CHAPTER 34
PURSUIT
She stole into the Hall of Truths, found it empty, faint light glittering on walls of green glass. But after carefully picking the lock and rummaging through Spiderkiller’s desk, she found them—the three bags of wyrdglass. Most of the onyx orbs had been used up, but the pouches containing the pearl and ruby wyrdglass were almost full. Two bags full of Swoon and Spiderkiller’s arkemical fire.
It’ll do.
Next, she headed to the Hall of Songs, stopping to softly murder two more Luminatii she found stationed in the Hall of Eulogies. She flitted past the unmarked tombs, trying not to picture Tric lying inside one. Turning the sorrow in her breast to rage. Halfway up the stairs, she found the bodies of murdered Hands, beaten and bludgeoned. Near the top, she found another dozen corpses, Marcellus and Petrus among them, eyes open wide and seeing nothing at all.
No time to pray.
No time to care.
She dashed into Solis’s hall, threw a heavy leather training jerkin over her blood-soaked shirt. Rummaging through the racks and stuffing her boots with daggers, strapping a fine, sharp gladius at her belt, slinging a bandolier of throwing knives about her chest and a quiver and crossbow at her back.
“Maw’s teeth …”
She spun at the whisper, crossbow raised, the shadows about her flaring. There at the top of the stairs, she saw figures robed in black, a bare half-dozen in total. Among them, she glimpsed red, bobbed hair, a pretty face, green, hunter’s eyes.
“… Jessamine?”
“Corvere,” the girl hissed. “What in the Mother’s name are you doing here?”
A veiled figure pushed her way through the group, a smile in her eyes.
“Naev is pleased to see her,” she said.
“Goddess, you’re all right!”
Mia ran across the room and threw her arms around the woman. But Naev flinched in Mia’s embrace, pushed away with a groan. Looking around, Mia could see most of the group were injured; Jessamine bleeding badly from a gash above her eye, her arm in a rough sling, a few others nursing broken wrists or ribs. Naev was breathing heavily now, clutching her side.
“What happened? Are you well?”
“Bastards came at us like a flood.” Jessamine winced, pawing the blood from her eyes. “No warning. Murdered every Hand and acolyte they could find. How the ’byss did they get inside? Where are the Ministry?”
“Likely in chains by now,” Mia said. “Ashlinn and Osrik betrayed us. Poisoned the initiation feast. Killed Tr—”
Mia bit down on the words. Shook her head.
“Ashlinn?” Jessamine breathed. “Osrik? But they’re blooded disciples.”
“Vengeance for their father.” Mia shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Justicus Remus is here with two centuries of men. They’ve captured Lord Cassius and the Ministry. They mean to take them back to the ’Grave for torture and execution.”
“Then they are fools, to challenge Niah’s disciples in her house.” Naev turned to the other Hands. “Gather arms. Blades and bows.”
“You want me to fight alongside her?” Jessamine glared at Mia. “After she killed Diamo? Not bloody likely.”
“We must stand together in this.”
“I don’t have to stand anywhere near this bitch.”
“We don’t have time for our bullshit, Jess,” Mia said. “This is Justicus Marcus Remus we’re talking about. He helped end the Kingmaker Rebellion. He’s probably trodden on your father’s skull every turn for six years walking into the Senate House. All the shit you’ve given me? All the hate? This is a man who actually deserves to taste it.”
The girl searched Mia’s eyes, Diamo’s memory plain in her own. Seconds they didn’t have trickling through the hourglass. Hatred for Mia warring with hatred for the ones who’d seen her familia destroyed. But the truth of it was, she and Jess really were cut from the same cloth. Both orphans of the Kingmaker Rebellion. Both robbed of their familia. Held together by the kind of bond only hate can forge.
In the end, there was only one real choice.
“So what are we going to do?”
“Adonai is gone.” Mia saw Naev stiffen at the words, put a reassuring hand on her friend’s arm. “He’s taken Marielle. They’re safe. But without access to the Blood Walk, Remus is cut off. He only has one way back to Godsgrave.”
“The Whisperwastes,” Naev said.
Mia nodded. “They’ll know by now that the Blood Walk isn’t an option. But Ashlinn is with them. She can take them to the stables. They’ll be headed there, looking to ride our camel trains back to Last Hope.”
“So we hit them in the stables,” Jessamine said. “Cut them off.”
“Crowded quarters,” Naev agreed. “Their numbers will count for less.”
“You’re wounded,” Mia said. “All of you. It’s going to be a slaughterhouse in there and I don’t want—”
“Remind me again when I started giving a fuck what you want, Corvere?” Jessamine snapped. “You might believe you’re the Mother’s gift to the world, but you’re not half the blademaster you think you are. If you want a chance of ending these bastards, you’re going to need our help.”
Mia looked to Naev, met by cold hard eyes.
“She speaks truth.”
“All right,” Mia sighed. “You’re right.”
The Hands armed themselves to the teeth, covered their robes with leather jerkins, hefting crossbows and swords and knives. Mia distributed the wyrdglass among them, keeping a fat handful of ruby and pearl for herself. She’d no idea how they’d pull this off. No idea if any of them would live to see the morrow.
No time.
No chance.
No fear.
She looked at the disciples around her. Nodded once.
“Let’s go.”
It seemed Justicus Remus wasn’t the kind to be fooled twice.
He’d left his back exposed as he assaulted the Mountain, and his overconfidence had been repaid with the slaughter of his rearguard and the loss of the speaker. With his planned escape route cut off, the justicus had headed to the stables, just as Mia predicted. But to his credit, it also looked like he’d learned from past mistakes.
Sadly, the justicus hadn’t counted on Mister Kindly.
The not-cat stalked down the stairs ahead of Mia and her fellows, slipping out into the Hall of Eulogies and immediately sensing the tremor of fear in the air. He’d marked hidden figures, lying in wait in alcoves or skulking in antechambers. Whispered prayers to the Everseeing on their lips.
He’d flitted back up the stairs, coalescing on Mia’s shoulder and whispering in her ear.
“There are legionaries in the Hall of Eulogies,” Mia repeated. “Almost forty.”
“Forty,” Naev whispered, looking at their pitiful half-dozen.
Mia fished a handful of white wyrdglass from the pouch at her belt and smiled.
“I think I can even the score. As soon as you hear the ruckus, come running.”
The girl wrapped herself in her cloak of shadows, heard Jessamine and the other Hands gasp as she faded from sight. The world dropped to near blackness beneath her veil, and she had to feel her way down the stairs. But soon enough, she sensed an archway, the vast, sweeping space of the hall beyond. The dead names on the floor. The nameless tombs in the walls. She could see the vague silhouette of Niah’s statue above, picked out against the blurry, stained-glass light.
Creeping slow, near-blind, she crouched behind a nearby pillar. Throwing off her cloak long enough to get a decent view of her surroundings, she stepped into the shadows at her feet and reappeared forty feet off the ground, nestled in the deep shadows of Niah’s folded hood.