He straightens his back, salutes, and, in a tone suitable to addressing a superior officer, speaks. “Blood Shrike,” he says. “How may I serve you?”
Once Sergius is barking my orders to his toadies, the rest of the Black Guard fall into line, albeit reluctantly. An hour after walking into the commander’s quarters, I am in the Black Guard war room, planning the attack.
“Five teams with thirty men each.” I point to five Gens on the list. “I want Paters, Maters, and children older than thirteen in chains and waiting at Cardium Rock by dawn. Younger children are to remain under armed guard. Get in and out quietly, and keep it clean.”
“What about the other five Gens?” Lieutenant Sergius says. “Gens Rufia and its allies?”
I know Pater Rufius. He’s a typical Illustrian with typical prejudices. And he was once a friend to my father. According to Father’s missives, Pater Rufius has attempted to pull Gens Aquilla into his traitorous coalition a dozen times already.
“Leave them to me.”
???
The dress I wear is white, gold, and supremely uncomfortable—probably because I haven’t worn one since I was a four-year-old forced to participate in a wedding. I should have put one on sooner—the expression on Hannah’s face alone, like she’s swallowed a live snake—would have been worth it.
“You look beautiful,” Livvy whispers as we file into the dining room. “Those idiots will never see it coming. But only”—she gives me a warning look, her blue eyes wide—“if you rein yourself in. Pater Rufius is smart, even if he is foul. He’ll be suspicious.”
“Pinch me if you see me doing anything stupid.” I finally notice the room, and my jaw drops. My mother has outdone herself, laying the table with snow-white china and long, clear vases of winter roses. Creamy tapers bathe the room in a welcoming glow, and a white whistling thrush sings sweetly from a cage in the corner.
Hannah follows Livvy and me into the room. Her dress is similar to mine, and her hair is done up in a mass of icy curls. She wears a small gold circlet atop—a not-so-subtle nod to her approaching nuptials.
“This won’t work,” she says. “I don’t understand why you don’t just take your guards, sneak into the traitors’ houses, and kill them all. Isn’t that what you’re good at?”
“I didn’t want to get blood on my dress,” I say dryly.
To my surprise, Hannah cracks a smile and then quickly raises a hand to her face to hide it.
My heart lifts, and I find that I am grinning back at her, just like when we shared a joke as girls. But a second later, she scowls. “Skies only know what everyone will say when they learn we invited them here only to trap them.”
She steps away from me, and my temper snaps. Does she think I want to do this?
“You can’t marry Marcus and expect to avoid getting blood on your hands, sister,” I hiss at her. “Might as well get into the habit of it.”
“Stop it, both of you.” Livvy looks between us as, outside the dining room, the front door opens and Father greets our guests. “Remember who the actual enemy is.”
Seconds later, Father enters, trailing a group of Illustrian men, each flanked by a dozen bodyguards. They secure every inch, from the windows to the table to the drapes—before allowing their Paters to file in.
The head of Gens Rufia leads, his yellow-and-purple silk robes straining against his paunch. A portly man, gone to seed after leaving the military, but still sly as a hyena. When he spots me, his hand goes to the sword at his waist—a sword I doubt he remembers how to use, judging from those flaccid arms.
“Pater Aquillus,” he brays. “What is the meaning of this?”
My father glances at me with an expression of surprise. He is so sincere that for a second, even I’m fooled.
“This is my eldest,” Father says. “Helene Aquilla.” He uses my name purposefully. “Though I suppose we must call her Blood Shrike now, right, darling?” He pats my cheek patronizingly. “I thought it would be good for her to learn a bit from our discussions.”
“She is the Emperor’s Blood Shrike.” Pater Rufius doesn’t remove his hands from his sword. “Is this an ambush, Aquillus? Is that what we’ve come to?”
“She is the Emperor’s Blood Shrike,” Father says. “And as such, she is useful to us, even if she doesn’t have a whit of sense about how to use her position. We’ll teach her, of course. Come, Rufius, you’ve known me for years. Have your men search the premises if you must. If you see anything alarming, you and the others can depart.”
I smile openly at Pater Rufius, making my voice warm and winsome, the way I’ve seen Livvy do when she’s charming someone into giving her information. “Do stay, Pater,” I say. “I wish to honor the new title bestowed upon me, and it is only through watching experienced men such as yourself work that I will be able to do so.”
“Blackcliff isn’t for mice, girl.” He doesn’t take his brick of a hand off his sword. “What game are you playing?”
I look at Father as if bewildered. “No game, sir,” I say. “I am a daughter of Gens Aquilla, above all else. As for Blackcliff, there are … ways to survive there, if one is a woman.”
Even as surprise registers in his eyes, a look of mingled disgust and interest passes across his face. The look makes my skin crawl, but I steel myself. Go on, you half-wit. Underestimate me.
He grunts and sits. The other four Paters—Rufius’s allies—follow suit, and Mother sweeps in shortly after, followed by a taster and a row of slaves bearing trays groaning with food.
Mother seats me across from Rufius, as I requested. Throughout the meal, I let my laugh go high. I toy with my hair. I act bored during key parts of the conversation. I giggle with Livvy. When I glance at Hannah, she’s chattering with another of the Paters, distracting him utterly.
When the meal is over, Father stands. “Let us retire to my study, gentlemen,” he says. “Hel, my dear, bring the wine.”
Father doesn’t wait for my response as he leads the men out, their bodyguards following.
“Go to your rooms, both of you,” I whisper to Livvy and Hannah. “No matter what you hear, stay there until Father comes for you.”
When I approach the study a few minutes later with a tray of wine and tumblers, the Paters’ many bodyguards are arrayed outside. The space is too small for them to fit within. I smile at the two men flanking the door, and they grin back. Idiots.
After I enter the room, Father closes the door behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Helene is a good girl, and loyal to her Gens.” He brings me into the conversation seamlessly. “She’ll do as we ask—and that will get us closer to the Emperor.”
As they discuss a potential alliance, I carry the tray around the table and past the window, where I pause for an indiscernible moment—a signal to the Black Guard waiting on the grounds. Slowly, I serve the wine. My father takes a leisurely sip of each glass before I hand them off to the Paters.
I pass the last glass to Pater Rufius. His piggish eyes fix on mine, his finger brushing against my palm deliberately. It is easy enough to hide my disgust, especially when I hear the faintest thud outside the study.
Don’t kill them, Helene, I remind myself. You need them alive for a public execution.
With a small, secret smile just for Pater Rufius, I slowly pull my hand away from his.
Then, from the slits cut into my dress, I draw out my scims.
???
By dawn, the Black Guard have rounded up Illustrian traitors and their families. City criers have announced the impending executions at Cardium Rock. Thousands of people surround the square that stretches around the bone pit at the base of the Rock. The Illustrians and Mercators in the crowd have been ordered to voice their disapproval of the traitors—lest they face a similar fate. The Plebeians need no encouragement.