Brian McCLELLAN - The Autumn Republic

“Why?”

“We interviewed Claremonte with a Knacked who could see through lies, and Claremonte didn’t know anything about the attack on Ricard’s headquarters. But no one benefits more than he with Ricard dead. If Claremonte has another agent in the city, working independently, it explains why he could truthfully say he didn’t plan the attack.”

“Lady Cheris?”

“I think that Cheris might know who it is.”

They reached a room near the top of the spire and Adamat paused to catch his breath while the jailer unlocked the ironbound door. They were admitted to a small but comfortable room with a fireplace, two lanterns, a bed, chair, and side table.

Lady Cheris stood beside the window, looking out onto Elections Square. She glanced curiously at Adamat but remained silent while the jailer lit the lanterns and then left.

“Lady Cheris,” Adamat said.

She waved her hand without looking away from the window. “I’ve told you everything you’re going to get from me,” she said.

“I don’t think you have. Who are you working for?” Adamat asked.

“Me? Working for someone? Hah! You must not know me very well, Inspector. I’m no one’s stooge.”

“So you claim you plotted Ricard’s fall all on your own?”

She remained silent.

“If you help me, I might be able to keep you away from the guillotine,” Adamat said.

“I don’t believe that they will send me to the guillotine, Inspector. And even if they did, you don’t have that kind of power.”

Adamat felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. He blinked several times, then rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Can you risk that?”

“I’ve risked everything, and I’ve lost. This conversation is over.”

Adamat’s throat was dry. He stared at Cheris for several moments until she turned to face him.

“What is it, Inspector? Can’t think of something to say? Am I a dead end? Forgive me for not showing any sympathy. You can tell Ricard I’ll be the downfall of him yet.”

Adamat found his voice and stood up, managing a half bow. “I’m sorry for wasting what little time you have left, my lady.”

Out in the hallway, Adamat gestured for the jailer to lock the door. He leaned against the wall, shivering.

“Adamat?” SouSmith said.

Adamat drew the jailer to the side and gave him a hundred-krana note. “Let me be clear. You are not to let Lady Cheris out of that room. But if she does get out, you are not to stand in her way. Your life may depend on it. Tell the field marshal I gave you those instructions.”

Adamat found himself running down the stairs, with SouSmith hurrying to keep up. Outside, Adamat practically leapt into his waiting hackney cab. “Go home, SouSmith,” he said. “I think we’re done here. You’ve been the greatest of help.” He banged on the roof. “Across the square,” he ordered, and they took off, leaving SouSmith with a confused expression outside of Sablethorn.

Adamat ran up all five flights of stairs to the top of the People’s Court, his lungs near to bursting when he reached the top. He showed his papers to Tamas’s soldiers and ignored the secretary who told him to wait, shoving his way into Tamas’s office. His chest was tight, and he was spurred on by sudden fear.

Tamas looked up from his desk, where he was reading by the light of a lantern. “Inspector?”

“Lady Cheris,” Adamat gasped. “She doesn’t have a shadow. She’s Brude’s other half. And that’s not all.”

Tamas shot to his feet. “Tell me.”

“Claremonte’s troop transports are riding high in the water. He’s left behind at least five hundred men.”

The election was held early on the morning of the last day of autumn.

Adamat stood near the window of Ricard’s office in the Kinnen Hotel. To his great consternation, he was unable to keep from wringing his hands as he watched the constant flow of people passing in the street below. Today was the second of two days of a national holiday. The polls had been opened at six in the morning the day before and had closed well after midnight. A delegation of Novi vote counters had spent all night with the ballots. By noon, word should come back on the results of the election.

And then they’d find out if a god could keep his word.

There was so much left unanswered. Adamat didn’t like the loose ends. No explanation of Claremonte’s involvement in the Kez-Adran War, or Cheris allowing herself to be imprisoned, or even why Claremonte cared about the election in Adro to begin with.

It was giving him heart palpitations.

He heard the door behind him open, and the sounds of Ricard’s election party floated in. Adamat turned to see Privileged Borbador slip inside the room. It was the first time Adamat had seen him since he returned to Adopest. He walked confidently with a cane despite the prosthetic on his left leg, and he was dressed well enough to make a banker blush. He wore his Privileged’s gloves despite, or perhaps because of, the heavy crowds at the election party.

Their eyes met and the half-patronizing, half-predatory smile that Bo had plastered on his face for the party slid off to be replaced by a somber visage. “Our deal is complete.”

Adamat swallowed a lump in his throat. “You’re sure?”

“Nila killed a Black Warden in Brude’s Hideaway. It was missing its ring finger. Looked like it had been nothing more than a boy, around fifteen or so, when it was turned. I can’t be more certain than that.”

“You saw it yourself?”

“I was there when it happened.”

“Did–?”

“It was quick.”

“Thank you.”

Bo gave him a short nod and slipped out of the room. Adamat took a deep breath, steadying himself. Josep was at peace. Adamat could now be at peace as well. Or at least he could try.

He didn’t have time to think through his grief. He heard Bo exchange words with a familiar voice outside the door, then it opened again and Fell appeared in the doorway. She looked him up and down, then stepped back outside. “He’s in here!” he heard her shout.

Ricard entered the room a moment later, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. “Pit, that’s a lot of hands to shake. Adamat, what are you doing up here? Your wife is looking everywhere for you, and Astrit got away from her nanny and has been terrorizing the kitchen staff.”

Adamat shook himself out of his thoughts. “I’m terribly sorry, Ricard, I’m coming.”

“I joke, I joke! Your children are angels. All except that orphan kid, what was his name?”

“Jakob.”

“Jakob keeps going into the basement to play with what’s left of my wine collection.”

“He’s a good lad.”

“He might be. But keep him out of my wine.”

“I thought you hired more than one nanny?”

“I did. Not enough, apparently. You already have too many children. Why did you have to take on a stray?”

“Faye wants to adopt him,” Adamat mused aloud. He wondered whether this was Faye’s way of dealing with Josep’s death, or whether she genuinely cared for the Eldaminse child. It was something they’d agreed to talk about later. Only a handful of people even knew of his importance, but Adamat worried about the possible ramifications of adopting the closest living heir to the Adran throne.

“How is Faye holding up?” Adamat asked.

“She’s been yakking with the new head of the tailors’ union. What’s her name again? Maggie?”

“Margy. I’m glad you picked her.”

“I can’t really account for your taste. She hates my guts.”