Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“Vordan City has gone four generations without feeling the tread of a soldier’s boot,” Raesinia said curtly. “I would not have the first act of my reign be to break that honored compact.”

“Besides which,” Vhalnich murmured, “the Royal Army is, by and large, recruited from the same unfortunates who have taken to the streets. Who’s to say they would not simply join the mob?”

Torahn shot to his feet. “The loyalty of my soldiers is not in question! And as an officer yourself, you should be ashamed to make such an assertion-”

“Please.” Raesinia raised a hand. “What Count Mieran meant was only this. These are not foreigners in the streets, or heretics, or even rebels. They are good citizens of Vordan, with legitimate grievances. Any man might hesitate to stand against them, without any implications to his loyalty to the Crown.”

“They are a weak-willed mob,” Grieg said, “in the sway of a demagogue.”

“And what are their demands?” Raesinia said.

Vhalnich made a show of consulting a paper he took from his pocket. “To convene the Deputies-General to discuss the problems afflicting the nation.”

“A call for the august body that conferred the crown on my respected ancestor in the first place can hardly be treason,” Raesinia said. “I am inclined to grant their request. That will resolve the problem without the need for troops.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty, but it will not,” Torahn said. He was sweating. “The deputies of Farus the Great’s time were the nobles and lords of the land, men who understood the order of things. Any body convened from this rabble will only impose impossible demands on the Crown, demands that will be all the harder to refuse once given royal sanction-”

Orlanko got to his feet. “Your Majesty. If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the latest reports from the Ministry.”

“Of course,” Raesinia said. She didn’t take her eyes from Torahn, but Vhalnich met Orlanko’s gaze. A smile flickered across the Minister of Justice’s face, just for an instant.

It wasn’t until he was back in the safe, well-ordered domain of the Cobweb that the duke once again began to feel secure.

Torahn might bluster and argue, but he would ultimately do nothing. And the princess-the queen -had obviously planned the whole affair with Vhalnich from the beginning. Orlanko had no illusions about what the “demands” of the Deputies-General would be. The mob was already tearing down Sworn Churches and hanging Borelgai from the lampposts, and who was more closely associated with the Borels and the Sworn Church than the despised Last Duke and his vicious Concordat?

It was a power play, nothing more and nothing less. Either Raesinia was smarter than he’d given her credit for, or else she was completely in Vhalnich’s pocket. Whichever it was, the two of them planned to use the backing of the mob to push him out of the Cabinet and away from the throne.

Vhalnich. It has to be Vhalnich. Orlanko’s fall might mean war with the Borelgai, a war Vordan could not hope to win, but such a sacrifice of life would not trouble a man like the Minister of Justice.

A thought struck him. Could Vhalnich himself bear a demon? The Pontifex of the Black had implied as much, in their last communication. At the time Orlanko had thought it unlikely. But if he really had found the Thousand Names, and invited one of the horrors into his own body. .

Orlanko shook his head and clumped through the corridors, ignoring the passing analysts who scurried out of his way. He was breathing hard by the time he pushed open the door to his office and clambered up behind his desk. Once there, he slammed his hand on one of the little buttons, causing a distant bell to dance and jangle.

Contingencies, contingencies. Vhalnich wasn’t the only one who held hidden cards.

The door clicked open, and Andreas entered noiselessly, dark coat flaring behind him like a living shadow.

“How the hell did Vhalnich get to the Cabinet room without my being informed he was even on the grounds?”

“We’re investigating now, sir. It appears a number of our agents are in his custody.”

“What?”

“His Mierantai guard rounded up our watchers and confined them in his cottage. It was quite a well-planned operation. No word escaped until we sent more men to investigate.”

Orlanko glowered at Andreas, who took it stolidly.

“Of course, sir, it means that our communications have been compromised. He knew precisely who was assigned to him.”

“I know, damn it.” Heads would roll for that. The pasty-faced analysts who lived in the depths of the Cobweb and copied out books of numbers all day long had assured him that their codes were unbreakable. We’ll see how unbreakable they are. But that would have to wait. “He’s stolen a march on us, and we can’t afford to play catch-up. I want you to call up the Special Branch.”

If there was any emotion under the serene mask, it didn’t show. Andreas bowed. “Of course, sir.”

Orlanko made a face, as though he’d eaten something unpleasant, and stared at his pet killer. He sighed. “All right. Now we’ll do things your way.”

IONKOVO

A single candle flickered on the other side of the room, casting a dim glow across the windowless cell. The bars were outlined on the opposite wall, a striped pattern that danced and shivered on the rough stone surface.

Adam Ionkovo, lying on the scratchy straw-stuffed pallet, stared at the ceiling and let out a sigh.

He’d had high hopes for Captain d’Ivoire. But. . no. Even a couple of conversations had shown him to be the kind of man whose blind, bulldog loyalty was impervious to reason. Neither bribes nor threats of eternal damnation would pry him loose from Vhalnich, not now. The bond between men who had fought together could tie them closer than lovers.

Did you get anything out of him, Jen? He was fairly certain his companion was dead. She bore an archdemon, after all. If she was alive, nothing could have stopped her from completing her mission. But it’s how she died that matters. Did Vhalnich find the Thousand Names? What powers has he unearthed?

Oh well. If d’Ivoire wasn’t going to talk, then it was pointless to remain here any longer. It was past time he was up and about.

The outer door rattled and opened a fraction. His guard, right on time with the evening meal. Time to go.

Ionkovo rolled off the pallet. Just in front of it was a thick, dark shadow cast by the table the candle was sitting on. The transition between light and darkness wavered as the flame shifted, and Ionkovo reached carefully over it to touch the floor where the shadow was constant.

“God save us,” he muttered in Elysian. “The Penitent Damned.”

The shadow moved under his fingers. It grew darker, black as ink, and rippled when he touched it as though his finger had brushed the surface of dark, still water. Ionkovo pushed himself forward just as the guard entered the room, diving into the shadow as easily as a seabird skimming to the ocean.

“The hell?” the guard said. He set the pewter plate bearing Ionkovo’s nightly beans and crust of bread on the table and put a hand on his truncheon. “Ionkovo? Are you playing games with me?”

Ionkovo was always surprised at the reluctance of ordinary people to accept the evidence of their own eyes. There was nowhere to hide in the cell; ergo, it should be obvious that he was not in it. But the guard only edged forward cautiously, brow furrowed.

The candle threw the man’s shadow on the wall behind him, larger than life. Its surface rippled, silently, and Ionkovo’s arm emerged. His fingers curved into a claw, reaching for the Armsman’s neck.