She pushed aside her fears. Joost and Errik knew their roles; she had to trust them. She had no other choice. The success of her plan hinged on her entering the Watcher's Square alone.
Step by agonizing step, she drew closer to the Watcher's Square. The buildings around her grew more elegant, the neighborhoods cleaner and more organized. A few more streets and she would reach her destination.
Her gut twisted at the sound of cheering and shouting from ahead. The tumult increased in volume with every laborious breath.
The executions had begun. She was too late.
Ignoring Darreth's admonitions, she shuffled forward at an awkward run. The fire in her chest churned her stomach and brought acid to her throat, but she had no time for rest. She had to stop the executions before anyone died. She couldn't let the Duke kill her comrades. Not because of her.
Time slowed to a standstill as she lurched around the corner. Six bodies dangled from the gibbet. Two wore the orange-trimmed robes of Foxes. One, wearing Grubber grey, was smaller than she. A Grubber apprentice. A tyro, perhaps. The two on the far left still kicked and twitched, their legs jerking as they fought for air. Dark hoods obscured their faces, but their white-trimmed robes proclaimed them Hound Journeymen.
But the figure dangling far to the right drew her eye. A hulking man, with huge arms tied behind his back and dark grey clothing trimmed with Hawk brown. She couldn't see his hair, but there was only one Hawk it could be.
Ilanna's lungs refused to draw air. Her heart stopped beating, as if devoid of purpose. She watched the huge body—Jarl's body, it had to be—swinging back and forth without a twitch, and a tremor swept over her. She slumped to the cobblestone street, tears streaming down her face.
She had arrived too late. Jarl was dead, because of her. The Duke had executed her only remaining friend in House Hawk. She would save everyone in the Night Guild, but her friend—
The Praamian Guards ripped the hoods from the now-unmoving bodies, and hope surged within her. The man wearing Hawk brown was unfamiliar, with the rough, dark features of a Voramian. Not Jarl's blond hair and beard.
Climbing to her feet, she clambered onto a nearby wagon and craned her neck to see over the crowd. The captive Night Guild stood assembled behind the gibbet, guarded by men in blue tunics and silver breastplates. A handful of bodies—mostly Hounds and Bloodbears, from what she could see—lay in a cart beside the scaffold platform. Those remaining alive wore the ragged clothes of Foxes and Grubbers, with a few Scorpions and Serpents among them.
And there, in the front of the line, stood a hulking man with flaxen hair and a thick, yellow beard. Ilanna wanted to weep at the sight of Jarl. His face had a sickly pallor and his clothes bore dried bloodstains, but he stood with his head held high, a stubborn look on his craggy face.
Yet Ilanna's relief died a moment later when the Arbitors shoved Jarl and a handful of Grubber Journeymen and apprentices up the stairs. The cheers and shouts of the crowd quieted as they waited for the executions.
A fresh wave of horror mixed with the painful tightening in Ilanna's chest. What could she do? Thousands of Praamians had flocked to Watcher's Square to watch the executions. She'd never reach the scaffolding in time to stop the execution. Even as she pondered, the hangman strung the noose around Jarl's neck and slipped a hood over his face. Her friend would die unless she did something now.
She did the only thing she could. In the inevitable breathless silence as the crowd waited for the next body to drop, she shouted as loud as she could. "Praamians!"
Her voice echoed across Watcher's Square. A few heads turned toward her, but not enough. However, the guards on the scaffold looked up. The hangman paused, his hand hovering over the lever.
In desperation, she called out again. "Citizens of Praamis, hear me!" Her voice cracked with the strain of shouting, but she forced herself onward. "My name is Ilanna, Journeyman of the Night Guild, and I have a dangerous secret to tell you—one that would destroy the very foundation of this city!"
Chapter Forty-One
Her words had the desired effect. The crowd turned toward her, eyes seeking the source of that strong voice.
"Listen well, people of Praamis." Though every word sent pain flashing through her chest, Ilanna stood straight and spoke in a strong clear voice. "For decades, the line of Keadanis has ruled over our fair city. They have demanded much—your hard-earned coin not least of all--and given little in return. All the while, they lied to you. Treated you like fools."
Her gaze fell on Duke Phonnis. The Duke stood on the scaffold, his finger thrust at her as he sent the Praamian Guard surging through the crowd.
Ilanna hid a smile. "Your King believes you to be incapable of understanding the truth. For they fear what you could do if you rose up and took control of the city. You are many, and they are few."
The olive-clad figures shoved their way through the press of people. She had another minute, perhaps two, until the Duke's men reached her.
Perfect.
"They conceal a dangerous secret not only from you," she continued, "but from all in Praamis. Even the ones they call their fellow lords and ladies. A secret so dark and loathsome that the Chief Justiciar of Praamis would send his men to murder any who know."
Few things could steal the crowd's interest away from an execution; a royal conspiracy counted among those things. Anger twisted more than a few faces, and more than a few Praamian Guards found their way barred. Shouts rose among the crowd—some called out for "death to the thief", yet more echoed in anger against the King.
"Behold!" She stabbed a finger at the nearest pack of Praamian Guards. "They come to silence me, for they fear what I would reveal. They may lock me away in the dungeons, but they cannot silence the truth. Be ready, people of Praamis, for you will soon know what they would seek to hide from you!"
Strong hands dragged her down from the wagon. She cried out as pain flared in her chest. The Praamian Guards hustled her toward the gibbet amidst a wave of angry cries and shouts. Every jostling step sent agony lancing through her torso, but she forced herself to keep up. Hands reached out from the throng to strike at the olive-clad guardsmen. Her inflammatory diatribe had served its purpose.
"Peace!" Duke Phonnis tried to still the crowd, but they refused to be silenced. Their shouts of "justice!" resounded off the high walls of the Royal Palace.
The Praamian Guards hauled Ilanna up to the scaffold and set her roughly to stand beside the Duke.
"You call yourself Ilanna of the Night Guild?" The Duke's face showed no sign of recognition.
"I do!" Ilanna turned her eyes to the crowd. "And I demand to be brought before King Ohilmos, where I will stand fair trial."
The Duke's eye twitched. "You question the impartiality of the Chief Justiciar of Praamis, servant of the Watcher?"
"As a citizen of Praamis, I have the right to appeal my case before the King."
"No evidence has been presented against you." Duke Phonnis spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. "You have not been accused of anything."
"Yet my comrades of the Night Guild face execution," she said. "Surely I am to be given the same fate?"
The Duke's mouth curled down into a frown.
"Then as is my right," she said, "I will appeal to King Ohilmos. Not only on my behalf, but for all in the Night Guild."
Duke Phonnis' frown deepened to a snarl. "The evidence—"
"He would deny me justice!" Ilanna whirled to the crowd, thrusting an accusing finger at the Duke. "He fears what I have to say."
"Justice!" a voice roared from the crowd. More voices took up the cry. "Justice! Justice!"
Hatred and rage filled the Duke's eyes, yet a hint of fear tinged his expression. Her plan to rile up the populace with inflammatory words and accusations had worked. He had no choice but to accede to her demand to stand trial before the King. If he didn’t, the crowd, which had fully supported the execution of the criminals that had preyed on them for so long, would turn against hi
m. Crowds were fickle that way.
"Peace!" Duke Phonnis held up his hands, and the chanting gradually faded. "She will stand trial before the King. And when she is proven guilty, she will join her comrades." He turned to her with a smile of barely-restrained fury. "You demand the King's justice—you shall have it!"
At the Duke's gesture, the Praamian Guards closed around her and hustled her off the scaffold. Relief flooded her as more olive-clad men removed the hoods and nooses from Jarl and the others. She had delayed the executions. Now she had to stay alive long enough to stand before the King.
Heedless of her cries of pain, the guards dragged her through the palace gates, up the walkway, around the empty fountain, and into the palace itself. The Duke marched at the front of the entourage, his back stiff and ramrod straight. The moment the double doors of the palace boomed shut behind them, the Duke whirled on her.
"Foolish girl! Do you have any idea how dangerous this game is?"
"Of course I do." Despite the agony in her chest, she met the Duke's eyes without hesitation. "Which is precisely why I fanned the flames of their anger without actually giving them the truth." She forced her voice to sound confident to conceal the fear thrumming through her.
The Duke jerked back, eyes narrowing. "What?"
Ilanna chuckled. "It's easy to rile a man up: simply tell him someone else believes him to be a fool. He'll turn his anger on the person insulting him. Add to that the insult of the King’s taxes, and you have the perfect recipe for an angry mob."
A mailed fist slammed into her kidneys. She slumped, coughing, as pain flared through her side and spread up to her chest.
"And that mob could turn on you and rip you to pieces!" Duke Phonnis bent over her, anger burning in his words. "Or turn a peaceful city into total chaos."
"Which is why I allowed your men to capture me," she said. Pain tightened her voice. "You save face by agreeing to bring me to justice, and I stand before the King."
Wheels turned behind the Duke's eyes. He straightened, his face hard and expressionless. "Take her to the dungeons. Lock her up and throw away the key."
The Praamian Guards seized her wrists, but Ilanna spoke quickly. "That would be a mistake."
Duke Phonnis sneered. "And why is that?"
"Because I have the proof of your secret."
The Duke jerked back as if struck. His eyes searched hers, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Search her."
Before she could respond, the Praamian Guards shoved her against the wall. Ilanna cried out as her injured chest struck stone. One guard shoved her face into a tapestry, and the scent of ancient dust and moldy fabric filled her nose. The rough hands of the guards fumbled up and down her body. Her stomach twisted, and it took every shred of self-control not to strike out--not that it would do much against the armored men holding her bound.
"Nothing, my lord," a Praamian Guard said. "Not so much as a weapon."
"You think I'd be foolish enough to bring it here?" The tapestry muffled Ilanna's words.
The Duke snapped his fingers, and the Praamian Guard released his grip on her head.
Ilanna straightened her clothing and glared at Duke Phonnis. "Outside, hiding in plain sight of Watcher's Square, one of my friends is waiting."
The Duke opened his mouth, no doubt to order his men to find the man, but Ilanna didn't give him time to speak. "You'll never find him. He's wearing the same plain clothes of every other man in that square. But he watched your men drag me in here, and he has strict orders of what to do if I don't come back out in the next hour. He'll go to the man who has that piece of paper proving my words. Within days, thousands of copies of that paper will flood the city. Everyone—from the poorest beggar to the wealthiest noble—will know the truth, Duke."
The Duke's eyes narrowed. "Lies," he growled. "You couldn't possibly have the proof."
Ilanna raised an eyebrow. "Are you willing to risk this particular secret getting out?" She leaned forward. "The Bloody Hand killed my friends. The rest are standing on your scaffolding awaiting execution. I have nothing to lose, Duke Phonnis. You, on the other hand, have everything to lose."
The Duke licked his lips, his gaze darting to the Praamian Guards around him.
"Take me to the King, Duke Phonnis," she said, "and your secret will remain precisely that: secret."
Her confident grin belied the nervous roiling in her stomach. She stood before the Chief Justiciar, surrounded by Praamian Guards, and with no one to help her. Her contingency plan would do nothing for her if the Duke decided her death and that of the Night Guild was worth the damage to his political reputation. Her entire plan hinged on her belief that Duke Phonnis held his honor and his desire to protect his brother against all else, even his duties as Chief Justiciar.
A single bead of sweat trickled down the Duke's forehead. After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, he nodded. "So be it. You will stand trial before the King. And when I present him the evidence I have accumulated, he will have no choice but to proclaim your guilt. You will join your comrades on the gibbet, and Praamis will be rid of your kind once and for all."
Ilanna inclined her head. "You are nothing if not fair, Duke Phonnis."
He tensed at the mocking tone of her voice. The muscles in his jaw worked, and his spine straightened.
Ilanna met his distrustful expression with a placid smile. "Come, Duke, my trial awaits."
* * *
All eyes in the Throne Room turned to regard her as the double doors swung open. Expressions of curiosity and confusion mingled on the faces of the ten men sitting on either side of the room.
King Ohilmos looked up from the tome in his hands and raised an eyebrow. "Brother? What is this?"
The Duke spoke in a tight, clipped voice. "Another traitor to Praamis to stand trial before the throne, my King."
The King frowned. "I thought we had already concluded the trials earlier. Why are you…?" He narrowed his eyes at Ilanna, and his rasping breath caught in his throat. "Oh!"
"My King." Ilanna swept a bow. "It is truly a privilege to stand before you today."
"Indeed," the King said. He scratched at the circle of scar tissue twisting his lips upward. "I must admit my…surprise at your presence." He narrowed his eyes at the Duke. "From what my brother told me, he had tried all living members of the Night Guild."
"Night Guild?" An older man with wispy, grey eyebrows rose to his feet. "This is another of those vermin?"
"Not just another one, my Lord Vorrel," the Duke said, a hint of anger tingeing his somber voice. "She is the worst of the lot."
Lord Ralston, a tall, lean man with a drooping moustache and teeth stained yellow from tabacc smoke—a habit she had encountered first-hand the night she broke into his home—sat back in his chair. "Then by all means, let's get on with this."
Ilanna's eyes took in the rest of the Royal Council. Lord Kannassas, the King’s third cousin, sat at the King's left hand, his ample belly straining at the gilded buttons on his blue crushed velvet vest. The twitchy man with a patchy beard and a prominent hook nose could only be Lord Illiran, the noble whose herds of cows and horses and flocks of sheep and goats grazed most of the land beyond the limits of Praamis. Lord Draidan, Lord Athir, and Lord Untler—the three nobles responsible for most of the commerce that flowed in and out of Praamis—occupied the rest of the table.
Opposite them sat Lord Vorrel, the owner of the only silver mine in the entire south of Einan. A man wearing the colors of the House of Auslan sat in Lord Auslan's seat. Lords Unvar and Brayl, masters of grain and corn, filled two more chairs. The fifth, on the King’s right hand, stood empty. Duke Phonnis strode toward the massive chair and lowered himself into its plush depths. With head held high and a voice that rang out loud and clear in the hall, the Duke proclaimed, "Let the trial of Journeyman Ilanna of the Night Guild commence."
Chapter Forty-Two
King Ohilmos leaned forward in his chair, slim fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Present your eviden
ce, Brother."
The Duke raised an eyebrow at the King. "What is there to say? She herself has admitted to being a member of the Night Guild."
"Which means what, precisely?" Amusement crept into Ilanna's voice. "What is the Night Guild?"
"A group of cutthroats and thieves," Duke Phonnis growled.
Ilanna folded her arms. "Is that so? Or is it simply that a few members of the Night Guild have committed crimes, for which they face execution in the Watcher's Square."
The Duke's expression darkened.
Ilanna lifted her head. "My King, I put to you the question: what is the Night Guild? Some would claim a criminal organization, but what proof is there that the Night Guild even exists?"
"You yourself have just said you are a member!" Duke Phonnis rose to his feet, his face flushed.
"Indeed, which begs the question, member of what?" She was surprised to find her voice held no quaver. Her knees, however, threatened to buckle—the hurried journey to the palace had sapped the last of her energy.
Ilanna hid a smile as the Duke's frown deepened. "A band of criminals, Watcher take it!" he snapped.
"But what proof have you of their existence? Beyond my claim that I belong to the organization, of course. More, what proof is there that the organization is comprised of, as you say, criminals and cutthroats?"
"Yes!" Duke Phonnis’ voice rose to a shout. He strode toward her, stabbing a finger at the window. "Out there are over a hundred of those who belong to your organization."
"Show me the proof, Duke Phonnis." Ilanna allowed herself to smile now. "Prove that the Night Guild exists."
The Duke's mouth hung open, his eyes wide as if unable to believe the nonsense she spouted.
King Ohilmos chuckled. "I believe I understand what you are saying, girl." He spoke in his quiet, rasping voice. "A man could claim to be a descendent of the Serenii themselves, but what is that claim without proof?"
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