To his surprise, the corner of Father Vorcien’s mouth turned up slightly. He harrumphed, shifting slightly in his wheeled chair, and said, “Whatever else happens, Demir, you should know that I’ve always liked you.”
It was an odd sort of flattery to give someone whose life you held in your hands, and Demir tilted his head to one side and tried to read Father Vorcien. He could get nothing from him. Old and crippled, and yet Father Vee was still the imperturbable statesman. “Then why did you tell Capric to order the sack of Holikan and frame me for it?”
“Right to the point, then?” Father Vorcien asked. “I wish everyone else in this glassdamned city were so forward. But you … you don’t fear me, not like everyone else. I think that’s one of the reasons I like you.” He let out a small sigh. “I didn’t order Capric to do what he did.”
“I don’t believe you,” Demir shot back immediately. He might not be a fifth as experienced as Father Vorcien, but he was not a fool, either. The old patriarch would say or do anything to maintain whatever he had decided was the truth.
“Believe me or not, I don’t particularly care. This is my small kindness to you, and you may do with it what you like. I did not give that order. I did tell Capric to take you down a rung – to make sure that some humiliation befell you on that campaign. You were cocky and arrogant enough for a dozen guild-family heirs, and you needed to be reined in. Capric overstepped that order by a significant margin.”
Demir stared back at Father Vorcien. The coldness he’d felt at seeing the old man was beginning to heat up. He could feel the rage twitching back to life in his belly, and sought to still it. Rage had gotten him into this situation. It would not get him out. “So you’re telling me,” Demir said flatly, “Capric acted all on his own when he ordered the slaughter of thousands of men, women, and children?”
“Correct.”
Demir almost said I don’t believe you again. But what would be the point? “And how is knowing this a kindness?”
“Because it will, hopefully, prevent you from declaring a guild-family war against the Vorcien.”
“And this is for my benefit?” Demir asked doubtfully.
“You won’t win,” Father Vorcien replied simply. “But I don’t believe you have changed so much that you would not do some painful damage to my family before we crushed you.” Father Vorcien’s eyes wandered for the first time, glancing up at the ceiling. “Between you and Montego. Hah! Adriana knew exactly what she was building when raising the pair of you. A lethal combination. You know that he’s waiting outside the Maerhorn at this very instant? The Cinders would never admit it” – Father Vorcien glanced over his shoulder at his bodyguard – “but they’re pissing terrified of him. Cinders! Terrified of one retired cudgelist! They have four marksmen and two glassdancers watching his carriage.”
Demir felt his eyes narrow. Father Vorcien, he realized, had taken him off guard. He glanced down, drawing patterns on his uniform leg with the end of his finger. “How long was your discussion with the Inner Assembly? The one where you figured out what to do with me?”
“Half the glassdamned night,” Father Vorcien said with a yawn. “You are a liability. You don’t fear any of us. You don’t respect any of us. Gregori is furious that you destroyed his ancestral hunting home with your flood. Supi wants those thousand pieces of sightglass returned immediately. And me … well, you did force one of my sons into confessing to a war crime in public.”
Demir flinched. He did not think they would kill him, but he had just noticed the shadows of at least two more Cinders standing in the hall just outside the cell. His life might well depend on this conversation. He should beg, plead, promise. That was what any sane person would do. Then again, Father Vorcien would know it was insincere just by virtue of who Demir was. He spread his arms. “Then what do we do from here?”
“I make you an offer that benefits us both, you accept the offer, and then we move on.”
Demir had expected an offer. He did not expect it to benefit them both. “Right. The Ossan way.” His mind wandered to his soldiers, no doubt getting nervous about his extended absence down at Fort Alameda. How long until Tadeas started asking where Demir had gotten to? How long until Kerite and her Grent allies regrouped and attacked again? Demir’s one advantage here was that the Inner Assembly still needed him to command the Foreign Legion. “What’s the offer?” he asked.
Father Vorcien looked down at his hands folded in his lap. “Put aside your blood feud with Capric and marry Kissandra.”
“Kizzie?” Demir blurted. He’d been caught off guard before; now he felt like the two of them weren’t even having the same conversation. “You can’t be serious. She’s my friend, and she’s a bastard.”
“She’s my bastard, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to legitimize her for years without raising Sibrial’s ire.”
Demir scoffed. The sound turned into a choked laugh. “I never believed you had a heart.”
“Shriveled with glassrot, but it still exists,” Father Vorcien replied. His gaze was unwavering; he stared at Demir with the casual intensity of someone who always got what they wanted.
Did he know about the phoenix channel? Demir suddenly wondered. Aelia Dorlani might resort to ham-fisted burglary, but this was far more Father Vorcien’s style if he thought that Demir had something he wanted. And it was the second such offer, if he included the offer of patronage Capric had brought him the day he found out his mother died. If Father Vorcien did know about the phoenix channel, to what lengths would he go to acquire it? Was this the easiest path for both of them?
“If I say no?” Demir asked.
Father Vorcien spread his hands. “If you say no, then I will assume your blood feud continues. First, you’ll remain in this dungeon for…” He shrugged. “… an indeterminate amount of time. I can’t keep you here forever since you didn’t actually kill Capric, but long enough for my people to destroy what little reputation you have left. Second, I’ll blacklist your hotel and every one of your clients and employees. No one will supply them, buy from them, work for them, or hire them ever again. Third, I will order Kizzie to continue her investigation into your mother’s death but I will not give you any of the results.”
That last one was just adding insult to injury, and they both knew it. Demir scoffed. No threats against his person, but Father Vorcien didn’t need to do that. What he’d just described was far more insidious than just killing him and it showed how well Father Vorcien knew Demir: it was more painful to ruin those under his protection than to ruin Demir himself.
“If you accept,” Father Vorcien went on, “the Vorcien and Grappo will be tied by blood. You’ll be the richest patriarch in your family for generations. You’ll marry a friend, which is more than most patriarchs get to do. You’ll be a Vorcien in all but name and that will be real power. The possibilities will be endless.”
“All under the Vorcien thumb.”
“You don’t think you and I would be able to work together?”
“You did destroy me,” Demir responded glibly, “and I do have a blood feud against your son. But no, I’m more worried about when you die and Sibrial takes over. You think I’m going to bow and scrape to that ogre?” The very thought turned his stomach, but he tried to ignore it. The old him – the entity that he should have listened to when he first saw that military missive – was fighting for control of his thoughts again. He could feel wheels spinning in the back of his head. Plans created plans created plans.