Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

And yet. .

At first Winter thought it wasn’t working. He was good, but not that good. It was hard to believe that this was the Danton who had sparked all the trouble. She had a moment of panic, wondering if his magic had somehow failed.

Then she took in the slack-jawed expressions on the faces of Cyte and Cora beside her. The hall below had gone absolutely silent, every face turned up toward the gallery with wide, staring eyes. Danton’s voice rose, his stentorian baritone ringing through the chamber. His hands came up, punctuating his address with sweeping, slashing gestures, as he moved from the high purpose of the assembly to the strength of the forces that would inevitably oppose it.

“They will slander us, they will bribe us, they will crush us underfoot and blast us with cannon,” Danton boomed. “The corrupt forces that have infiltrated the state will bring against us every instrument at their disposal. But I am not afraid. Let them come! It only shows that we are what they fear, the people united to drive them from their filthy pits and into the unforgiving light of day-”

It’s just me, Winter realized. The tingling feeling had spread from her hands throughout her body, as though all her limbs had fallen asleep and had pins and needles. She wondered if it was the Infernivore actively protecting her, or if its mere presence made her immune to the spell Danton wove with his voice. For one absurd moment, it made her feel left out , envious of whatever profound emotion everyone else was clearly in the grip of. She felt, suddenly, very alone.

But not entirely alone. Someone was moving, down among the sea of frozen faces. The Special Branch thugs had put their pistols away or simply let them fall, and stood side by side with their erstwhile prisoners, trapped like flies in amber by the power of Danton’s voice. Even Brack and the other black-coats didn’t seem to be able to move. But one man walked freely, threading his way through the mob toward the altar. He wore a full-length robe with long sleeves, but instead of the gray of a Free Priest or even the pure white of the Sworn preacher, he was in black from head to heel. His face was obscured by a black, faceted mask, which sparkled like glass in the light from the braziers.

Winter shot to her feet. “Look out!”

No one heard, of course. Not the enthralled people down below; not Danton, who seemed oblivious; and certainly not the man in black. His hand came out of his sleeve, holding a pistol.

“ Ahdon ivahnt vi, Ignahta Sempria. In the name of God and Karis the Savior, we stand against the darkness.”

Danton had reached his peroration. “We will fight them,” he promised. “I will not let those who died at the Vendre have sacrificed in vain. I will lay my life down alongside theirs, in the name of Vordan and the queen, and I know that every one of you would do the same! If our determination remains unbroken, then we can never-”

Winter fumbled for her own pistol. But, of course, she hadn’t thought to reload it when she had the chance.

The masked figure fired. Danton halted in midsentence, as the boom of the pistol echoed around the hall. The orator brought one hand to his chest and held it up, slick with blood. His face went slack, and he looked at Winter and Cora with a frown.

“I don’t understand,” he said, and toppled backward.

Smoke rose from the barrel of the masked man’s pistol. He tossed it aside, turned to face the crowd, and spread his hands as if in benediction.

The mob went mad.

MARCUS

Marcus had never thought to find himself in the royal carriage of the king of Vordan. It was as opulent as he’d expected, but all the cushions and velvet couldn’t manage to disguise the fact that it was, basically, a box on wheels, not that far removed from the meanest hired cab. He felt oddly disappointed.

It was certainly roomy, but it wasn’t far into the journey when Marcus started to feel that it wasn’t big enough. He sat on the backward-facing bench, sinking into the thick cushions, and Janus sat beside him. Opposite them, prim in her black mourning dress, was the young queen. Apart from an exchange of courtesies when they’d mounted, none of the three had said a word.

The carriage proceeded down the Ohnlei Road toward the city at an unhurried pace. Spread out in front and flanking it on either side were Janus’ Mierantai Volunteers, followed by a tighter wedge of Armsmen. The Mierantai driver kept the horses to a walk to allow these escorts to keep pace.

Marcus had questions for Janus, but hesitated to ask them in front of Raesinia. After a few minutes, however, he decided anything would be better than more tense silence. He leaned toward the colonel and cleared his throat.

“Hmm?” Janus looked up. “Is something wrong, Captain?”

“I just thought, sir. .” Marcus hesitated, glancing at Raesinia, but the queen was looking pointedly out the window. “I think you owe me some kind of explanation.”

Janus’ lip quirked. “I suppose I do, at that.”

“Why arrest Danton? You must have known what would happen.”

“It seemed the best way of bringing the anti-Borelgai feeling to a head.” Janus leaned back in his seat. “It was also based on my reading of Orlanko. The duke has always operated from a position of strength, and he has a corresponding tendency to arrogance.”

“So you stirred up the mob-”

“In order to turn them against the Borels and Orlanko,” Raesinia said. “With the help of. . revolutionary elements in the city. I must say I never thought Orlanko would go so far as to try to seize Ohnlei itself. Though you obviously did, my lord Mieran.”

Janus waved a hand. “It was always a possibility. I thought it best to be prepared.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Raesinia ground out, “if, in the future, you would share these possibilities with me.”

Marcus gave a hollow laugh. “Best of luck with that , Your Majesty.”

Janus flashed a smile. Marcus leaned back against the velvet, trying to keep his head from spinning as he worked through the implications.

Eventually he said, “So, what happens now? If you would care to enlighten us.”

“Now?” Janus shrugged. “Orlanko has attempted to capture the deputies, but we have enough men”-he tapped the window glass-“to overwhelm his hirelings. God willing, there’s been no bloodshed, and we ought to be able to convince most of them to surrender. Then the queen will give the assembled representatives of the people the news of the duke’s fall, and swear to abide by whatever decisions the deputies ultimately arrive at.” He pursed his lips, thoughtfully. “After that, I suppose, we’ll have to turn our attention to the financial situation. We dare not abrogate our debt to the Borelgai outright, but-”

Raesinia cut him off. “I’d feel better if we had Orlanko himself in chains. And I’m worried about Sothe.”

“Unfortunately, the Cobweb is eminently defensible, and no doubt stuffed full of booby traps as well. I’m hopeful that Orlanko can be convinced to accept a comfortable exile, once it becomes clear he’s lost. Digging him out by force would cost a great many lives.” Janus covered his mouth and yawned. “Apologies. It’s been a long few days. As for Miss Sothe, from what I know of her reputation, I suspect she will manage.”

Raesinia frowned, but before she could say anything there was a rap on the carriage door. Janus leaned over and opened it. One of the Mierantai had hopped on the running board, and saluted with one hand while hanging on with the other.

“Sir! We’re approaching the Saint Dromin Bridge, as you requested.” He paused. “It looks like it’s blocked, sir. There’s a bit of a. . mob.”