“And how well do you know the Gold Rose he works for?”
“Je Tura?” Michel thought for a moment, picturing je Tura in his mind. “I saw him at the Millinery once. He’s a mean, stocky little bastard. Shorter than you and twice as wide. Carries a broadsword around with him.”
Tenik snorted. “Does he use it?”
“Often, from what I’ve heard. Chops off the hands of people who anger him, the feet of people who betray him, and the heads of his enemies.”
“And your people call us savages?” Tenik tilted his head to get a view of the street before getting comfortable once more. “There are always rumors about powerful people. Are any of them true?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t believe half the rumors about Fidelis Jes until I began to work directly under him.”
“I’ve heard of this Fidelis Jes,” Tenik said. “He was one of the people our informants told us to be wary of as we tried to take the city. Was he a good master?”
Michel considered the threats and the morning duels. “I believe he was good at his job.”
“That is not the same as being a good master.”
“He was an asshole and I’m not sad that Ben Styke cut his head off.”
Tenik grinned broadly. “That is the answer I was looking for. You will find Yaret a much better master than that. When he dies, I’ll grieve as much as any of his family.”
Tenik had referenced Yaret as a good person or a considerate master on several occasions throughout the last week. Michel hadn’t spent any time with him since that first day, so he didn’t have a point of reference, but he doubted that Yaret could live up to the hype. Michel had worked under decent people and even competent Roses, but in his experience, the higher up the chain of command, the less room there was for basic humanity.
Michel kept facing the street but watched Tenik out of the corner of his eye. He’d come to rather like the man over the course of the week. Tenik was a wealth of knowledge about his people but seemed just as interested in learning about Fatrasta and the Nine as Michel was about the Dynize. He rarely turned Michel away from a question and had a quiet sense of humor that belied his sharp eyes and ability to grasp a concept or situation easily. He was also, Michel had found, oddly naive in certain ways.
The situation between the Palo and the Kressians was one of those.
As if he could hear Michel’s thoughts, Tenik suddenly said, “Are the Palo always treated like that?”
Michel glanced over to see Tenik watching the street. He followed Tenik’s gaze down to a Kressian man openly beating a Palo laborer about the shoulders with his cane, only retreating when one of the Dynize soldiers seemed to take interest in the altercation.
“Yes,” Michel said, returning to his examination of the cobbler’s shop. The Dynize soldiers relaxing at the various intersections began to put their helmets back on, saying good-byes as if they had finished a quiet afternoon break.
“You’re Palo, aren’t you?”
“Part,” Michel responded. He leaned forward, watching as the soldiers fixed their bayonets and shouldered their weapons, then began to walk swiftly toward the cobbler’s shop. Their counterparts on three different intersections began to do the same, forming a pincer movement that would cut off all four possible avenues of escape from the safe house.
Tenik didn’t seem to notice that the raid was going forward. “If you’re half Palo, and the Kressians treat the Palo so poorly, why do you fight for them?”
Michel had no interest in explaining the ulterior motives he had for joining the Blackhats and climbing their ranks. For one, it would raise too many questions. For another—well, the whole situation was a sore point, to say the least. He wondered briefly where Taniel’s people had hidden his mother and hoped she was well out of harm’s way. “Because,” Michel answered glibly, “I can still take advantage of being half Kressian to live a better life.” He directed Tenik’s attention to the raid. “Here we go.”
Dynize soldiers flooded the cobbler’s shop, the alley next to it, and the buildings on either side. They cut off every possible exit and kicked in the doors, rushing inside with bayonets ready. The raid was a complete surprise—Michel could tell from the lack of gunfire and the surprised look of the Roses as they were dragged into the street and held at musket-point. Michel examined each as they were brought out, praying that Marhoush would be one of the faces.
He wasn’t. Thirteen in total were pulled from the cobbler’s shop. Michel guessed that only seven of those were actual Roses—the rest sympathizers. A small crowd of onlookers began to assemble. The soldiers ignored them, dragging off their captives, and the traffic soon returned to normal. Michel waited for about five minutes before he signaled to Tenik.
“Let’s go see what kind of a catch we got.”
The captives had been taken to an abandoned warehouse about half a mile away. Michel and Tenik joined the captain of the soldiers just outside.
“We found Roses on four of them,” the captain said, dropping the medallions into Tenik’s outstretched hand. There were three Irons and a Bronze. “Two others seem to be Blackhats as well. The rest claim ignorance.”
“The cobbler?” Michel asked.
“He says he had no idea Blackhats were hiding in his attic.” The captain did not sound convinced.
“Did they tell you where Marhoush is?” Michel asked.
She shook her head. “The lot claim to have never heard the name.”
“Let me see them.”
Michel entered the warehouse through a side door and climbed up to an iron catwalk that crossed above the middle of the large, dusty space. He proceeded to a spot just above the group of prisoners. They sat on the dirt floor, hands tied, heads down, with a group of soldiers keeping watch. Michel leaned on the catwalk railing and examined them for several minutes.
“That one,” he finally said in a quiet voice, pointing to a woman whose lip bled from being smacked around by a soldier. “She’s a Bronze Rose. She used to be a Silver Rose. A year ago she was caught taking protection money from a family who had personal ties to Lindet. She was demoted.”
Tenik frowned at the information. “What does that mean?”
“It means she’s a greedy little piggy,” Michel responded. “Bring her.”
Tenik nodded to the captain. He and Michel headed into one of the second-floor offices on the opposite side of the warehouse, where Michel paced while he waited. Tenik leaned comfortably in the corner, flipping his coin, obviously pleased to be out of the heat. “You’re going to try to turn her?”
“I am.”
“For over a month, we’ve been offering rewards for anyone who will turn. Why would she do so now?”
“People don’t give up when they think they have options. Our dear Bronze Rose is down to just two, and I’m going to make sure she knows it.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the door opening and a soldier coming in with the Bronze Rose, whom he pushed to her knees in the middle of the floor. Her eyes went first to Tenik, then to Michel. She seemed confused to find a Palo and a mutt, rather than a Dynize torture squad.
Michel smiled at her gently, trying to recall her name. “Soreana, was it?” he asked.
“How do you know my name?”
“Because I used to be a Blackhat.”
The information took a moment to process before her eyes widened. “You’re him, aren’t you? Michel. How the pit did you find us already?”
“Because Lindet left a bunch of thugs behind, rather than spies.”
“You’re a damned traitor.”
She wasn’t wrong. Michel kept his smile and tutted. “Let’s not be so judgmental this early on, shall we?”
Soreana looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the Dynize soldiers standing by the door. Michel could see the same thoughts ticking through her head that had gone through his own in a few tight situations—How well tied are my bonds? How closely are they watching? Can I fight or talk my way out of this? He didn’t give her a chance to consider those options.