“All right, but be careful. This might be a trap,” Alexander said. “Once we’ve killed the king, we’ll head for the western province. Talia has a company working with the locals to disrupt the Lancers’ slaving operation, but more importantly, that’s where Jataan is.”
“That’s good to hear. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but he’s nice to have around in a fight.”
“Who’s Jataan?” Anja asked.
“Jataan P’Tal is the General Commander of the Reishi Protectorate and my personal man-at-arms,” Alexander said. “He is, quite possibly, the most dangerous man alive in a fight.”
“I want to meet him.”
“You will,” Alexander said. “So the plan hinges on Tyr …”
***
Lord and Lady Grant arrived at the palace elevator station in a carriage driven by Alexander with Anja at his side. Both still wore their collars, but Alexander had a dagger hidden in his boot.
The atmosphere was festive, excited even. Nobles mingled with one another while they waited for the elevator to return. Alexander idly wondered who had really killed the crown princess while he watched the crowd without appearing to do so.
Most guests wore the muddy, base colors of those who pursue power before all other things, but there were a few notable exceptions, mostly among the slaves and servants. Every now and then, Alexander would see a person with the colors of magic, most from some enchanted item or other, but a few were wizards, though you wouldn’t know it from their behavior or attire.
After nearly an hour of insufferable conversation about the most meaningless things, the elevator settled into its cradle and the double doors opened. Within were four palace guards, each armed with a nasty-looking mace sporting five spikes twisted to make them look almost like a crown. More importantly, each of their weapons glowed brightly with magic.
The guests and their servants stepped into the lift, which was a simple room filled with rows of comfortable chairs and lined with windows on three sides. The doors closed and the operator pulled a lever. With a shudder, the lift began rising along its thousand feet of vertical track. It took several minutes, during which time the view became progressively more spectacular.
When they reached the palace, everyone stepped out of the elevator and into a security line that ran along a balcony overlooking the city. Alexander was startled to discover that he could actually see that far. Before, his all around sight could only reach several hundred feet. While he still couldn’t see the horizon, he could see parts of the city a thousand feet below.
They reached a broad entrance flanked by six guards. Spread across the entrance was a field of slightly glowing yellow light. An officer and a well-dressed servant stood at a podium in the exact center of the path.
After Grant presented his invitation, everyone in his party was instructed to touch the stone on top of the podium. Alexander did as he was told and felt a chill of magic race over his skin, followed by a tingling sensation when he stepped through the shield.
“Touch the stone before you go through that shield, Chloe,” Alexander said in his mind. “Just to be safe.”
The corridor stopped at the entrance to the crystal ballroom where a man was waiting to announce the arriving guests.
When Grant and his wife stepped up to the entrance and waited for their introduction, another man pulled Alexander and Anja aside. “Servants’ entrance is down there,” he said. “Just tell them who you belong to and they’ll make sure you get where you’re supposed to be.”
Alexander obeyed without a word and was quickly swept up in the chaotic swirl of the kitchen. Within minutes he was carrying a pitcher of wine out to Lord Grant with strict instructions to pour a cup, then stand against the wall behind Grant until he was summoned. Once Alexander had completed his task and was standing next to Anja, he carefully surveyed the room while appearing to look at the floor.
As he’d seen from his reconnaissance, the two side walls were made of stone, while the front and back walls, as well as the ceiling, were made of crystal panes laced together with stone in a graceful pattern that seemed almost organic. The setting sun lit up the room with brilliant orange light.
Jack was already there, tuning his lute while a number of young, unattached noblewomen sat around him giggling. Most of the people in the room were mingling in small groups.
Guests were being announced in a steady stream as they made their way to the ballroom. Alexander picked out the Babachenko making the rounds, chatting amiably with the guests, welcoming them to the palace. Another man caught his eye as well. He was big-barrel-chested, and nearly seven feet tall. If his colors hadn’t given him away as a wizard, his position near the only door on the opposite wall and his relentless scrutiny of the guests would have given him away as the king’s protector.
“Vasili Nero, envoy of Prince Phane Reishi,” the announcer said above the din of conversation. Alexander’s breath caught in his chest. Without moving his head, he reached out and looked at Nero. What he saw sent a chill up his spine-Nero had become a wraithkin. He was smiling coldly to the Babachenko, who’d come to greet him personally.
“Master is not pleased,” Nero said.
“He soon will be,” the Babachenko said with an equally humorless smile. “I have matters well in hand.”
“We shall see.”
Alexander thought furiously. Adding Nero to the mix was bad enough-he could identify Alexander on sight. Their first meeting in Buckwold had gone badly for Nero; he wouldn’t easily forget Alexander. His transformation into a wraithkin was a potential disaster. Even worse was the idea that the Babachenko did have things well in hand, and Alexander was missing some vital piece of information. If that was true, this night was going to end very badly.
Tyr entered next without pausing for the man to announce him. Alexander let his breath out when Nero sat facing away from him along the same side of the table where Grant was seated. Unfortunately, Tyr sat on the opposite side of the table, but he looked bored and inattentive, not bothering to talk to any of the nobles and deliberately ignoring Grant.
A bell chimed and the servants started to move to the kitchen for the first appetizer course, several large shrimp on a skewer, wrapped with bacon and drizzled with cheese sauce. A few of the guests required their servants to taste the food before serving it. Alexander was mildly disappointed that Grant did not.
A few moments after the appetizer was served, a large bell tolled and all of the guests stood, dutifully facing the single door on the wall opposite Alexander. After everyone had waited an uncomfortable amount of time, the door opened and an impeccably dressed little man with a completely bald head and a ruddy face stepped forth and stopped, surveying the crowd deliberately before clearing his throat.
“Lords and Ladies, I present His Most Excellent Majesty, the First Lancer, Giver of Charters and Founder of Guilds, Lord Gervais Andalia, Our Beloved King.” The little man stepped aside, bowing deeply, holding his pose until the king entered the chamber.
The “Beloved King” was fat, blubberous and lumbering. His lips protruded, glistening with spittle, and his jaw hung slack. He was dressed in velvet red robes trimmed with entirely too much gold and he wore a jewel-encrusted baldric supporting a sword that looked almost exactly like a Thinblade, except its colors were dead. His stringy, unkempt hair was receding, his eyes were unfocused and dull, his hands (that he seemed to wring as a matter of habit) were soft and pudgy. On his head rested a golden Crown with colors that screamed of power, ancient and potent, yet the colors of the man wearing it revealed a small mind, an ailing body, and a vicious heart.
“Your Majesty,” the little man who’d introduced him said, motioning to the head of the table.