Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

Vlora took that as a victory and returned to her hotel for dinner, taking a covert snort of powder as she entered the hotel great room and leaving a pair of coins on the manager’s podium. She didn’t like him, but keeping his palms greased might have its uses down the road.

She took her usual table and ordered whatever gruel the hotel kitchen had cooked up, sitting back and falling into her own head as she tried to work out her new strategy. She was going to have to reconnoiter Nighttime Vale, and it sounded like it was already heavily guarded because of Jezzy’s gold mine. She briefly considered if Jezzy was working for Lindet directly – maybe Jezzy’s men were excavating the second godstone, under the pretense of mining.

Maybe, she considered, Nohan was actually one of Lindet’s agents and he was here to oversee the excavation.

Vlora tried to make the pieces work, but it didn’t add up. Nohan was obviously a greedy git, and his suggestion that he and Vlora team up and steal all the gold meant he didn’t know the real item of value hiding under his nose. Besides, Lindet seemed too heavy-handed to use this kind of subtlety. If she was already excavating the godstone, this whole place would be crawling with Blackhats.

Vlora put her head in her hands. That didn’t add up, either. Lindet was heavy-handed, but she wasn’t stupid. Working through intermediaries would keep her from drawing attention to the spot, and not tip off Dynize spies by sending an army of Blackhats up here.

And where did Prime Lektor fit into all this? Was he working for Lindet?

In short, Vlora didn’t have any idea what was going on in this damned city. But she needed to find out, and quick.

She felt him before she saw him – a dark smudge on her senses, the feel of powder grains running down the back of her neck. Nohan entered the front door of the hotel a moment later. He wore short sleeves, showing off a number of bruises from their fight the other day, and an easy, friendly smile on his lips as he approached her table.

He sat down across from her, his pupils dilated from a powder trance. His eyes betrayed a brief wince as he moved, telling Vlora that he was still hurting from being thrown through a table. The knowledge gave her a brief stab of satisfaction, which disappeared almost immediately.

“I know who you are,” he said in a low voice.

Vlora didn’t answer him. She pushed aside her meal and leaned back, reaching slowly for the pistol at her belt.

He continued. “You’re Lady Flint.”

“That’s preposterous,” she scoffed.

“Don’t play me for a fool,” he spat, that easy smile disappearing in the blink of an eye. “The latest newspaper from Redstone has a bounty on your head and says your last location was just a couple hundred miles south of here.” He kicked his chair back to rock on the back legs, looking angry but self-satisfied. “There aren’t that many powder mages in Fatrasta. Certainly not many that fit your description. You’re Flint.”

Vlora didn’t bother to deny it. He was too sure of himself – further denial would just make him more so. “So what do you want?”

He tapped two fingers on the table. “You know what you did to me?”

“Put you in considerable pain, I hope,” Vlora said flatly, looking at the bruises on his arms. Her fingers wrapped around the butt of her pistol. She could try for a quick shot, but he was burning such a strong powder trance that he would doubtlessly be ready for it. Beating him to death in front of thirty witnesses seemed like it might not be the best option.

“No,” he said. “I’m not talking about that. A fight is a fight, and I did try to kill you, didn’t I? No, I’m talking about my letter.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He slammed both fists on the table, making her jump. “Don’t play me for a fool!” he growled. “I wrote you a letter three years ago. I offered you my services – I offered to join the Adran Cabal – and you turned me down like I was some useless Knacked.”

Vlora was bewildered. She didn’t remember this at all. She got perhaps two hundred such letters every year, and almost all of them were hoaxes from madmen and disillusioned fools. A secretary usually sorted through them; then Olem examined those that remained. It was –

Her thoughts cut off as the name finally clicked. Nohan. The powder mage who got kicked out of the Starlish Cabal on accusations of treachery and cruelty. She could scarcely believe she’d forgotten the situation, because she’d written to the head of the Starlish Cabal herself to find out if Nohan had any real talent.

“You remember now, don’t you,” Nohan said, his eyes intent on her face. “I can’t believe you forgot. Arrogant bitch.”

“I forgot,” Vlora said, “because you weren’t worth my time.”

Nohan exhaled sharply. “Not worth your time? You’re the most famous powder mage alive, and I almost killed you the other day. How is that for not worth your time?”

“Killed me?” Vlora scoffed. “It was a damned fistfight. Besides, it’s not all about skill. I turned you down because the head of the Starlish Cabal kicked you out for being a sadist.” She leaned forward, seriously reconsidering beating him to death in front of witnesses. The Starlish Cabal had included a list of his crimes in their reply, and among them was the murder of children. “I know what goes on in a royal cabal. If they think you’re a sadist, then Adom help your blasted soul.”

Nohan stared daggers at her, and she silently willed him to flip the table and come at her. At least then she could kill him in self-defense. She might end up in a cell next to Taniel, but at least she wouldn’t be chased out of town by the city deputies.

Nohan gripped the lip of the table, his fingers turning white.

Vlora looked away from him, as if he was beneath her very notice, hoping he’d use the chance to attack her. She swept her eyes out the window, barely noticing the passing traffic as she waited for him to make his move.

And her gaze landed squarely on Prime Lektor.

The Privileged sorcerer stood in the street, frowning, staring through the window directly at her. He was exactly how she remembered him, from the thoughtlessly rumpled clothes to the purple birthmark on his face. It was definitely him, and she could see in his eyes that he had just decided it was definitely her, too.

Vlora wrenched her attention away from Prime Lektor, preparing to throw herself onto the floor if he decided to unleash sorcery at her. Not that it would help. With so much warning, a Privileged of his caliber could destroy the entire block without breaking a sweat.

“Go on,” Vlora grunted at Nohan. “If you’re so bitter, see if you can take me.” Her only consolation if Prime Lektor attacked was that Nohan would die in the same sorcerous conflagration.

Nohan remained frozen in place, and she could see in his eyes how much he wanted to leap at her. Sweat began to pour down Vlora’s face, and she resisted looking back out the window. She couldn’t take Prime in a fair fight on a good day, and she wasn’t going to be able to take both him and Nohan. Might as well focus on one asshole at a time. She wondered if Nohan took her sudden nerves for fear of him . Laughable.

It felt like minutes before Nohan finally broke his stare. He got up, looking down at her with a sneer. “I don’t know why you’re here,” he said quietly, “but I’m going to kill you and claim that bounty. Pissing on your corpse before I take it to Redstone will be the best revenge. Watch yourself, Lady Flint.”

He strode out before Vlora could react, and she turned desperately toward the window once he’d left the building. Prime Lektor, however, was gone.