.

“They’re planning a grand council downstairs,” Sothe said. “To arrange for something along the lines set out in your declaration.”

“Who’s invited?” Raesinia said.

“Everyone from the old council, plus you, ‘Mad Jane’ and some of her people, Captain d’Ivoire, and some representatives of the merchants and traders. All sorts have been turning up, and everyone’s demanding a place at the table.” Sothe paused. “They’re going to want Danton to make a speech.”

“That can be arranged,” Raesinia said. “I’ll need some time to work out what we want him to say.”

“Before that,” Sothe said, “there’s something else we need to talk about.”

“Oh?”

“All of us.” Sothe’s expression was grim. “The cabal. Alone.”

—

The sun was coming up, but the morning light had revealed the hovering clouds to be heavy black thunderheads. They swept across the city like a conquering army, plunging it into shadow. It was still hot and dry, but the wind that whipped across the Vendre’s parapet was thick with the scent of rain. Distant, warning grumbles echoed across the river like the coughing of far-off cannon.

Raesinia sat on the stone parapet, her back to a crenellation, one leg dangling over the long drop to the rocks and the river below. Cora stood beside her, when she managed to stand still. Mostly she paced, arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself tighter when the wind gusted. Sothe, expressionless and impassive, waited between them.

One by one, the other conspirators made their appearance. Maurisk’s eyes were dark with fatigue, but his expression was triumphant. Faro had found time to change clothes, and was now back in his fashionable courtier’s outfit, complete with dress rapier. Unlike Maurisk, he seemed to be full of nervous energy, and glanced from Sothe to Raesinia and back again. Last to arrive was Sarton, who seemed none the worse for wear from his captivity.

“Raes, what’s going on?” Maurisk said, breaking the silence. “I’ve got work to do. They’re holding the council meeting this evening.”

“And who is this?” Faro said, indicating Sothe.

“This,” Raesinia said, “is Sothe. She’s what you might call an adjunct member of the cabal.”

Faro blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I work for Raesinia, but I don’t make myself known to any of you,” Sothe said. “I help keep the Concordat looking in the wrong direction.”

Maurisk’s face clouded. “Then you’ve been doing a bang-up job, I
must
say.”

“I don’t like this,” Faro said. “You should have told us, Raes. Letting her in on the secret put all of us at risk. We have a right to know what you’re doing.”

“I trust her,” Raesinia said. “I’ve known her for longer than I’ve known any of you.”

“But
I
haven’t,” Maurisk said. “Faro’s right. Why not let us know?”

“Because,” Sothe said, “I work for
Raesinia
. My job is to keep her safe. That includes keeping her safe from any of you.”

That hung in the air for a long moment. Cora turned away, walking to the inner edge of the parapet and looking down at the still-thronged courtyard.
Sarton was still staring at the sky, but Raesinia, Maurisk, and Faro exchanged glances.

“Now I
really
don’t like this,” Maurisk said. He stepped forward to stand directly in front of Sothe. “What are you implying?”

“And,” Faro said, coming up behind him, “why should we believe you?”

Thunder growled.

“There!” Sarton said. “Lightning!” He looked down at the others. “I’m sorry. You know how it is when you get your teeth in a p . . . problem. I’ve been spending some time looking at the arrangements here, and I think . . .”

He trailed off as he absorbed the tense atmosphere. Sothe cleared her throat.

“I imply nothing,” she said. “I asked you all here because, by the night before last, I had become reasonably certain one of you was leaking information to the Concordat.”

Maurisk snorted. “If one of us had been Concordat from the beginning, do you really think we would have gotten this far?”

“I didn’t say the informant was leaking from the beginning. It began quite recently, probably after the Second Pennysworth riots. That was when Danton really became a problem, and I can only assume the Last Duke went looking for answers and found someone he could squeeze.”

Faro was glaring at her, one hand on his rapier. “And you didn’t think to mention this at the time?” He looked at Raesinia. “Ben’s
dead
because we didn’t know the Concordat was onto us. If we believe what she’s saying—”

“It’s a fair question, Sothe,” Raesinia said.
You might have at least told
me
.

“I said nothing because I wasn’t certain,” Sothe said. “Trust is paramount in a small group like this one. The mere accusation would have destroyed you, and I didn’t want to risk that without knowing for sure who the informant was.” Her eyes shifted, fractionally, toward Raesinia. “If that makes me guilty of Ben’s death, I accept it.”

“I don’t believe a word of this,” Maurisk said. He turned his back on Sothe and stalked away a few steps, then rounded on her. “The Last Duke would like nothing better than for us to turn on one another now. For all we know—”

“Sothe doesn’t work for Orlanko,” Raesinia said. “I’m certain of that, if nothing else.”

“So
you
say,” said Faro. He was still almost face-to-face with Sothe. “But you kept her secret in the first place. Why should we believe you?”

Sarton coughed politely. “If you kept silent because you didn’t know for c . . . certain, the fact that you’ve told us now logically imp . . . plies that you
are
sure.” Another rumble from the heavens nearly drowned out his soft, stuttering voice. “What happened?”

“The commander of the Concordat forces at the Vendre was Captain James Ross,” Sothe said. “His files were well organized. Like many Concordat field agents, however, he failed to take seriously the regulations concerning the practice of keeping books of ciphers in physical proximity to encoded communications.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about Concordat procedures—” Faro began, but Maurisk cut him off.

“You can read Ross’ files?”

“Not all of them, but enough to know that I was right.”

Maurisk’s voice trembled. “And the identity of the informant?”

“Yes. The duke wanted to be sure he wouldn’t be swept up in the purges.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Faro, “that you’re taking this seriously—”

Steel
zinged
as his rapier came out of its scabbard, faster than Raesinia would have given him credit for. Quick as he was, though, Sothe was faster. Her hand shot out and grabbed his, fingers interlocking like lovers’ on a promenade, and something fast and painful happened. Faro let go of his sword and spun away from her, only to be brought up short when she kept her grip on his hand. Sothe’s left hand had emerged from her waistband holding a long, thin dagger.

“Now,” she said, “I hope—”

“Sothe,” Raesinia said quietly.

There was a click. Even as he’d lost his sword, Faro’s off hand had gone to his pocket and come out with a nasty-looking short-barreled pistol. He thumbed back the hammer and brought the barrel up to aim squarely between Raesinia’s eyes.

“Your job is to protect her, isn’t it?” Faro said, his voice tight with pain. “
Isn’t it?
Then let go of me!”

Sothe locked eyes with Raesinia, just for a moment. Raesinia raised her eyebrows emphatically and nodded.

Better he point that thing at me than anyone else.
Part of her was trying to process what was unfolding—that
Faro
had as good as signed Ben’s death warrant—but the rest was still planning as calmly as ever.
All I need to do is make him pull the trigger.
He’d never get the chance to reload. Raesinia had watched Sothe split leaves with a knife at twenty yards, and she never had less than a half dozen blades on her person.
Come on, come on . . .

Slowly, Sothe released Faro’s hand. He stepped away from her, weapon still trained on Raesinia, and circled around until his back was against the waist-high parapet stone.

“You’ll never get out of here alive,” Raesinia said, conversationally. She heard a hiss of breath from Maurisk and a startled squeak from Cora, somewhere behind her. “You know that, don’t you?”

“The hell I won’t.” Faro grabbed Raesinia by the arm and pressed the barrel of the pistol against the back of her skull. “Come on. Over to the trapdoor.”

He pushed her, painfully, but she didn’t move. “Then what?”