37

SARINE

The Revellion Townhouse

Gardens District, New Sarresant

She’s incredible, Sarine,” Donatien said. “I’ve learned more in a week under her instruction than all last year at the academy.”

An inward sigh. She could feign enough interest to escape notice when he started up this line of conversation, but it was becoming harder by the day.

“What did she have you practicing today?” she asked.

“Mock maneuvers near the coast, outside the city. She had us drilling with flotsam in the shallows, ‘simulating an amphibious landing,’ she called it. Half of the division attacking, half defending. Chaotic, of course, but she insisted we learn precision even in unpredictable circumstances.”

He went on to recount some brilliant maneuver he’d performed, sufficient to earn the accolades of Chevalier-General Erris d’Arrent herself. In her head she spoke Donatien’s commander’s name with mock reverence, a deification worthy of the Exarch, if not for the sarcastic bite nested within. She’d hoped this would be different, when they’d committed to the cause of standing in the way of Reyne d’Agarre. It seemed Donatien had forgotten, and left her prowling the streets on her own. An unfair assessment, and she knew it in her head, but that didn’t erase the feeling.

“Why do you think she has you planning for an invasion by sea?” she asked after he finished. “Does it have anything to do with the Crown-Prince’s arrival?”

The question surprised him, though he made an effort to hide it. “Just an exercise,” he began, then adopted a contemplative look. “Though I suppose it is possible she expects an attack. I’ve heard no reports to confirm it, either way.”

“Half the royal navy is here in New Sarresant,” Sarine said. “More, perhaps. Word has been on every tongue in the city, speculating why. And still we hear nothing.”

She knew it sounded as though she was accusing him. He seemed to take it in stride.

“The consensus among the First Division’s officers is we may be planning an assault in the south. Perhaps that’s why the general has us working by the sea: to simulate an offensive maneuver. I wonder if she’ll have us running joint exercises with the navy next.”

She nodded absently, looking out through the glass of the Revellion library. The city seemed hushed in the twilight hours, torches being lit along the streets as the sun faded away behind them.

“D’Agarre has been quiet since the ships arrived,” she said, changing the subject.

Revellion started, as if he’d already been lost in thought, planning for his next maneuver. He made a quick recovery. “Nothing since the night in the warehouse?”

She shook her head. “Not even any gatherings at the d’Agarre manse. He leaves to call on a few houses during the daylight hours, but without a pattern I can tell. Nothing to indicate what he’s planning.”

“The man you fought, he intimated they knew you were watching.”

“Yes. But that’s not it. D’Agarre wouldn’t cease his plans on my account.”

“Well,” Donatien said, scratching his chin. “Perhaps it’s the presence of the Crown-Prince, and the army. So many soldiers stationed here in the city would make it difficult to act.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he’s biding his time. If he has allies in the army, they are well poised to strike, now better than ever.”

He frowned. “I’m trying to learn what I can, Sarine. I’m only a brigade commander, and new to my post. It will take time.”

“I know,” she said, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. She couldn’t blame his efforts, even if she hungered for better results. She sighed, sitting on a cushioned bench beside the window. “I only wish we had more. He means to seize power, but that could be a strike at Rasailles, the Gardens, the council halls … we need to know what he intends if we’re going to stop him.”

“I’ll press the chevalier-general. I have a private meeting with her tomorrow.”

She nodded, snuffing the flare of jealousy that caught in her throat.

“Has your uncle reconsidered your request to leave the Sacre-Lin?”

“No,” she said. She’d begged her uncle again before she left this morning, and gotten the same reception she’d had for the past week. “He knows they’re targeting it, targeting him to get to me. He doesn’t take the threat seriously, only reassures me the Gods will watch out for him.”

“I’m sorry, Sarine. Would you like me to accompany you next time? We must be able to get him to see reason.”

“Yes, if you would,” she said. Damn her uncle and his stubbornness. “Anything to get him to listen.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

He moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, joining her in looking through the window. Whatever her frustrations, it still felt good to sit beside him, to feel the warmth of him, the steadiness of his touch. She would deal with her petty jealousy in her own way. Of course the division commander had no designs on Lord Revellion. And if it turned out she was mistaken, she had plenty of tools at her disposal to deal with that. Even if they did say Erris d’Arrent was a fullbinder.

Down below, a lone merchant’s wagon trundled up the thoroughfare, flanked by a pair of guardsmen in their long blue cloaks. Otherwise the streets were empty. A quiet presaging the evening’s traffic. Inevitably, when the sun went down, the nobles of the Gardens district set to their fêtes and gatherings, no matter the rationing elsewhere in the city, no matter the army encamped mere leagues away. The man in the warehouse had spoken the same sort of words she’d heard from Reyne d’Agarre, and she remembered the appeal they held, even now. The people of this city hungered. For food, yes, but also for blood, for the prizes bloodshed might purchase. Why did it have to be d’Agarre? The corruption, the strange blue energy she’d siphoned away from their strange book, it had been tied to the madness she saw behind d’Agarre’s eyes, and the eyes of the man she’d fought in the Maw. The man she’d killed. Sickness roiled in her stomach at the memory, a nausea she made no effort to quell. His face still haunted her, though she’d never learned his name. Another feeling, just as sick and twice as sure: He would not be the last man she killed, before all this was through.

“Will you teach me to fight?” she asked abruptly.

It earned her a questioning look, though Donatien still held her as they sat together beside the window.

“Teach you?” he asked. “I expect you’d give me a sound thrashing if we sparred.”

“I mean without my gifts, or with fewer at least.”

“What’s bringing this on? The warehouse?”

“The man there knew how to use a sword. Even with my advantages, I’ve never been trained. If I knew how to fight, even the basics, perhaps it would help.”

“Of course. I’ll see if I can secure some practice blades from the quartermasters.”

She nodded, leaning back into his arms. The sun had set, streetlamps casting circles of light on the cobblestone below. A luxury of the Gardens. When the sun set in the Maw, the streets became living shadows, lit by the occasional bonfire dared by the stronger groups of toughs. So it went, subtleties that escaped the notice of the privileged. It was as if they didn’t see the tinder they piled atop the commonfolk, more and more each day. Soon, that first spark would catch.

“What do you suppose he’s doing now?” Donatien asked, bringing her back to the moment.

She knew without asking who “he” was. “Sitting in his manse,” she said. “D’Agarre hasn’t left after sundown since the Crown-Prince arrived.”

“You’d have taken to sleeping on the street in Southgate by now otherwise?”

“Probably.” She smiled. She’d spent the bulk of her days there as it was, tailing anyone suspicious when they left the manse, without any successes since the night of the warehouse. She still wasn’t sure what she was hoping to uncover, or what she would do if she did find something. But already her efforts had prevented a riot in the Maw, and saved her uncle’s life. If nothing else, she’d learned the pattern of d’Agarre’s days, and his household. Soon she might risk venturing inside. To what precise end, she couldn’t say, only that each passing day she felt more and more certain the answer lay beneath the d’Agarre estate, in the hidden chamber where the Comtesse de Rillefort had begun to reveal their secrets.

“Sorry to disturb you, m’lord,” a woman’s voice intoned with a sniff from the entrance to the library. Agnes, one of the servants, who had made no secret that she disapproved of her, and of her relationship with the young lord.

Donatien craned his neck around from where they sat. “What is it, Agnes?”

“A visitor for you, m’lord. Uninvited.” Another sniff. “Waiting in the sitting room downstairs, if it please your lordship.”

“Does this visitor have a name, Agnes?”

“Umm,” Agnes began. “I can’t … well, that’s strange. I can’t recall, m’lord. He seemed important, so I let him in.”

Sarine leaned forward, rising to her feet as she caught Donatien’s eye.

“Thank you, Agnes,” he said, dismissing the maidservant and turning his attention back to her.

“You don’t think—?” she began.

Donatien stood, offering her a hand. “Either way, I trust you won’t mind accompanying me downstairs?”

Sure enough, when they walked together arm in arm into the receiving room, they found Reyne d’Agarre reclining on one of the long couches. He rose when they entered, sweeping a formal bow in his waist-length red coat.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He feigned a wounded look in Donatien’s direction. “Is that how they greet guests in the Revellion household?”

“What are you doing here?” Donatien repeated, just as firm.

D’Agarre gave an exaggerated sigh, sitting once more. “A pleasure to see you both again.”

Neither she nor Donatien budged from the entryway, each fixing cold stares in d’Agarre’s direction.

“I assumed you’d been hoping for an audience with me, Sarine, given how often my men report your presence in Southgate.” He looked her over, giving every appearance of relaxed comfort. “Quite a trick you have, disappearing from sight. Unknown in even the most arcane circles of binders. I expect they’d be quite interested to learn of its use.”

Once, it might have been enough to lodge panic in her throat. Coming from d’Agarre it fanned already kindling sparks of anger. “If you’re here to threaten me, I can show you a few more things they don’t know.”

“Please,” he said. “Once I counted both of you friends, or at least fellow conspirators.” He grinned. “Hear me out. I bear you no ill will.”

Her glare turned hot. “You tried to incite a riot to burn down the Sacre-Lin, and claim you bear me no ill will?”

“The very reason I am here,” he said, his tone all penitence and sincerity. “Your provocateur acted without my blessing, against my orders in fact. I swear it by the strong arm of the Exarch. But for that isolated incident, the city has been quiet of late, has it not? If I meant you harm, could you believe it would be so?”

She and Donatien exchanged a look.

“Please, both of you, afford me the chance to speak. I ask nothing more.”

A long moment passed before she nodded reluctantly. Together, she and Donatien entered the room and sat opposite d’Agarre.

He gave a satisfied nod. “Thank you.”

“Say what you will, then,” Donatien said.

D’Agarre seemed to ignore the chill reception, continuing as if he’d been welcomed with open arms. “Well, then. Let us start with the actions of my fellow. Sarine, I imagine you had already supposed de Merrain had a kaas. I will confirm it for you: He was one of us.”

De Merrain. The man she’d killed. Having a name to attach to the face did little to settle her conscience, but it was something. She said nothing in reply.

“You must understand,” d’Agarre continued. “The nature of the kaas is different for each of us, and the nature of the Codex. A lamentable thing that you have yet to study it.”

Once more her anger flared. “Your book is corrupted, and corrupting you,” she said. “As you well know, seeing as that is the reason you murdered the Comtesse de Rillefort.”

“You might say otherwise if you would only study its words, Sarine. It is nothing short of a handbook for greatness, of a sort few men, or women, could imagine.”

“I’ll have nothing to do with it, or with you.”

He held her gaze, then bowed his head. “Be that as it may, the point stands. De Merrain acted as he did at the urging of his kaas, and not in furtherance of any design of mine.”

“Why should she believe that?” Revellion said. “And what is to prevent another of your fellows deciding they too have interpreted your Codex as calling for her head?”

“If I meant either of you harm, I assure you I could have effected it. My organization is formidable, as you both may have an inkling by now. The point I’m making with respect to the kaas is that, whatever grudge you have, it need not be with me. Just as one binder cannot be held responsible for the actions of another binder, so it is with me. Wielding the same power does not qualify me to suffer for their misdeeds. It is not just.”

“And what of the death of the Comtesse de Rillefort, d’Agarre?” she repeated. “Or your attempt on my life immediately thereafter? Am I to forget these things?”

“The comtesse had betrayed my organization, a matter that need not concern you. Afterward, what passed between you and I was a misunderstanding I have come here in part to correct. I greatly lament the loss of both of you as fellows in furtherance of our cause.”

“You mean to foment revolution against the nobility,” she said.

“I do,” he said. “I make no secret of it. Have you both not heard the arguments against the corruption of the old regime? Have you not made such arguments yourselves?”

She glared at him. “No argument I’ve made induces me to support the leadership of a madman.”

He frowned, casting a look toward Revellion as if for help. Donatien sat in silence, regarding him with a cool expression.

“If you feel that way, then I can only implore you to stay out of my way. You cannot support the Crown-Prince’s plans, can you? I’d believed the two of you to be persons of conscience.”

“What plans?” Revellion demanded. “What do you speak of, d’Agarre?”

“You mean word has not reached you?” d’Agarre said with a glimmer in his eye.

“Say what you mean to say,” Sarine said.

“Louis-Sallet means to take the army back across the sea, and leave the colonies to burn. I, and others, have lobbied to change his mind, but he will give the order within a fortnight.”

A stunned silence descended on the room.

“Inquire with the navy, or the logistics divisions if you don’t believe,” d’Agarre said. “I swear, it’s the truth.”

“Did we not win a great victory against the Gandsmen, not two months past?” Donatien asked. “Why would the crown take such drastic action?”

“I cannot speak to their reasons, except to say that word from across the sea is the war goes badly there. All I know of a surety is that I will not allow New Sarresant to fall, not for the glory of a king who has never set foot on our shores.”

D’Agarre rose to his feet.

“I’ll leave you to consider my words. Whatever our disagreements, I believe we share a common goal. If you decide to change your minds, you know where to find me.”

He made another formal bow and exited the room. Silence hung in the air until they heard the servants close the front door behind him.

“By the Gods themselves.” Donatien slumped back in his chair. “Can it be true? Could the Crown-Prince really … Sarine, where are you going?”

She’d already risen to her feet, striding toward the door.

“He’s out and about in the city. What better cover could he ask for than giving me news like this to consider? I mean to follow him.”

“Sarine—” Revellion began. She didn’t wait for him to finish. No time for deliberation. A quick scan of the streets found her mark: d’Agarre in his red coat, already making his way toward the district boundary.