General Hall had always hated this plan. For one thing, they were relying on Levieux, the phantom of Mortmesne, and nothing that Hall had heard about Levieux was a comfort. He claimed to be able to guide them through the Palais to the dungeons, even to the Queen’s cell, but would not tell them how he knew the way. There was nothing to even say whether this was the real Levieux, since no one ever saw the man. One of Levieux’s people was a Cadarese, and though Hall had never met any Cadarese, he knew they were not to be trusted. Worst of all, this entire operation relied upon a mob, and despite Levieux’s claim that he had given his people clear instructions, Hall knew that no one could truly direct a mob. The northern and western ends of Demesne were now on fire, more than ten city blocks burning out of control, and the local fire brigade was nowhere to be found. A force assailed the city’s northern gate, drawing what little enforcement Demesne still had, but what this force was or where it came from, Levieux refused to say. Hall’s operations were designed with certainty in mind, elimination of all variables achieved through repeated testing. This plan was madness, and they would only get one shot. It was too much to risk for one woman, even a Queen, but there was no talking to the Mace, who seemed to be in the grip of a fixed delusion that if they could only get the Queen out, all would somehow be well. No one could convince him otherwise, but Hall, who prided himself on realism, was prepared for disaster.
But so far, things had gone without a hitch. The Palais gates were open and unguarded, so the Mace’s plant had at least done her job. There was no sign of any security, and this made Hall uneasy; surely the woman couldn’t have suborned an entire Gate Guard? Levieux’s mob had already flooded the Palais, and Hall could hear the sounds of wreckage echoing throughout the upper floors: breaking glass and wood. Their little band—Levieux and four of his people, Hall and Blaser, and eight of the Queen’s Guard—had gone in the other direction, down several flights of stairs, following Levieux toward the dungeons. But they met no resistance, met no one of any kind. Their route was stunningly easy, and Hall didn’t trust it.
Then there was the smell. Hall had been a soldier far too long to miss that copper tang in the air. Blood had been spilled here, plenty of it, and not long ago either. They didn’t see a single body, but as they progressed down the stairs, they saw floors and hallways dappled with puddles of red.
The Mace’s plant was supposed to be at the bottom of the stairs, ready to open the doors to the dungeons, but she was nowhere to be seen. Instead they met a pair of iron gates that looked as though they had been hit with a ram. The bars were warped, and one of the doors dangled by the barest grace from a single hinge.
“What in hell did that?” Blaser whispered.
“Ready for anything, now,” the Mace said. He had pulled out his namesake weapon, and his face was pallid, almost ghastly, in the dim torchlight. If something had happened to the Queen, Hall wasn’t sure what it would do to the Mace.
“Come on, let’s get it done.”
They crept down the staircase, the only sound the flicker and crack of their torches. Hall had been worried that Levieux and his people would be a nuisance, but he needn’t have been; they were the quietest of the bunch. Hall didn’t hear a single scrape or footstep.
“Sir,” Kibb said quietly. “Got a blood trail here.”
Hall looked down and saw it: every few risers, a small, dark sparkle of blood dotted the grey stone. In all of his worries over this venture, he had never thought that the Queen might be in real danger. She was a valuable prisoner, a bargaining chip; even if the Red Queen chose to have her beaten for spite—such things went on in the Mort dungeons all the time—the Queen would not face death or serious injury.
But at the sight of the blood, something seemed to tighten in Hall’s heart. In the past few weeks, he had revisited his angry words to the Queen many times. He had called her a glory hound. He owed her an apology, but there had been no chance.
“Blood’s running in her direction,” Levieux muttered, and Hall thought that even he was unnerved. Levieux was a cool customer; Hall had met with him only twice, during meetings in the Keep, but he had never seen the man rattled until now. The sick feeling in Hall’s midsection seemed to double. He had known that this plan was too easy, that something was bound to go wrong.
But please, he begged the universe, anyone, not so wrong as this.