“You gonna explain what’s going on?” Tadeas asked. “Or why you’ve been acting like this ever since you got that note from my nephew?”
Idrian chewed on the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t betray Demir’s confidence, even if he wanted to. That secret – the cindersand running out – was too dire to let roll from his tongue. He was given a brief respite by the arrival of one of General Stavri’s messengers.
“Major Grappo?” the messenger asked, offering a note to Tadeas.
Tadeas took the note and broke the general’s seal, reading the message within. He said, “We’re pulling out first thing in the morning. The Green Jackets will cover our withdrawal, and we’re to report to the Copper Hills to help prepare for the confrontation with Kerite.”
Idrian pulled back into his own thoughts, forcing himself to calm down and think. Eighteen hours until their withdrawal. Could he work with that? Perhaps, but it would be risky. He would need help. Could he say anything without breaking his promise to Demir? Did he have a choice?
“Demir gave me a secret mission,” he said quietly.
If he’d lost his companions’ attention, he had it back immediately. Mika actually laughed, while Tadeas groaned. “Glassdamn,” Tadeas said, “of course he did. Were you going to tell me?”
“Not if I could avoid it.”
“So why now?”
Mika laughed again. “It’s the palace, isn’t it? You barked about capturing it all day yesterday and all this morning.”
“Yeah,” Tadeas said slowly, “you did. This isn’t just about cutting off the Grent from their seat of power and forcing them to surrender. What does Demir want with the glassdamn Grent ducal palace?”
Idrian glared back at the two, feeling like he was being ganged up upon. It wasn’t especially pleasant, but he used the moment of defensiveness to gather his wits. “I’ve promised to steal a piece of cinderite from the duke’s personal collection,” he told them.
There was a long silence, broken by Mika. “You gonna give us any more details than that?”
“I’ve already betrayed too much of Demir’s trust. No more.”
Tadeas waved Mika off, his forehead creased in a considering frown. Idrian could see him putting pieces together in his head. He might not be Demir, but he was still a Grappo. Too clever for his own good but, thankfully, smart enough not to guess out loud.
“Fine,” Tadeas finally said, “so why tell us now?”
“Because tonight is my last chance to retrieve it. You’re going to notice my absence anyway, so I might as well get some help.”
“Your absence?” Mika echoed. Realization dawned on her face. “Oh shit, you’re going in there alone?”
Idrian nodded. It was the only option available to him. The fact that their orders were to withdraw tomorrow instead of today was a damned gift. If he didn’t take advantage of that, he would never forgive himself.
“That,” Tadeas said with a chuckle, “is why you told Valient to find you a sheepskin.”
“Correct.”
Tadeas paced back and forth, chewing violently on the stem of his pipe. Idrian waited for the rebuke; the chastisement; perhaps even a direct order to stand down. He wondered if he’d be able to disobey. In their long friendship, they’d truly butted heads only a few times and Tadeas had won all those contests through sheer willpower.
Tadeas suddenly stopped his pacing and spun to face Idrian. “What do you want from us?”
The plan in Idrian’s head was less than half formed, considered only these last two minutes since the arrival of their orders. He raised his hand for Tadeas to give him a moment to think, then said, “I’ll have to go in without my armor. Too noisy. So I’ll need a shitload of forgeglass. A sack of grenades. Architectural drawings of the ducal palace, and spy reports about the enemy lines.”
“Mika?” Tadeas asked.
“I can do the grenades easy, and I think Valient has some medium-resonance forgeglass squirreled away.”
“I think I can take care of the rest once we return to the front,” Tadeas said. “The Green Jackets owe us from that maneuver you pulled yesterday, and their commander is the sister to Stavri’s spymaster. They’ll ask questions. What do I tell them?”
“To mind their own glassdamned business,” Idrian snorted.
“I think I’ll say it nicer than that.”
Idrian let out a shaky breath. They did not know just how important this was. Without that cinderite, he didn’t have a deal with Demir. Without a deal with Demir, he would continue to slide into madness without hope of reprieve. He could practically see himself swinging his sword at imaginary enemies on the battlefield. He opened his mouth to voice his thanks but Tadeas stopped him with the shake of his head.
“Don’t say a glassdamned word,” Tadeas said. “If Stavri’s staff finds out about this, both of us could be court-martialed. You better believe I’m having words with my nephew when all of this is over.”
20
The Lampshade Boardwalk was a mighty wooden structure that thrust itself out onto the Tien River in the northeast corner of Ossa. Much like Glory Street, it was a place where the castes of Ossa mixed easily; poor fishmongers hawked their wares mere feet from high-end jewelry stores, or a sailors’ bar might rent space from an expensive hotel for passing merchants. The Lampshade had a carnival-like air, but unlike Glory Street it was a family-friendly place, mostly closed down by dark during the summer, or nine o’clock during the winter.
Kizzie arrived to her meeting two hours early, strolling around the area while shops closed down and restaurants snuffed the gas lanterns above their patio seating. She eyeballed everyone and everything; looking for hiding spots, watching for ambushers. She wanted to be ready for any trickery that Glissandi might attempt. She cast a mental net with her sorcery, looking for nearby glassdancers just in case Glissandi was that well-connected. There were none.
It was nearing ten when she turned her jacket inside out, switching the brightly colored embroidering for drab gray. She took the crimson feather out of her felt hat, cocking up one side, then pulled a handkerchief up over her mouth.
The Palmora Pub was one of the few places that stayed open after dark; a place for all the laborers, cooks, buskers, and salesmen to go drinking after their clientele had gone home. Kizzie walked up to the second story of the boardwalk half a block away, positioning herself next to the top of a thick wooden pylon and watching the pub.
Much to her surprise, Glissandi arrived at exactly ten. The scarlet jacket she wore over a black tunic was clearly meant to be subdued, but she still looked extremely wealthy, like someone who’d lost her way leaving a jeweler’s kiosk. She wore a deep frown, glancing this way and that, clutching at something heavy she was concealing beneath her jacket.
A pistol, perhaps? Too big. A pair of pistols?
Kizzie produced her braided earrings, threading one into each ear. The witglass quickened her thoughts, and her muscles responded to the forgeglass, but it was the sightglass she needed. The whole world came a little more alive. Sights and sounds grew sharper. The fishy scent of the river became almost overpowering. She let herself grow used to the difference and then used her vantage point to investigate the area. No sign of Glissandi’s bodyguards or any kind of a trap. Were they well-concealed? Had Kizzie spooked her into honesty?
Kizzie stuck her hands into her pockets, gripping her blackjack with her left, and strolled in a circular path around and then down so that she approached the Palmora Pub from the opposite direction. She came up alongside Glissandi.