The Mask of Mirrors by M. Carrick; (lightest ebook reader txt) 📗

Something had to give.

I’m sorry, Arkady.

Grey pinned Idusza into place with a glare. “Wait here. I’ll rally the Vigil. Then we’ll go talk to the elders together.”

He barely waited for her nod before he was running across the plaza and hurling himself up the stairs. Inside the Aerie, Cercel wasn’t hard to find. She stood at the far end of the front room, one of several commanders snapping orders to captains and lieutenants.

When her gaze lit on him, she came to meet him. “Serrado, good. Era Traementis sent a message. She needs your help—”

Donaia would have to wait. Everyone would have to wait. “Commander, your office.” Grey didn’t wait for her acknowledgment, didn’t heed her arched brows or the sudden, shocked silence of the officers around her. He just went upstairs, and Cercel followed.

“You better have a damned good reason for this, Serrado,” she said, closing the door behind her.

“The black powder I warned you about—it’s not going to be used at the Charterhouse. The target is the Great Amphitheatre. Today.”

It stopped her dead. “How do you know this? Another ‘anonymous note’?”

Grey hesitated. The splinter group of the Stadnem Anduske could go hang—they were willing to murder innocents for their cause—but he was reluctant to give up Idusza or Andrejek. Or, strangely, Vargo.

“Yes. You need to have the commanders send squads to find the explosives if they can and help evacuate if they can’t. I’ll talk to the Vraszenian elders. They’ll know how to get the word out to their people.”

He tried to reach for the door—he had to keep moving; no knowing when the splinter group planned to detonate the bombs—but Cercel caught his arm. “Serrado, I can’t. Our orders are to muster at the Charterhouse, no matter what distractions try to pull us away. Every squad that isn’t on patrol elsewhere.”

“There’s no threat to the Charterhouse,” he snapped.

“But you told me—”

“I was wrong. Commander, we’re deliberately being kept away from the real threat.”

Her jaw tensed, and he fought the urge to go on talking. He knew Cercel hated feeling like someone had backed her into a corner; the more he argued, the less she would bend. She was the consummate hawk, dedicated to the Aerie above all. But she’d supported him as a constable, championed his promotion first to lieutenant, then to captain. She wasn’t Indestor’s tool, any more than Grey was.

Finally she said, “Even if I had the authority to send people up to the Point, a flight of hawks landing would just start the riot all over again.”

If the Stadnem Anduske had their way, pretty soon a riot would be the least of their worries. “Fine. If you’re going to ignore this, then I won’t trouble you any longer.” He reached for his captain’s pin.

Cercel caught his wrist before he could break the clasp open. “Oh, for—”

She bit off whatever she was going to say. Grey could have pulled free, and in another heartbeat he would have. But then Cercel let go and took his pin off herself. “You’ve been on duty all night. Your whole squad has—not that it stopped Kaineto from getting his beauty rest. Anyone who went with you to arrest Breccone Indestris is officially released from watch at the Charterhouse, with orders to go home and sleep—orders which I’m sure you wouldn’t dream of disobeying. I’ll reprimand you for stopping a disaster when this is over.”

Stopping a disaster. With only Ranieri, Tarknias, and Dverli instead of the assembled might of the Vigil. Meager as it was, he knew he should thank her, but a wave of exhaustion swept away any gratitude Grey might have felt. He’d wasted enough time here, and could only hope the ziemetse would be more helpful.

Giving Cercel a nod that barely touched the edge of civility, he opened her office door. “You may want to hold on to that pin, Commander. I’m not certain I’ll want it back when this is over.”

Isla Čaprila, Eastbridge: Cyprilun 35

::Are you going to get that? I would do it myself, but…::

Alsius’s voice penetrated the fog of sleep. Vargo stirred, mumbling, “What?”

::The knocking. It’s Sedge, and he looks… like he wouldn’t be disturbing you without good reason.::

Vargo rolled over, groaning. Now that Alsius mentioned it, he realized the steady banging from downstairs wasn’t part of his dreams. One cracked eye showed him misty dimness outside his window, which said nothing useful; during Veiled Waters that could mean dawn, dusk, or any hour between. Only the heaviness of his limbs and head told him he hadn’t slept nearly long enough. “What time is it?”

::Ninth sun.::

He’d been asleep less than three bells. Swearing, Vargo levered himself upright and fumbled for a shirt, while the hammering continued without pause. Where the fuck was Varuni?

Right. She’d made Vargo promise to stay put long enough for her to survey her people’s holdings, making sure nothing had taken serious damage in the riot. Which meant nobody was around.

As Vargo headed downstairs, Alsius warned him, ::Sedge is covered in river filth. Whatever sent him here, I suspect it’s important.::

The warning came a heartbeat before Vargo yanked the door open. The smell assaulted him like Sedge’s own fist, made even riper by the damp air. Sedge looked worse than he smelled, mud and streaks of moss slime drying on his rumpled clothes. But his eyes were wide amid the dirt, and his body held the tension of a man who wanted to be running somewhere, if only he knew which direction to run in. “The alta’s missing. Renata. Tess says Gammer Lindworm took her. I tried to look for her in the Depths, but I—I—”

Fuck. Vargo held the door wider, jerking one thumb for Sedge to come in, filth and all, and slammed it shut behind him. “Where? How long ago?”

“Last night. But I din’t know until today. And I din’t know where you were, neither, so I just started looking—”

“Excuses later. You were in the Depths?