Chapter 26

JERINNE WAS BONE TIRED WHEN they got to the chapterhouse, but she was happy to walk in with Dayne right next to her, the two of them both in their Tarian tunics, shields on their arms, swords at their hips, and covered from head to toe in scrapes, smudges, and scorches.

Today they had been Tarians, and no matter what scourging awaited them when they walked in the door, they had earned every mark, every bruise, and every tear on them. She would wear them with pride, and not one harsh word from Amaya, the Grandmaster, or any third-year Initiates would shame her.

The first people who spotted them were Iolana and her mentor, an Adept whose name Jerinne had never learned.

“Saints above,” the Adept said. “What the blazes have you two been digging into? Heldrin, you look like you’ve fought the whole host of sinners.”

“Something like that,” Dayne said.

Iolana, meanwhile, was glaring at Jerinne.

“What?” Jerinne finally said.

“Why is it always you?” Iolana asked, and stalked off.

“Sorry,” the Adept said. “I’ll go have a word with her.”

“No need,” Jerinne said.

“We should go speak to the Grandmaster,” Dayne said. “Let’s not belabor that.”

He took the lead as they went up the stairs, past the Initiate bunks, past the gawks and stares, and then up to the Grandmaster’s aerie. Jerinne had never been up here before, and was surprised how easily Dayne just walked up without invitation or summons.

“Sir,” Dayne said as they entered, knocking on the doorframe. “If we could have a moment?”

Grandmaster Orren was at his desk, hunched over a pile of papers with a look of great consternation on his face. He looked up, and for a moment, there was a look of genuine shock on his face.

“Dayne!” he shouted, coming over with grace and speed that belied his age. “Miss Fendall. You both . . . I presume you’ve been in a situation.”

“You could say that,” Dayne said. “I want to take full responsibility for Jerinne. She should not be reprimanded for breaking curfew or missing training—”

“I don’t care about that,” the Grandmaster said. “I’m simply gratified you are both alive and safe. It . . . I presume you are unaware, but the Order has received something of a shock today, and . . .” He stumbled on his words, his throat choking. “I’m just happy to see you home.”

“What’s wrong?” Dayne asked. “How can I help?”

“Dear saints,” Orren said. “You two walk in here, clearly having been through something traumatic, deeply in need of the baths if not the infirmary. And the first thing you do is ask how you can help.” He chuckled ruefully. “I am humbled by you, Dayne Heldrin.”

Jerinne coughed uncomfortably. “I should go clean up. I’m sure Madam Tyrell is screaming for me.”

The Grandmaster sighed. “No, she most is definitely not. I’m afraid Madam Tyrell is not here.”

“Is she all right?” Dayne asked.

“I cannot speak to her health, but she has gone into hiding, as she is wanted by the authorities.”

“What?”

“I do not have all the details, but it appears that she was embroiled in a conspiracy to overthrow the government. Her crimes were discovered, so she murdered her co-conspirators and fled.”

“I cannot believe that, sir,” Dayne said. Jerinne didn’t say anything, but her instincts matched Dayne’s.

“I am struggling to understand it myself,” the Grandmaster said. He glanced uncomfortably at Jerinne. “We should discuss this privately. Perhaps, Miss Fendall, your instinct to clean up and join your cohort is correct.”

“Of course, sir,” Jerinne said, giving Dayne a quick glance that she hoped communicated the depths to which she did not believe Amaya had been involved in any of the things the Grandmaster had just reported. His expression was not as confident, but he gave her a nod to go.

She left, and made her way to the barracks for the other third-year Initiates. Raila Gendon was waiting there for her.

“I see Iolana told you I was back,” she said.

“What the blazes happened to you?” Raila asked. “You just vanished and Vien made a stink and then Madam Tyrell told us to quiet down but you were gone all night and . . . saints, look at you.”

“I’ve been in it,” Jerinne said, stripping off her torn-up uniform. “What’s this nonsense about Madam Tyrell?”

“Can you believe it? It’s apparently in all the newssheets. There was this conspiracy where this group calling themselves the Grand Ten were trying to overthrow the government. Like, a member of Parliament and a Duchess and some general and I don’t even know who. But Madame Tyrell was part of it.”

“Really?” Jerinne asked. “Madame Tyrell trying to overthrow the government?”

“Well, it makes sense she was into something shady,” Raila said. “I mean, come on. She made Adept after one year of Candidacy. That never happens. And why did she stay in Maradaine, where she had her Initiacy, unless to be in a place of power.”

“There could be—”

“And look what she did to you. Keeping you on the bottom of the roster, denying you a mentor. Because she was threatened by you. Maybe she thought you and Dayne were onto her. She and Dayne had been close in Initiacy, you know. He’d know if something was wrong so she made a point of keeping him away. Let me tell you, it all makes sense that Amaya Tyrell is bad news.”

Jerinne was about to protest how none of that made sense, but Raila went on.

“I’m just saying, she was rude and a bully, and I’m certainly glad she’s gone, and glad that if she shows her face again, she’ll end up locked away at Quarrygate. Or even better, Fort Olesson.”

Jerinne had never seen ugliness of this sort from Raila Gendon. It was more than a little off-putting.

“Saints, look at you,” Raila said now that Jerinne was down to her skivs. “You’re a right mess, my friend. I want to hear all about your whole adventure. How about we go down to the baths and you tell me all about them? Just you and me?”

Ten minutes ago, that would have been everything Jerinne wanted, but now it was distinctly unappealing.

“You know,” Jerinne said. “I’m completely exhausted. I think I’m going to just clean up quick and go to sleep. Figure out everything tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Raila said. “Of course, I should have realized. I’ll . . . I’ll leave you to it.”

Raila left. Jerinne found her drycloth and got ready to go to the baths. If anyone gave her a hard time about her plans for the rest of the day, she would crack their nose open. Later, she’d find out what was really going on with Amaya, because whatever this story was, it was pure sewage.

Jerinne remembered her last conversation with Amaya, and that seemed like a good place to look for the source of the sewage: Colonel Altarn of Druth Intelligence.

But that was a mission for another day.

Dayne waited as Jerinne left, and the Grandmaster went back over to his desk.

“Tea, Dayne?” he asked as he poured himself a cup. “I think you could use some.”

“Rather,” Dayne said. “Can you explain further what is going on with Amaya?”

“I wish I could,” the Grandmaster said. “I am shocked that she had such secrets.”

Dayne scowled. Amaya did have secrets, that was true. He remembered she told him she didn’t trust the Grandmaster, especially in terms of how Jerinne was being treated by the Order. How he had kept Dayne isolated and nearly exiled. Perhaps that was coloring his read of this conversation, but something about the Grandmaster was a warning.

He was being too kind.

Perhaps a test was in order.

“You should know that Jerinne and I had been working together on Amaya’s request,” he said. “She wanted to supplement Jerinne’s training, since she never received a mentor.”

“Hmm,” the Grandmaster responded, as if it was just a curiosity. “And she told you to keep it secret. See, that’s another thing. Perhaps she was planning on positioning you and Jerinne as weapons she could use in her ploy. Or perhaps you were her scapegoat if things went wrong.”

“Scapegoat?” Dayne asked, taking the tea the Grandmaster offered. “How so?”

“Well, perhaps she then asked another favor. Look into this, chase after that. Something that seems noble and appropriate, but when it went wrong, what would you do?” The Grandmaster chuckled. “I know you well enough to answer. You would take whatever blame there was to protect her. You did it just moments ago to protect Miss Fendall. It’s in your nature, Dayne. It’s why you’re a Tarian.”

“Just a Candidate,” Dayne said. “And we both know that’s all it will be.”

“Tell me about this escapade,” the Grandmaster said. “Did Amaya start it?”

“Not at all,” Dayne said, sitting down. He recounted what he could—Golman Haberneck, the Vollingale boy, the journey underground, the Brotherhood, the Thorn, the battle in Saint Bridget’s Square—only leaving out the details that were not his to share.

“If it wasn’t for Jerinne, I would have been lost,” Dayne said. “I don’t understand the power Crenaxin wielded, but . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever feel clean of it. What I did, what I could have done.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” he said, his voice haunted. “Like you’re a passenger in your own body as it commits horrors . . .”

“Yes, exactly,” Dayne said. He was grateful that the Grandmaster seemed to understand. “If Jerinne hadn’t been able to crack through to me, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Then we are all very fortunate she was there. That you both were there.” He sighed. “In light of these revelations about Amaya, I do feel I have made mistakes.”

“For what it’s worth, sir, I am skeptical that she is guilty of these things. I’ve had my arguments with her, but I do not think she is capable of conspiracy and cold-blooded murder.”

The Grandmaster smiled. “You truly see the best, Dayne. It’s a blessing. I hope you are right, but the evidence is, I’m given to understand, compelling. But I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Then what?”

“With the new policies of protection for the Parliament being jointly handled by the marshals, Tarians, and Spathians, your position of ‘liaison’ seems . . . extraneous.”

“I was already at odds with that, sir.”

“And moreover, I think having you alone over there has left you vulnerable to bad influences. So, I’ve decided to move you back into the chapterhouse.”

“Really, sir?”

“To a specific end,” the Grandmaster said. “Amaya’s primary duties involved training the Initiates, especially the third-years. I am recalling you here so you can take charge of their training.”

“Are you sure, sir?” Dayne asked. “I mean . . . that isn’t a Candidate’s role.”

“Perhaps not,” the Grandmaster said. “But I can think of no one better to shape the minds of these young Initiates. Do you accept?”

“Gratefully,” Dayne said.

“I’m glad,” the Grandmaster said. “I think things will go very well by having you close.”

Lady Mirianne had expected treachery. She prepared for it, planned for it. She had smelled it in the air with Colonel Altarn.

Mirianne strove to be prepared for every eventuality she could foresee, which was why she had a plan in place for a whole Scapegoat Grand Ten, and candidates lined up for every position. She had expected Altarn to take her own spin, but to use Miri’s plan to actually expose and kill members of the true Ten was atrocious.

Atrocious, but anticipated.

Which is why it was fortunate to have the disgraced Amaya Tyrell all but delivered to Miri. Her rescue and delivery of Amaya had not gone as she planned—she had thoroughly expected for Amaya to go to Dayne and then he would have gone to her for help—but the results were the same. Amaya was in position to be her weapon when she needed it.

She would need it. She would have to be ready for a confrontation with Colonel Altarn, and possibly the others, before too long.

Not that she mourned the loss of Duchess Leighton, High Judge Feller Pin, or especially Chestwick Millerson. All three of them had been trouble, and she had plans at the ready to handle each of them, if needed. But Altarn was definitely an adversary to watch out for now.

As well as the Grandmaster. That was quite shocking, that he would have so willingly been Altarn’s pawn. If he was the one who actually held the sword that killed Leighton, Pin, and Millerson, that was a fundamental shift in his very character. She wasn’t sure how Altarn had managed that, if her methods of turning him were natural or unnatural pressures, but regardless, it highlighted how critical it was for Miri to be prepared.

She would be prepared for both of them. It was time for action.

She strode into the Veracity offices. The lamps were burning low, but both Hemmit and Lin were inside. They had clearly already gone through several bottles of wine.

“Stop wallowing,” she told them as she came in.

“Wallowing?” Lin asked as she struggled to stand. “Do you have any idea—”

“I do, yes,” Mirianne said. “We have lost gravely today, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do.”

“Work?” Hemmit asked.

“Indeed,” Mirianne said. “Though we will also take time to mourn. I am making arrangements for a proper service for Maresh. I will handle the details and expenses. The least I could do.”

“Thank you,” Lin said.

“But that doesn’t mean the truth isn’t under assault,” Mirianne said. She pointed to the folder that Altarn had so cleverly arranged to be delivered to all the newssheets. “I noticed you didn’t print that story like the other sheets.”

“Because it’s sewage,” Hemmit said. “The sort of sewage that is spiced with just enough truth to smell right, but—” He shook his head. “There’s no way Amaya was a part of that. No way.”

Perfect.

“I agree,” Mirianne said. “Which means we need to get to the real truth, clear her name. That needs to be a long-term priority.”

“How?” Lin asked.

“That’s on you to figure out, my friends,” Mirianne said. “And I’ll sign off the expenses you need. But I think that’s only part of it.”

“What else?” Hemmit asked.

“Right now, the story of this ‘Grand Ten’ is what everyone is talking about. So we need to change the conversation.”

“Given what happened in Saint Bridget’s Square, it’s astounding this is the big story,” Hemmit said.

“Right,” Mirianne said. “Because no one is talking about Saint Bridget’s Square. You need to tell them about it.”

Hemmit stood up and stumbled to Maresh’s desk, sorting through some pages. “We don’t have an artist right now.”

“We’ll work on that,” Mirianne said. “But what can we do?”

Hemmit pulled out pages and thumbed through them. Miri had seen them before—saintly sketches a mysterious reader had sent them.

“I think I know,” he said. “Can I get a pot of tea? I need to start writing.”

“I’ll do better,” Mirianne said. “I’ll send over a few assistants to handle tea and whatever else you need. You just do what you do best.”

If she knew Hemmit, she knew exactly what that would be. He was already sitting down, writing furiously.

Mirianne nodded to Lin and went out. She would have to work hard over the next months, use all of her skills and knowledge, to coax things where she needed this nation, this city to be. For it to be what it could be, what it needed to be.

She knew that was the difference between herself and Altarn. Mirianne was not doing this for any personal glory or aggrandizement. She wanted to make Druthal the best thing it could be. Altarn had her own agendas, and more and more, Mirianne was growing certain those agendas served no master who wished the best for Druthal. So she needed to position herself to stop her, in case that was necessary.

“You’ve alienated your allies, Colonel.”

Silla Altarn didn’t need to justify herself to Torla Rassin, but she saw this as a teaching moment. The young dark-haired woman might be a skilled telepath and useful asset for the Brotherhood, but she had a certain naiveté that Altarn needed to squash out of her. While they descended into the catacombs beneath the Central Office was a good enough time to instruct her.

“They were never my allies,” Altarn said. “The Grand Ten was a means to an end with foolish goals. I mean, honestly, we nearly achieved their goals in a few minutes by you rewriting a few minds. They want to wrap themselves around convoluted plans when all they need is a well-shot crossbow.”

The assassination attempt, of course, didn’t matter, beyond being a good field test for Torla’s value as a blunt instrument, though she had clearly shattered that servant so he barely understood anything other than a driving need to kill the king and restore the True Line.

The True Line. Like it even mattered who was on the throne. Once the Brotherhood was truly ready, they would be the only rulers of the nation.

Torla was clearly thinking about her performance on that task. “Amaya was easier to influence. She barely needed a nudge to go off on a reckless mission alone.” She sighed. “Do you still need me to pretend to be a servant at the Tarian Chapterhouse?”

She had considered it, but Torla was too valuable to waste on that. Grandmaster Orren was now completely under her thumb, thanks to Torla’s telepathic talents. She had managed to guide him to act against his principles, believing his loyalty had earned him the things he so desperately wanted for the Order. It truly was a testament to her gifts.

“No, I have a different assignment for you.”

They reached the meeting chamber, where Liora Rand was waiting impatiently.

“How is this not a disaster?” Liora asked.

“Should I spell it out for you?” Altarn asked.

“Please,” Liora said. “The machine has been destroyed, the statues and spikes lost, Senek arrested.”

“You well know that was only the first phase of the Hierarch’s plan, a field test of the theories. He’s very big on testing theories, after all.”

“Asti Rynax found the mothers,” Liora said. “Thank the Nine the code phrases to blank his memory still worked.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t just kill him,” Altarn said.

“She harbors affection for him,” Torla said.

“He’s still useful,” Liora said. “We don’t have all the names on the list, so he might be the only key to getting them.”

That was true. Especially now that Grieson had gone into hiding. The bastard. She needed to hunt him down. Soon enough.

“The point is, he doesn’t know anything about the mothers, and you had them moved away from there. All is well.”

“We were exposed! We lost most of the followers.”

“The followers were expendable, by their nature. And the exposure suits our purpose. There had been rumors enough about the Brotherhood for months. Now they’ve been found and defeated, and then soon forgotten. We will again be in the shadows.”

“And Senek?”

“He was always a bit too engrossed in his own peculiar fixations to be truly useful,” Altarn said. “Besides, Lord Sirath is nearly recovered. Senek was always a placeholder until that time.”

“And Crenaxin?” Liora asked.

“Well, from what I understand Crenaxin is neither arrested nor dead, at least as far as anyone knows. Perhaps he’ll turn up. If not, the Hierarch will mourn the loss of his right hand and move on.”

“We’re all expendable to you, aren’t we?” Liora asked.

“You are if you fail,” Altarn said. “But it’s time for you to go on another mission.”

“Who am I marrying now? Or is it just seduction?”

“You’re going to Fencal for Colonel Danverth Martindale,” Altarn said. “And you’ll take Torla with you.”

“Why?” they both asked.

“Because Martindale—” Altarn paused to think of the best way she wanted to phrase it. “He will not fall for your particular charms as easily as the others. You’re going to need Torla for that extra edge.”

“Fine,” Liora said. “I guess we’ll be off. Come on.”

She and Torla stalked off, and Altarn went back up to her offices in the Central Office.

Liora was right, it had been a disaster—mostly due to Dayne Heldrin and the others who had meddled—but in failure, there is opportunity to learn. And the Hierarch of the Brotherhood had been pleased with what they had learned, despite the losses.

Heldrin and his companions would be dealt with soon enough.

Soon they would have the blood, the stars would be ripe, and with the knowledge they had gained, the Brotherhood would unleash the true power of the Nine.

Then all would be theirs.