CHAPTER 46

Of Oaths and Prophecy

When Sefia fled the dungeons, Tanin assumed she’d have to run as well—run or die. By helping the girl escape, Erastis, her only remaining supporter, had betrayed her. She no longer had allies in the Guard, and without the girl, without the Book, she had little chance of ousting Stonegold before he killed her.

Then Detano had come to her, begging for help. He’d failed his Master. He’d failed the Guard. He’d let the Lonely King live.

Sentiment.

Detano had found a body, he’d said, a boy with an ailing mother, a host of younger siblings to provide for, and a striking resemblance to the missing king. But the Apprentice Politician didn’t have the talent to fabricate an assassination, not when the other Guardians could detect the means of murder from the marks on the body.

Desperate times call for equally desperate allies, and Detano was offering her the one thing she needed to stay.

Hope.

Together, they’d arranged it: the darkened royal chamber—the boy curled up in the corner, beyond the reach of the light—a dram of poison that would discolor and distend his flesh, obscuring any revealing scars—a signet ring that would have to be cut from the bloated finger—a stench of rotting flesh that would warrant a swift burning, before the body could divulge any secrets.

Soon after, Detano had been elected regent of Deliene.

Stonegold and the rest of the Guard remained unaware of his failure.

And Tanin had not run.

Her fingers flexed on the marble banister of the highest gallery as she watched the ceremony below. The Hall of Memory was a magnificent five-story chamber where historians worked to remember and repeat, preserving the world’s history. Although every village, town, and city in all the Five Kingdoms employed historians, Corabel was the only place where hundreds of them gathered, making the Hall the second-greatest repository of knowledge in all Kelanna.

Now, historians, councillors, advisers, and representatives of the major and minor houses had assembled on the grand floor of the Hall for the oath-taking of the regent.

Standing before a set of engraved mirrors, bedecked in his black-and-silver regalia, Arcadimon Detano lifted his eyes.

For the briefest of seconds, his gaze met Tanin’s.

She’d keep his secrets. He’d keep her alive.

As long as she survived the next few minutes.

Behind her, she heard two sets of footsteps on the thick carpet. It took all her nerve to appear nonchalant as she turned to face her enemies.

“Come to kill me, Stonegold?” she purred. The more arrogant she acted now, the more effective her remorse would be later, if she didn’t accidentally get herself gutted first.

At the derision in her voice, the Politician’s nostrils flared with displeasure. He strode to the balcony beside her, his girth pressing against her as if to prove he deserved more space on the landing than she did. “I half-expected you to be running for your life by now,” he said.

“I’ve been working toward this moment for more than a decade,” Tanin replied. “I would not have missed it.” As she spoke, Braca flicked back the tails of her blue suede coat and leaned against one of the velvet chairs, her gold guns gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Such bravado. The Master Soldier wouldn’t dare use such disruptive weapons at a public event.

No, the attack, if it came, would be silent and swift.

Deliberately, Tanin turned her back on the Soldier.

“It’s stupid, valuing sentiment over survival.” Spittle flew from Stonegold’s lips. “At least this time, your soft heart will cost only yourself.”

“You should have told me you were setting a trap for the boy. I would’ve been more careful with Sefia if—”

“The only thing I should have done was execute you as soon as I became Director,” he interrupted.

She trailed her finger along the railing. Yes, that was a mistake, she thought. One you’ll regret when you see my blade protruding from your chest.

The Politician couldn’t contain his smugness. “No quippy retort? No scathing insults? I’d at least hoped you’d beg.”

Tanin glanced over her shoulder at Braca. “Begging is for dogs,” she snapped.

As soon as the words left her lips, she felt the Soldier’s invisible grip on her throat. Braca closed the distance between them so fast Tanin didn’t realize she’d drawn a gold dagger from inside her coat until the blade was digging into her neck.

“Then beg, bitch,” the Soldier growled, her burned face inches away from Tanin’s.

Tanin could feel her neck bruising, but she forced herself to smirk. “Here?” she wheezed. “In front of all these people? A murder would be a stain on the celebration.”

Braca’s dagger slit open her scar. Blood dripped down her neck. “Your murder would be an excellent way to celebrate.”

Tanin’s head spun with lack of air. Here it was—the only way Stonegold would believe he’d earned her allegiance. Repent or die. If she wanted to kill him later, she had to put herself at his mercy now. She looked to the Director who had taken her place.

“Please,” she croaked, “don’t.”

He sneered at her. “Say that again.”

“Please, let me live. Let me serve the mission to which I’ve dedicated my entire life.”

“Serving the mission means serving me.”

“I will. I’ll serve you. I—I swear.”

“Prove it. Give me a token of your allegiance.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. “The outlaws,” she whispered.

“Parasites from a less civilized age. We’ve been exterminating them with extreme prejudice. The others will disperse and die like the roaches they are.” The Politician flicked his fat fingers at her dismissively. “Go ahead and kill her, my general.”

A smile wormed across Braca’s lips, pulling at her scarred skin. Tanin felt her throat opening up again, felt her life seeping out of her.

“They’re organizing,” she managed to whisper. “They’re at least a hundred strong by now.”

Stonegold balked at her.

Tell her to let me go, you asinine old pig. Spots swam before her eyes.

With a nod, he ordered Braca to loosen her grip.

Air flooded back into Tanin’s lungs. Blood rushed to her face. She fell to her knees, clutching her neck.

The Politician loomed over her. “Know where they are, do you?”

She nodded, trying to suck air down her damaged throat.

“Where?”

“An island they call Haven.” She could see her own reflection in Stonegold’s polished shoes. She looked thin. Better, she looked weak. “Impossible to find unless you already know the way.”

“And you know the way, do you?”

She nodded again.

“This will cost you your precious pirate captain.”

Reed.

She’d liked being the captain of the Black Beauty, his one-time lover and perpetual rival. But they all made sacrifices for the greater good. “I know.”

She felt Stonegold’s hand descend onto the top of her head. “Good girl.”

Below, Detano’s rich voice began to fill the Hall as he took the oaths that would make him regent of Deliene, with control over the White Navy and the power to declare war.

The Historian of the Corabelli Era took an ivory crown from a velvet pillow and nestled it among Detano’s curls.

The third phase of Lon’s plan for the Red War was complete. The Guard controlled Everica, Liccaro, and now Deliene.

Stonegold hauled Tanin up by her hair as the Hall of Memory erupted in applause. “Let me handle the outlaws,” he whispered, his breath in her ear. “You, my Assassin, have only one task now, to earn your bloodsword and secure your place in the Guard.”

The spring had been tightened. The trap was ready to be sprung.

“Kill the girl. Kill the traitors’ daughter. Kill what remains of your precious family.”

Soon the Red War would begin in earnest, and all their plans and prophecies—the bloody battles, the fall of Oxscini, the military triumph of a boy-commander and his tragic demise, the victory decades in the making—would finally come to pass.