Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

“Right, “ Giraldi said. “His mind was made up even before you threatened to rip his tongue out for him.”

Isana blinked at Giraldi, then at Bernard. Her brother cleared his throat and blushed.

“Oh, dear,” Isana said.

A server arrived just then with a light wine, fruit, and bread, and told them that the evening meal would be served shortly.

“What about you, Steadholder?” Amara asked, once the server had withdrawn. “What were the results of the League’s summit with the abolitionists?”

“Complete success,” Isana replied. “Senator Parmos addressed the entire assembly this afternoon. He’s going to sponsor Lady Aquitaines proposal.”

Amara’s eyebrows lifted. “Is he?”

Isana frowned. “Is that such a surprise?”

“Yes, actually,” Amara said, frowning. “From my understanding of the situation in the Senate, any emancipation legislation would have been blocked by the southern Senators. Between Rhodes and Kalare, they have votes enough to kill any such motion.”

Isana arched an eyebrow. Amara’s information was doubtless obtained from the Crown’s intelligence network. If Amara had been unaware of the shift in the balance of power, then it was entirely possible that the First Lord was, too. “The Rhodesian Senators have cast their support to the abolitionists.”

Amara stiffened in her seat. “ All of them?”

“Yes,” Isana said. “I thought you’d know already.”

Amara shook her head, her lips pressed together. Isana could feel the Cursor’s anxiety rising. “When did this happen?”

“I’m not sure,” Isana said. “I overheard two members of the League discussing it during Lady Aquitaine’s tour. Perhaps three weeks ago?”

Amara suddenly rose, her voice tight. “Bernard, I need to contact the First Lord. Immediately.”

Bernard frowned at her in concern. “Why? Amara, what’s wrong?”

“It’s too much,” Amara said, her eyes focused elsewhere, her voice running in quick bursts that mirrored her furious thought. “Kalare’s being forced into a corner. He won’t take covert measures. He can’t. Between emancipation laws and the letter… we’re not ready. Oh, crows, not ready.”

Isana felt the Cursor’s anxiety begin to change into rising fear. “What do you mean?”

Amara shook her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, I don’t dare say more. Not here.” She looked around quickly. “Bernard, I need to get to the river, immediately. Isana, I’m sorry to disrupt the dinner-”

“No,” Isana said quietly. “It’s all right.”

“Bernard,” Amara said.

Isana looked across the table at her brother, who was frowning deeply, eyes focused on the sky above the open grotto.

“Why, “ he asked quietly, “are the stars turning red?”

Isana frowned and stared up at the sky. She could not see the full glory of the stars in the furylit beauty of the city of Ceres, but the brightest stars were still visible. The entire western half of the sky was filled with crimson pinpoints of light. As she watched, the white stars overhead burned sullen, and the scarlet light spread like some kind of plague to the east, marching slowly and steadily forward. “Is it some kind of furycrafting?” she murmured.

In the grotto around them, the singers fell quiet one by one, and the music trailed off to silence. Everyone started staring up and pointing. A confused tide of emotion pushed against Isana’s senses.

Amara looked around them. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen anything like that. Bernard?”

Isana’s brother shook his head. “Never saw anything like it.” He glanced at Giraldi, who shook his head as well.

The confusion around Isana became something thicker, almost tangible, and tinged with more than a little fear. Over the next several seconds, the tide of emotion continued to grow, getting rapidly more distracting. Seconds after that, the sensations pressed so loudly against Isana’s thoughts that she began to lose track of which were her own emotions and which came from without. It was excruciating, in its own way, and she suddenly found herself in a battle to hold on to her ability to reason. She put her hands to the sides of her head.

“Isana?” said Bernard’s voice. It sounded like it was coming from very far away. “Are you all right?”

“T-too many people,” Isana gasped. “Afraid. They’re afraid. Confused. Afraid. I can’t push it out.”

“We need to get her out of here,” Bernard said. He stepped around the table and picked Isana up. She wanted to protest, but the pressure against her thoughts was too much to struggle against. “Giraldi,” he said. “Get the coach.”

“Right,” Giraldi said.

“Amara, watch for those two that were shadowing us. Be ready to knock someone down if you have to.”

Isana heard Amara’s voice grow suddenly tense. “You think this is an attack of some kind. “

“I think we’re unarmed and vulnerable,” Bernard said. “Move.”

Isana felt her brother walking and opened her eyes in time to see the grotto’s pool passing beneath them as he walked over an archway. Desperate, she reached out to Rill, calling up the fury to let the emotions washing over her pass through her, into the water. If she could not stand against the tide of emotion, perhaps she could divert it.

The pressure eased, though it was strenuous to maintain the redirection. It was enough to let her remember her name and to have the presence of mind to look up and see what was happening.

Sudden excitement, exaltation and battle lust washed over her, near enough to make her feel as though she stood too close to a forge. She looked up and saw confusion, patrons and staff rising and moving toward the exits, and among them she saw a number of men in the clean white tunics of restaurant staff moving with professional, calculated haste, expressions sharp with eagerness and purpose.

Even as she watched, one of the men closed in behind Mandus, the Rhode-sian Fleet Tribune, seized his hair, bent his head back, and cut his throat with swift efficiency.

More excitement made Isana look up. Three more men stood on the ledge above them, crouched and ready to leap. Each wore a white tunic, each bore a short, curved, cruel-looking sword, and steel collars shone upon their throats.

Her own sudden terror destabilized her crafting and plunged her into an ocean of confusion and fear.

“Bernard!” she cried.

The three assassins leapt down upon them.

Without Isana’s warning, Amara would surely have died.

Her eyes were scanning what lay before them, looking for the two men who had shadowed her and Bernard after the presentation at the amphitheater. A shrill scream of horror drew Amara’s eyes to the far side of the grotto, where she saw Fleet Tribune Mandus, his throat opened, the cut hopelessly deep and precise, fall to his knees and slump to his side to die on the floor.

When Isana cried out her warning, Amara had her back to the assassins. She spun and managed to dart aside from the nearest man’s first, sweeping cut. Two of the men were falling upon Bernard and Isana, and burdened as he was with his sister, Bernard would never be able to defend himself.

Amara called to Cirrus, and her fury came rushing down into the grotto at her call. She hurled a raw gale at the two men, catching them in midair. She flung one of them over the side of the walkway and he fell toward the pool. The other managed to get his hand on an outthrusting branch of one of the trees and flipped himself neatly down to the ground beside Bernard. The assassin turned to Amara’s husband, sword in hand, but Amara had delayed him for the few critical seconds that would have made the attack a success.