“Leave her to me.” Her voice held a note of implacable command that stopped him dead and she held his gaze until he retreated from the edge of the lake. “I’ll find you later,” she said, softening her tone and trying to quell the rising guilt at the trust she saw in his face. The task she had to perform here would not be easy.
It took a few minutes to swim to the island, a half-second burst of Green making it an easy matter. The island took the form of a domed temple of ancient design and was fashioned entirely from white marble. Various scenes from Corvantine history and legend were etched into the stone and Lizanne considered she would have found it a fascinating place on another occasion. Today she found the ostentatiousness of it somewhat aggravating, another example of how the Corvantine ruling class had indulged themselves whilst their beggared people grew to hate them more with every passing year.
She levered herself out of the water and onto the island’s flat outer surface, eyes scanning for enemies even though Yervantis had assured her the countess was unguarded. “Every Cadre agent in the Sanctum was dismissed this morning,” the portly chamberlain explained. “She just . . . sent them all away.”
Lizanne’s gaze settled on a slim figure seated on a plain marble bench beneath the temple dome. Countess Sefka failed to turn as Lizanne approached, even though she made no effort to conceal the sound of her steps. Fight, she thought, coming to a halt directly behind the soon-to-be-deposed head of the Regency Council. Fight me, you bitch!
“This must be a great day for you,” Countess Sefka said, failing to turn as Lizanne lingered at her back. Her tone was much as Lizanne remembered it, full of strident surety and uncoloured by the fear she had hoped for.
“Actually,” Lizanne replied, “I find it a singular disappointment.”
Sefka’s slim shoulders moved in a shrug. “Oh well. I had hoped to hear a few choice declarations. A final jibe or two. Were our positions reversed I assure you I would have rehearsed a speech.”
“You are not me. And I, much to my lasting pleasure, am not you.”
“No. I tried to save an empire, whilst you destroyed one.”
“That was never my mission.” Lizanne stepped closer, eyes fixed on the countess’s neck beneath her tied-up auburn hair. The skin was bare and unadorned, the so very fragile bones visible beneath the alabaster skin. “I should like to know,” she said, “did you kill Emperor Caranis yourself or leave it to one of your creatures?”
Sefka’s head moved in a small laugh. “Neither. He was certainly becoming more mad by the day, but I lacked the support needed for a successful coup. The Blood Imperial, however, decided to precipitate matters. The Emperor had resolved to kill him, you see, and all his precious Blood-blessed children. Apparently Caranis got wind of the silly old bastard’s plan to assassinate you upon your return from Scorazin. How was it, incidentally?”
“Improved immeasurably by its destruction.”
“I expect so. Anyway, it seems Kalasin was very keen to get his grubby hands on whatever you had dug out of that dung-heap. Caranis couldn’t risk any harm to Sethamet’s Bane, nor any revenge from the Blood Cadre. So he signed the purge order and went off for his nightly bath where the agent Kalasin had concealed in the ceiling stopped his heart with a gentle application of Black.”
“If you know all this why wasn’t Kalasin executed?”
“A simple matter of practicalities. The two Cadres that serve this empire are like conjoined twins that hate each other, forever trapped in conflict knowing all the while that if one dies so does the other, and then so does the empire.”
“Do you know where Kalasin is? An associate of mine is very keen to see him.”
“Spirited himself away the moment your rabble reached the suburbs, I expect. A rat always finds a hole to crawl into.”
Sefka slumped a little then, her only sign of weakness so far, raising a hand to her forehead before forcing herself once again into a pose of rigid elegance. “So, what is your intent, pray tell?” she asked, voice as calm as before. “Some prolonged torture before you hand me over to your radical friends? Or just a nice, tidy assassination? I do know an awful lot of ugly things about your Syndicate, after all. Things I’m sure you wouldn’t want heard in public.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Lizanne sighed, tired of repeating this particular mantra. “Why do none of you understand how little any of your intrigues and your wars matter now? There is only one war that matters.”
“Oh yes, your monsters are coming to eat us, aren’t they?” Sefka gave a girlish giggle, swaying a little. Lizanne stepped forward, looking over the countess’s shoulder to see the small empty bottle that lay in her upturned hands. “Heard you sploshing about,” Sefka said, turning to her with a pouting grin, like a child caught in a minor transgression. “Sorry, but I couldn’t face the show trial. The torture I think I might have withstood, but not the trial . . .”
Lizanne grabbed Sefka about the shoulders, forcing her off the bench and onto her back. Sefka struggled feebly, groaning in annoyance as Lizanne held her down with a knee to her chest and pulled the Green vial from her Spider.
“No!” Sefka’s struggles became fiercer, jerking her head away as Lizanne pressed the vial to her lips. “Not fair! You won . . .”
Lizanne clamped a hand on Sefka’s face, forcing her mouth open then pouring the Green down her throat. Lizanne pushed the woman’s jaws together, pinching her nose to force her to swallow. She convulsed for a short while, Lizanne feeling her heart slow, the pulse fading almost to nothing before returning with a strong, poison-free thump.
Sefka stared up at her as Lizanne stood back. “You vicious, hateful bitch!” the countess hissed, eyes and voice alive with hate.
“I’ve never been vicious,” Lizanne replied, leaning closer to deliver a hard tap with her fore-knuckles to Sefka’s temple, leaving her unconscious on the floor. “But I will admit to hating you a great deal.”
? ? ?
She found a boat moored on the leeward side of the island. After rowing to shore Lizanne hefted Sefka’s body over her shoulder and made towards the ring of temples. Smoke was rising from the palace complex itself where, as she expected, the bulk of the People’s Freedom Army were busy ransacking the once-sacred seat of Imperial power. Consequently she enjoyed an uninterrupted journey to the temples, attracting little attention as there were plenty of others carrying wounded away for treatment. The bodies of Household troops and palace courtiers littered the ground whilst others had been used to decorate the many trees dotted about the palace grounds. Lizanne passed an acacia with branches sagging under the weight of dismembered body parts.
Victory is never glorious, Arberus had said and, for all his radical nonsense, she knew there was wisdom there too.