“She didn’t. You don’t understand. She’s—”
“Oh, she most certainly did!” Parker rose to his feet and threw his napkin to the floor as if it were a gauntlet of challenge. “And you needn’t lie any further. I know why. She did it to save her miserable little kingdom.” He took a step forward and bumped the table. “By destroying Degan, she hopes to curry favor for Melengar. So what are your real orders?” He advanced, pointing an accusatory finger. “To gain our confidence? To lead this army into an ambush like you did with Gaunt? Was it you? Were you there? Were you one of the ones that grabbed him?”
Parker glanced at Hadrian’s swords. “Or is it to get close enough to kill me?” he said, staggering backward. The commander knocked his head on a low-hanging pot, which fell with a brassy clang. The noise made Parker jump. “Simms! Fall!” he cried, and the two sentries rushed in.
“Sir!” they said in unison.
“Take his swords. Shackle him to a stake. Get him out of—”
“You don’t understand. Arista isn’t your enemy,” Hadrian interrupted.
“Oh, I understand perfectly.”
“She was set up by the empire, just as Gaunt was.”
“So she’s missing too?”
“No, she’s in Ratibor right now planning a rebellion to aid your attack.”
Parker laughed aloud at that. “Oh please, sir! You do need lessons in lying. A princess of Melengar organizing an uprising in Ratibor? Get him out of here.”
One of the soldiers drew his sword. “Remove your weapons—now!”
Hadrian considered his options. He could run, but he would never get another opportunity to persuade them. Taking Parker prisoner would require killing Simms and Fall and destroy any hope of gaining their trust. With no other choice, he sighed and unbuckled his belt.
“Exactly how confident are you that Hadrian will succeed in persuading the Nationalists to attack tomorrow morning?” Polish asked Arista as they sat at the Dunlaps’ table. Outside, it continued to storm.
“I have the same level of confidence in his success as I do in ours,” Arista replied.
Polish smirked. “I keep forgetting you’re a diplomat.”
Eight other people sat around the little table, where the city lay mapped out with knickknacks borrowed from Mrs. Dunlap’s shelves. Those present had been handpicked by Hadrian, Dr. Gerand, Polish, or Emery, who was back on his feet and eating everything Mrs. Dunlap put under his nose.
With Royce and Hadrian gone, Arista spent most of her time talking with the young Mr. Dorn. While he no longer stumbled over using her first name, the admiration in his eyes was unmistakable, and Arista caught herself smiling self-consciously. He had a nice face—cheerful and passionate—and while he was younger even than Alric, she thought him more mature. Perhaps that came from hardship and struggle.
Since he had regained consciousness, she had babbled on about the trials that had brought her there. He told her about how his mother’s death had given him life and what it had been like to grow up as a soldier’s son. They both shared memories of the fires that had robbed them of the ones they loved. She listened as he poured out his life’s story of being an orphan with such intensity that it filled her eyes with tears. He had such a way with words, a means of inciting emotion and empathy. She realized Emery could have changed the world if only he had been born noble. Listening to him, to his ideals, to his passion for justice and compassion, she realized this was what she could expect from Degan Gaunt, a common man with the heart of a king.
“You must understand it’s not entirely up to me,” Polish told them. “I don’t issue policy in the guild. I simply don’t have the authority to sanction an outright attack, particularly when there is nothing to be gained. Even if victory were assured, instead of a rather wild gamble, my hands would still be tied.”
“Nothing to be gained?” Emery said, stunned. “There is a whole city to be gained! Furthermore, if the imperial army is routed from the field, it’s possible that all Rhenydd might fall under the banner of the Delgos Republic.”
“I would also add,” Arista said, “that defeating the Imperialists here would leave Aquesta open for assault by the remainder of the Nationalists, Melengar, and possibly even Trent—if I can swing their alliance. If Aquesta falls, Colnora will be a free city and certain powerful merchants could find themselves in legitimate seats of power.”
“You are good. I’ll grant you that, milady,” Polish replied. “But there are many ifs in that scenario, and the Royalists won’t allow Colnora to be ruled by a commoner. Lanaklin would assume the throne of Warric and likely appoint his own duke to run the city.”