Promise of Blood (5 page)

“No one can, not unless they’ve been trained by the man himself.” Tamas examined the rifle closely for several minutes before handing it back.

“You like it?” Taniel said.

“Remarkable.” His interest seemed to wane suddenly, his attention becoming distant.

Taniel hesitated. “Then you’ll like this.” He held out a hand to Ka-poel. She brought him a wooden case, a little longer than a man’s forearm and made of polished mahogany.

“A gift,” Taniel said.

Tamas set the case on a table and flipped open the top. “Incredible,” he breathed.

“Saw-handled dueling pistols,” Taniel said. “Made by Hrusch’s oldest son—who they say is a better gunsmith than his father. Refined flintlock with a rainproof pan and a roller bearing on the steel spring. A smoothbore, but more accurate than most.” Taniel felt the warmth return as his father’s face lit up.

Tamas lifted one of the matched pair of pistols and ran his fingers up and down the octagonal barrel. Ivory inlay caught the lamplight, the polish on it shining beautifully. “These are incredible. I’ll have to provoke an insult, just so I can use them.”

Taniel chuckled. That sounded like something Tamas would do.

“These are… wonderful,” Tamas said.

Taniel thought he saw something glisten in his father’s eyes. Was he proud? Grateful? No, he decided, Tamas doesn’t know the meaning of those words.

“I wish we had more time to talk,” Tamas said.

“On to business?” Of course. No time for chatting. No time to catch up with a long-absent son.

“Unfortunately,” Tamas said, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. “Sabon,” he called. The Deliv appeared in the doorway. “Bring in the mercenaries.” Sabon disappeared again. “Now, where is Vlora? We need you both. Did Sabon tell you about our losses?”

“Sabon told me. Sad news. I imagine Vlora will be along eventually,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly talk to her.”

Tamas scowled. “I thought—”

“I found her in another man’s bed,” Taniel said, feeling a jolt of satisfaction at the shock on Tamas’s face. The shock turned to anger, then grief.

“Why? When? For how long?” The words tumbled from Tamas, a moment of true confusion that Taniel wondered if any had ever seen in Tamas, or would again.

Taniel leaned on his rifle and fought back a sneer. Why should Tamas care? It wasn’t
his
fiancée. “For several months, from the gossip. The man was paid to seduce her. Some nobleman’s son, in it for the thrill and the money.”

“Paid?” Tamas asked, his eyes narrowing.

“A scheme,” Taniel said. “Petty revenge. No doubt hatched by a wealthy nobleman.” Taniel hadn’t taken the time to find out who the culprit was, but he had little uncertainty. The nobility hated Tamas. He was common-born and had used his influence with the king to prevent the wealthy from purchasing commissions in the army. Only the capable rose in the ranks. It flew in the face of tradition, but also made the Adran army one of the best in the Nine. The nobility feared Tamas too much to attack him directly, but they’d strike him any way they could, even through his son.

Tamas’s teeth clenched in a snarl. “I’ve arrested half the nobility this very night. They face the guillotine with their king. I’ll find out who paid, and then…”

Taniel suddenly felt tired. Years fighting a war that wasn’t his, followed by months of cramped traveling, only to come home to betrayal and a coup. His anger had been sapped. He thumbed a line of black powder onto his hand and snorted it. “The guillotine is enough. Save your men.”
Save your anger, though Kresimir knows you have enough of it. No pity, though. None for your son, the betrayed.

Tamas rubbed his eyes. “I should have had her watched.”

“She’s free to do what she wants,” Taniel said. It came out as a snarl.

“The wedding?”

“I nailed her ring to the bastard bedding her. They’ll have had to cut him off his own sword.”

Sabon reentered the room. He was followed by a pair of disreputable-looking characters wearing the clothes of people who slept in the saddle, or on a barroom bench. One was a man, tall and lanky with a hairline that touched the back of his head, though he couldn’t have been older than thirty. He wore a belt that covered his entire stomach, carried four swords and three pistols of different sizes and shapes, and he wore the gloves of a Privileged—though instead of white with colored runes, the gloves were navy blue with gold runes. The man was a magebreaker: a Privileged who’d given up his natural-born sorcery to nullify magic at will.

The other was a woman. She looked to be in her late thirties and wore riding pants and a jacket. She would have been beautiful but for the old scar that lifted the corner of her lip and traveled all the way to her temple. She, too, wore the gloves of a Privileged, which allowed her to touch the Else. Hers were white with blood-red runes. Taniel wondered why she wasn’t in a cabal. He could sense she was strong enough even without opening his third eye.

Mercenaries, Tamas had said. These two had a look. A Privileged and a magebreaker together were a dangerous combination. They were used to hunt Knacked, Marked, and Privileged. Taniel wondered which his father had in mind.

“A Privileged escaped our cull at Skyline,” Tamas said. “Not one of the royal cabal, but powerful nonetheless. I want you three”—a glance at Ka-poel—“four to track her down and kill her.”

Tamas settled into the role of a man used to briefing his soldiers, and Taniel realized his homecoming amounted to little more than a briefing and an assignment. Off hunting another Privileged. He glanced at the two mercenaries. They had a competent look to them. Taniel had had less to work with in Fatrasta. This Privileged they meant to hunt had killed five seasoned powder mages in half a breath. She’d be dangerous, and Taniel had never hunted in a city before. He decided the challenge would keep his mind off… things.

Taniel lifted his snuffbox once more and tapped out a line on the back of his hand, ignoring his father’s disapproving look.

Nila paused for a moment to watch the fire burn beneath the big iron pot suspended in the fireplace. She rubbed her chapped hands together and warmed them over the flames. The water would boil soon, and she’d finish washing the laundry for everyone in the townhouse. There was a small pile of dirty laundry stacked by the pantry, but most of the family’s clothes, as well as the servants’ livery, had been soaking in the large vats of warm water and lye soap since last evening. They would need to be boiled, rinsed, and then hung out to dry, but first she needed to iron the duke’s dress uniform. He had a meeting with the king at ten. That was still hours away, but all of it, the washing, rinsing, and ironing, had to be done before the cooks got up to make breakfast.

The door to the washroom opened and a boy of five came into the kitchen rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Can’t sleep, young master?” Nila asked.

“No,” he said. The only child of Duke Eldaminse, Jakob was very sickly. He had blond hair and a pale face with narrow cheeks. He was small for his age, but bright, and friendlier to the help than a duke’s son ought to be. Nila had been thirteen and an apprentice laundress for the Eldaminse when he was born. From the time he could walk he’d taken a liking to her, much to the chagrin of his mother and governess.

“Have a seat here,” Nila said, rearranging a clean, dry blanket near the fire for Jakob. “Only for a couple of minutes, then you need to go back to bed before Ganny awakes.”

He settled onto the blanket and watched her heat the irons on the stove and lay out his father’s clothes. His eyes soon began to droop and he settled onto his side.

Nila dragged a large washbasin over beside the iron pot. She was just about to pour in the water when the door opened again.

“Nila!” Ganny stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. She was twenty-six, and severe beyond her age; well suited to be the governess of a ducal heir. She wore her cocoa-colored hair up in a tight bun behind her head. Even in her nightclothes, Ganny seemed more proper than Nila with her plain dress and unruly auburn curls.

Nila put a finger to her lips.

“You know he’s not supposed to be in here,” Ganny said, lowering her voice.

“What should I do? Say no?”

“Of course!”

“Leave him be, he’s finally asleep.”

“He’ll catch a cold down here.”

“He’s right next to the fire,” Nila said.

“If the duchess finds him here, she’ll be furious!” Ganny shook her finger at Nila. “I won’t stick up for you when she turns you out on the street.”

“And when have you ever stuck up for me?”

Ganny’s lips took on a hard line. “I’ll recommend your dismissal to the duchess tonight. You’re nothing but a bad influence on Jakob.”

“I will…” Nila took one look at the sleeping boy and closed her mouth. She had no family, no connections. The duchess already disliked her. Duke Eldaminse had a habit of bedding the help, and he’d been looking at her more often lately. Nila didn’t need any trouble with Ganny, even if she was a bully. “I’m sorry, Ganny,” Nila said. “I’ll get him back to bed now. Do you have any clothes I can get the stains out of for you?”

“That’s a better attitude,” Ganny said. “Now…”

She was interrupted by a hammering on the front door, loud enough to be heard all the way at the back of the townhouse.

“Who is that at this early hour?” Ganny pulled her nightclothes tightly around her and headed into the hallway. “They’ll wake up the lord and lady!”

Nila put her hands on her hips and looked at Jakob. “You’ll get me in trouble, young master.”

His eyes fluttered open. “Sorry,” he said.

She knelt down beside him. “It’s all right, go back to sleep. Let me carry you to bed.”

She’d just lifted him up when she heard the scream from the front of the house. Shouts followed and then the hammering footsteps running up the stairs in the main hallway. She heard angry male voices that didn’t belong to any of the house staff.

“What is that?” Jakob asked.

She set him on his feet so that he couldn’t feel her hands shaking. “Quickly,” she said. “In the washtub.”

Jakob’s bottom lip trembled. “Why, what’s happening?”

“Hide!”

He climbed into the washtub. She dumped the dirty laundry on top of him and stacked it high and then hurried into the hallway.

She ran right into a soldier. The man shoved her back into the kitchen. He was soon joined by two other men, then another holding Ganny by the back of the neck. He shoved Ganny to the floor. The governess’s eyes were full of fear mingled with indignation.

“These two will do,” one of the soldiers said. He wore the dark blue of the Adran army, with two golden service stripes on his chest and a silver medal that indicated he’d served the crown overseas. He began to loosen his belt and stepped toward Nila.

Nila grabbed the hot iron from the stove and hit him hard across the face. He went down, to the shouts of his comrades.

Someone grabbed her arms, another her legs.

“Feisty,” one said.

“That will leave a mark,” said another.

“What is the meaning of this!” Ganny had finally gotten to her feet. “Do you know whose house this is?”

“Shut up.” The soldier Nila had hit climbed to his feet, a swollen burn covering half of his face. He punched Ganny hard in the stomach. “We’ll get to you soon enough.” He turned to Nila.

Nila struggled against hands too strong for her. She turned to the washbasin, hoping Jakob would not see this, and closed her eyes to wait for the blow.

“Heathlo!” a voice barked.

She opened her eyes again when the hands that held her suddenly let up.

“What the pit you doing, soldier?” The man who spoke wore the same uniform as the others, only set apart by a gold triangle pinned to his silver lapel. He had sandy hair and a neatly trimmed beard. A cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth. Nila had never seen a soldier with a beard before.

“Just having some fun, Sergeant.” Heathlo gave Nila a menacing glare and turned toward the sergeant.

“Fun? No fun for us, soldier. This is the army. You heard the field marshal’s orders.”

“But, Sergeant…”

The sergeant leaned over and picked up the iron from where it lay on the floor. He looked at the bottom, then at the burn on the soldier’s face. “You want me to give you a matching one on the other side?”

Heathlo’s eyes hardened. “This bitch struck me.”

“I’ll hit you somewhere prettier than your face next time I see you try to rape an Adran citizen.” The sergeant pointed his cigarette at Heathlo. “This isn’t Gurla.”

“I’ll report this to the captain, sir,” Heathlo sneered.

The sergeant shrugged.

“Heathlo,” one of the other soldiers said. “Don’t push him. Sorry, Sergeant, he’s new to the company and all.”

“Keep him in line,” the sergeant said. “He’s new, but I expect better from you two.” He helped Ganny to her feet, then touched his finger to his forehead toward Nila. “Ma’am. We’re looking for Duke Eldaminse’s son.”

Ganny looked at Nila. Nila could tell she was terrified. “He was with you,” the governess said.

Nila forced herself to look into the sergeant’s blue eyes. “I just carried him up to bed.”

“Go on,” the sergeant said to his soldiers. “Find him.” They left the room quickly. He remained and gave a slow look around the kitchen. “He’s not in his bed.”

“He has a habit of wandering,” Nila said. “I just put him to bed, but I’m sure he was scared by the noise. What is happening?” This was no accident. Those soldiers knew exactly whose house this was. The sergeant had mentioned a field marshal. Adro only had one man of that rank: Field Marshal Tamas.

“Duke Eldaminse and his family are under arrest for treason,” the sergeant said.

Ganny blanched and looked as if she might faint.

Nila felt her stomach tighten. Treason. Accusations like that would see the whole staff put to the question. There was no escape. She’d heard a story once of an archduke, the Iron King’s own cousin, who plotted against the throne. His family and every member of his staff had been sent to the guillotine.

“You’re free to go,” the sergeant said. “We’re only here for the duke and his family.” He stepped toward the washbasin, frowning. “You’ll want to find new employment. In fact, if you can, you should leave the city for at least a few days.” He put the cigarette between his lips and lifted a pair of trousers from the top of the washbasin.