I nodded, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Catrell had told us he’d seen Baill with a group of guardsmen escorting a cart away from the warehouse on Lirion Street almost a month before. He’d approached Baill without thought, had chatted with him—
Then noticed later, as he looked at the roster, that there had been no scheduled transport of goods from Lirion Street. That, in fact, the guardsmen that had formed the escort were supposed to be watching various other warehouses.
After checking the assignments and speaking to a few of the other guardsmen on duty that day, he’d discovered that Baill had ordered replacements for those in his escort at each of the warehouses and had reassigned them to Lirion.
It was within Baill’s rights as captain of the guard to rearrange the guardsmen as he saw fit, but it had felt . . . wrong to Catrell.
He’d almost revealed what he’d seen at the meeting I’d called about forming a garrison for the ship. But as far as he could tell, nothing was wrong. He hadn’t heard of the missing food until later, after Yvan had been caught and he thought the problem resolved. And before that, Baill had kept him busy, out of touch with what was happening in the palace.
As Catrell spoke to me, Avrell, Eryn, and Keven listening in, he’d cursed himself for being a fool, for not realizing that Baill was distracting him, keeping him away. His guilt and regret had flooded the river, tinged with outrage at the betrayal.
But in the end, it was only a suspicion. Catrell hadn’t seen where Baill had taken the wagon and its supplies, and Keven hadn’t been able to learn anything from discreet inquiries with the guardsmen involved. No one knew anything; no one had seen anything.
If Baill was stealing the supplies, he’d chosen his cohorts well.
In my gut, I knew Baill was guilty. I could see the same betrayal in everyone else’s eyes as well, knew that they wanted him caught and punished as much as I did.
“You should just arrest him,” Eryn said, as if she’d read my thoughts. Her voice was low, her eyes hooded, staring out at the two watchtowers and the newly rebuilt walls. “You should confront him in the throne room, force him to touch the throne. It would kill him, but you’d know for certain he was guilty.”
A shudder of horror passed through me at the thought of forcing Baill to touch the throne. A reaction more from the horror that passed through the voices in the throne than from myself.
Some of them had used the throne in such a way, as a last resort. But the death of the person who touched the throne . . .
I repressed another shudder, forced the thought away.
But then I thought of the woman dying in the slums, of her daughter, Ana, and felt anger spark.
“But what if he’s not guilty?” I asked.
Eryn snorted. “He’s guilty. You know it, and I know it. That’s why the Dredge warehouse didn’t have any missing food. Baill never had control of the guardsmen there; he couldn’t get past Darryn and the militia.”
“Knowing it and proving it are two different things.” I shook my head. “No. We’ll do what we originally planned: wait until he tries to steal more, then catch him in the act, force him to tell us where he’s taking it so we can get it back. We just have to be patient.”
“It’s been three weeks. I’m running out of patience. What if he doesn’t try again? What if he decides he’s taken enough, now that he thinks we know?”
Now my expression darkened. “He’ll try again.”
Eryn wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she took another step closer to the edge of the tower, motioned out toward the watchtowers and the walls. “Those went up faster than I expected,” she said.
I moved up beside her. “Avrell said that the masons were surprised by how well the old wall had held up. The watchtowers, too. It was only a matter of repairing a few sections that had crumbled, shoring up the supports inside the towers and finishing off the one side that had collapsed. They’ve turned their attention to the defenses inside the city now and left the watchtowers to the guardsmen.” I’d ventured out along the juts of land on the wall myself once, gone to visit those keeping an eye on the ocean in the watchtowers and to see the massive signal fires that would be lit if they caught sight of the Chorl. But the wall and the towers were close enough to the edge of the throne’s influence that it made me uncomfortable. Not sick, like the sensation of knives shifting around in my stomach I’d gotten when escorting Eryn’s envoy to Colby, but queasy enough that I hadn’t gone back.
I shifted my attention from the watchtowers to the wharf and the lower city. I could see carpenters and other workers crawling over the trading ships in the harbor, altering them so that they had at least minimal defenses. The palace’s sleek patrol ships that had sealed the harbor while Eryn was the Mistress were circling the water near the entrance to the harbor. And deeper within the city, in the streets that led up to the wall surrounding the outer ward, others were working on barricades and other defenses, some suggested by the guardsmen, most by the voices in the throne—Mistresses who had been forced to defend the city in the past, both successfully and unsuccessfully. Voices that were cooperating with each other for the first time in decades.
If the Chorl got past the watchtowers, the ships, and the lower city, they’d hit the three walls that surrounded the palace, separating it from the middle ward, the outer ward, and the lower city itself. And all along the way they’d be fighting the guard and the militia, the citizens currently training in the courtyard below and the marketplaces in the city, the Servants who were training in the palace gardens even now. I could sense them plying the currents of the river behind me, Marielle leading the lesson today.
Amenkor would not fall lightly.
Eryn pressed her lips tightly together. “Is it enough?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
She turned toward me, caught my gaze. “Have you tried to use the throne to scry, as I did when I was Mistress? Have you tried to see the future?”
I hesitated, not certain she’d want to hear. But she’d been the Mistress once before. She deserved to know.
“I’ve tried. Twice. Both times it was the same as before: the city on fire, ships in the harbor burning, the water filled with bodies and red with blood.”
Eryn growled, slapped her palm down flat on the stone of the tower’s edge in frustration. “It should have changed!” she spat out over the wall, into the wind. “It should be different!”
My eyes narrowed. The vision had changed: the warehouse district was no longer completely rebuilt. Because we’d abandoned it to work on the watchtowers and the other defenses. And now the watchtowers were destroyed first, rather than after the city had mostly fallen.
But I saw no reason to tell Eryn. It didn’t change the outcome of the vision at all. In fact, it verified that the vision wasn’t of some long distant future attack, but of something imminent.
I felt Eryn’s frustration as well, crawling across my skin. But we were doing everything we could think of to prepare. All that was left was to wait.
I felt someone enter the spiral stairwell to the roof, felt his tension, his excitement, his panic. The guards at the top of the tower straightened as they heard the boy’s pounding footsteps echoing up from below—
Then he burst out onto the tower. I’d already turned, already taken a step forward in anticipation.
“Mistress!” the boy shouted, then gasped and pounded his chest, trying to catch his breath. His eyes were wide, his face flushed red with exertion. “Mistress! Captain Catrell says he’s done it.”
I felt a surge of satisfaction as Eryn asked, “Who’s done what?”
The boy glanced at her. Still breathing hard, he grinned. “Baill’s rearranged the guard on the warehouses.”
* * *
I crouched down at the edge of an alley and glanced out into the night-darkened, cobbled street in bo
th directions, listening to the rustle of Keven and his guardsmen settling into place in the alley’s depths behind me. Armor clanked, someone splashed in an unseen puddle, and someone else cursed.
Then everyone fell silent.
Keven crouched down beside me. “Anything?”
I shook my head. “The street’s empty.”
We’d chosen to ambush Baill in a circular market with a fountain at its center where three major streets intersected. One street provided a direct route from the Tempest Row warehouse to the fountain square. Captain Catrell had insisted on covering that route. He was to wait until Baill had passed him, then close off that escape route. The street Keven and I covered was Baill’s most likely choice once he reached the fountain—it led south, past the stockyards and out of Amenkor, meeting up with the southern trade route. Captain Westen covered the third street away from the fountain. He’d been as enraged as Catrell at Baill’s betrayal, but—unlike Catrell—he hadn’t voiced it. His stance had shifted, had become deadly, a motion that reminded me painfully of Erick.
He’d offered to send the Seekers after Baill, as they’d been sent after the murderers and rapists on the Dredge, but I’d said no.
We needed the food Baill had stolen—all of it. We needed to take him alive, so he could be questioned, so we could get that food back.
A muscle in my leg began to cramp, and I winced and shifted uncomfortably, then grimaced. I’d been Mistress too long. I’d never have cramped this early in a watch when I’d been on the Dredge. Not even after being a bodyguard for Borund.
I began massaging the muscle, caught Keven’s eye. “Now we wait,” I said.
He nodded, signaled his guardsmen, then leaned back against the wall and stared up at the stars overhead. The moon was already out, everything cast in a faint gray light.
I sighed and settled in as well.
Old habits asserted themselves. I checked out the rough stone of the alley, noted the deeper darknesses of alcoves and doorways and windows. All possible escape paths. But unlike the Dredge, these darknesses weren’t wide open and crumbling, with empty rooms and corridors beyond. This was east of the city, Amenkor’s River only a few streets north. This stone wasn’t falling into ruin and slicked with sludge and ground-in mud.
And the people here weren’t starving. Not like those on the Dredge, like Ana’s mother.
Yet.
I sighed, saw Keven glance toward me out of the corner of my eye, then I slid beneath the river, pushed myself deep enough so I could feel the city of Amenkor pulsing around me. For a moment, I held myself in the alley with Keven and the guardsmen, felt their boredom mixed with tension, then I turned my attention out into the street. I could see it clearly now; no darknesses, no escapes. To the left a rat paused, beady eyes looking in my direction as if he sensed I was watching, then he skittered away.
My stomach growled. On the Dredge, he would have been dinner. On the Dredge, his fellows had already been dinner, Darryn sending out rat patrols like hunting parties on a regular basis now, hoping to bring back fresh meat.
I turned to the right, leaned out from the alley far enough I could see the water of the fountain dancing in the moonlight, then focused and pushed at the river, the same way I’d pushed to see the vision of the city burning. But this was limited to a small area—the fountain—and a short period of time.
I grunted, then pulled back into the alley. At Keven’s questioning look, I said, “Baill will be here in an hour.”
Keven frowned, then motioned to a page boy, who sped off deeper into the alley with the news. He’d inform Catrell and Westen.
The men shared a few glances, then shrugged.
A little less than an hour later, everyone just beginning to get restless, Keven’s page boy returned.
“Baill passed Catrell’s position a few moments ago,” he reported breathlessly.
Everyone in the alley tensed. I drew my dagger, felt its handle slip into a familiar grip, and edged closer to the alley’s entrance.
To the right I heard low voices, too distant to make out, and the creak of a wagon. But I still couldn’t see anything.
Then Baill appeared. He glanced down the street and I pulled back out of view slowly. All of my instincts were screaming, but I forced myself to wait, to allow Catrell and Westen time to move into position. The sounds of the wagons grew louder, the voices clearer, cutting off the splashing sounds of water from the fountain—
And then, at a barked command from Baill, the wagons halted.
I froze, muscles tensing, shot a quick frown at Keven.
He shrugged, motioned that we should head out into the street, reveal ourselves.
I shook my head. Something was wrong.
And then I heard the sound of horses, of shod feet clopping onto cobblestones.
Coming from the left.
With horror, I realized that someone was coming to meet Baill.
I shoved Keven toward the darkness at the other end of the alley, his massive bulk resisting a moment, until he heard the horses. With a sharp gesture, he ordered the men back, everyone scrambling to move, fast, without making a sound. Armor scraped against stone, and boots dragged across the cobbles. Someone splashed through the puddle again. I followed, Keven a step in front of me.
And then suddenly Keven motioned everyone down, halting as the sounds of the horses drew even with the alley’s entrance.
I spun, my butt on my heels, my back pressed flat against the wall, dagger tight to my side as sweat dripped down my back and between my breasts, and watched as a group of horses passed in front of the alley.
Thirty horses in all, each mounted by a man dressed in armor like the guardsmen. But they weren’t guardsmen. These were gutterscum. Bodyguards. Mercenaries.
My heart sank. They were here to guard the food Baill had stolen, here to take control of it, to smuggle it out of the city and transport it somewhere else.
Which meant we’d never get back the food he’d already taken.
Despair seized me, but then, in the few moments it took the thirty mercenaries to pass by the alley door, it transformed into hard cold fury. Fury solid as a stone, sitting in the center of my chest.
Someone touched my shoulder and I spun, recognized Keven a moment before I would have struck with the dagger. He didn’t flinch, his eyes boring into mine. “This is going to be harder than we anticipated,” he said.
I heard what he hadn’t said, what he hadn’t asked. But I wasn’t going to let Baill escape now. Not after this, and not with any more of Amenkor’s food. Not after witnessing Ana’s mother’s death. Not after seeing how everyone else was suffering on the Dredge.
Keven must have seen the answer in my eyes, for he straightened where he crouched, then motioned toward his men, the gestures short and sharp.
The alley grew suddenly grim as men shifted, loosened clasps on swords, checked their armor. I crept to the end of the alley, scanned the dark street in both directions again.
The mercenaries had just made it to the end of the street, were entering the fountain’s circle. One of them broke away, horse trotting forward to meet Baill, who stood before a cart loaded with crates and surrounded by palace guardsmen.
I almost darted across the street to the opposite side, crouched low and moving swiftly, as I would have done on the Dredge, but I caught myself. Straightening, I let the anger slide through me, drew it around me like a cloak, felt the guardsmen behind me respond with their own anger, their formation tightening, stances solidifying.
I stepped out of the alley, Keven at my side, his sword drawn, the rest of the guardsmen close behind. We walked to the mouth of the street where it emptied out onto the circular plaza and halted, Keven’s men shifting to block off any escape.
Someone in Baill’s group saw us, barked out a warning.
The guardsmen and mercenaries reacted ins
tantly. With a sharp cry, the guardsmen abandoned the cart and food, scattering toward the other two entrances to the plaza. The mercenaries cursed, kicked their horses into a milling confusion of rattling metal and frightened animals.
I lost sight of Baill. The guardsmen at my back tensed but held firm.
Baill’s guardsmen had almost escaped to Tempest Row when Catrell’s party appeared. Shouts of despair filled the circle and Baill’s guardsmen turned, ran blindly toward the last remaining escape. But Westen appeared before they’d made it halfway across the plaza.
Baill’s men ground to a halt, wavered at the edge of the fountain. The stench of fear flooded the river, mixed with the smell of horse and dung.
Silence descended, interrupted only by the snort of a horse, the stamp of a hoof. The mercenaries had formed up in a wall around Baill and the man who’d gone to meet him.
I took a step forward. “It’s over, Baill!” I said, loud enough so that everyone in the plaza could hear.
I watched the crowd of horses.
No one emerged.
I felt my anger spike. “Come out! All of your escape routes have been cut off!”
Silence. No one moved. I glared at the mercenaries, their faces tight, eyes dangerous, their unshaven jaws clenched tight. A few had drawn their swords and they watched me balefully from their saddles.
Then, with no warning at all, the mercenaries charged.
I slid into a defensive crouch without thinking, heard the guardsmen behind me gasp, then surge forward and tighten up, Keven bellowing orders. The mercenaries roared, an unintelligible battle cry of pure sound, the pounding of hooves on cobbles descending upon us like the crash of an ocean’s wave. I breathed in the scent of desperation, almost overwhelmed by horse sweat, and then the first mercenary reached me.
I lashed out with the river, a solid punch of force that slammed into the massive chest of the horse bearing down on me. The animal screamed, tossed its head, tried to lurch backward, and ended up rearing high, hooves kicking down at me as the mercenary attempted to regain control. I punched out again, shoved the river forward hard in a solid wall as the horse twisted sideways and began to fall.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 63