“Yes. He’s at the back of the column.”
Taniel gave a relieved sigh. “Vlora’s dead.”
“What?” Tamas had to grab his saddle horn as a wave of dizziness swept over him. “No. Surely not.”
“She is. At least, I think she is. We tracked the Privileged and Ka-poel to the city and got into a fight in High Talien. Whether the Privileged had reinforcements waiting for her or we were just unlucky, I don’t know. We were trying to escape into the city drains when the building came down on her.”
“Oh, pit.” The words came out a whisper. Tamas swayed in his saddle. Another powder mage. Another friend. Pit, Vlora was family. He wanted to let out a sob, but he forced himself to fight it down, maintaining his stony demeanor. Claremonte’s men were watching. He could feel hostile eyes upon him and he couldn’t – he wouldn’t – show weakness.
“Promoting me was a bad idea.”
Tamas glanced out of the corner of his eye. Taniel’s jaw trembled and his eyes were bloodshot. He was barely holding it together. “That’s not true. That’s… Look. You tracked them this far. I’m proud of you.”
Taniel didn’t look like he believed him, and Tamas had to admit that the words were halfhearted. Taniel had gotten Vlora, two powder mages, and a dozen Riflejacks killed. He should have known better! Walking into a trap and…
No. No, no, no. Tamas could feel the grief turn to anger, could feel the corners of his mouth turn down in a scowl. He couldn’t do that. Not now. Not to Taniel.
“Have you found Ka-poel?” Tamas asked.
“Claremonte’s headquarters are in Skyline Palace. He’s renting it from the city. It’s crawling with soldiers and Privileged. I think I glimpsed her aura in the Else, but it was hard to tell at a distance. She must still be alive.”
“Or else Kresimir would have killed us all by now, I suppose.”
Taniel gave him a queer look. “Is the war over?”
“Yes. It’s in negotiations right now.”
“Do you have Kresimir’s body?”
“I do.”
Taniel nodded to himself. “Good. What about Claremonte?”
“I’m going to proceed cautiously. Are you coming to my council meeting?”
“Will Ricard be there?”
“I imagine so.”
“I probably shouldn’t, then.”
“You can’t run from being Second Minister,” Tamas said. “You gave your word.”
“I was bullied into it.”
Tamas set his teeth, trying to rein in his anger. “You took advantage of what avenue of escape was available at the time. You’ll follow through on your word.”
“Or what?” There was defiance in Taniel’s eyes.
“Or no one will ever respect you.”
Taniel looked away.
“It’s part of the game,” Tamas said, trying to soften his tone. “Part of life. You think I wanted to be the Iron King’s lapdog when I was not much older than you? No. But I did what I had to do to survive. We’re here. Come upstairs.”
They had arrived at the western entrance to the People’s Court, Sablethorn looming over them from across Elections Square. Tamas dismounted, and his soldiers took their places by the doors, Gavril in command, while a core group of them followed him inside.
It had been only a few months since he last set foot in the cavernous building, but it felt like half a lifetime. He didn’t recognize most of the staff they passed in the halls, and the corridors felt vaguely alien, as if he were walking them for the first time.
They climbed to the sixth floor and approached Manhouch’s former office, and Tamas could hear shouting from a hundred paces down the hall. He doubled his pace.
He pushed open the door to find Ondraus sitting in one of the wingback chairs in the corner, looking crossly over his reading glasses at Ricard Tumblar. Ricard was red in the face, his beard unkempt as he shook his fist beneath Ondraus’s nose. Lady Winceslav stood behind Ricard with a fan in one hand, trying to look dignified.
“You damned dirty traitor!” Ricard was shouting. “You prig! You villain! I’ll kill you with my own hands!” Lady Winceslav leapt forward to grab Ricard’s arm, pulling him away from Ondraus.
“What’s going on here?” Tamas demanded.
Lady Winceslav opened her mouth, but Ricard cut her off, thrusting a finger at Ondraus. “He’s gone over to the other side! He’s put his support behind Claremonte. He’s running as Claremonte’s Second Minister!”
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this,” Lady Winceslav said.
Ricard rounded on her. “Don’t get me started on you, Lady. Your people abandoned the army before the war was over. Do you know how that looks to public perception? We’re supposed to be a unified face!”
“I had every right.” Winceslav drew herself up. “My advisers felt that Field Marshal Tamas had lost his perspective, and his series of blunders had given us – I’m sorry, Tamas, I don’t mean this to be personal.”
Tamas crossed the room to Manhouch’s immense desk and sat himself down behind it. He gave all three of them a cold smile. “No, no. Go on, please.”
“We felt that our losses–”
“You got scared and you pulled out of the fight!” Ricard said accusingly. “I thought we were all in this together and now I learn that this crazy old coot is one of Claremonte’s stooges!”
Ondraus sat up straighter. “Now, listen here–”
“No, you listen!” Lady Winceslav’s voice rose to a shout. “We all have our own reasons for what we’ve done! I don’t think–”
The room devolved into a jumble of heated shouting and finger pointing. Tamas rested his chin on his palm, listening for a few moments before he pointed at Olem and snapped his fingers. Olem removed his pistol and carefully loaded it without a bullet. He crossed from the door and handed the pistol to Tamas.
The blast of the shot brought everything to silence. Three sets of eyes stared at him, the members of his council frozen in their places.
Tamas breathed deeply of the powder smoke from the end of his pistol and set it on the desk. “Can you win the election?”
Ricard tugged furiously at his beard and began to pace, eyeing the Reeve suspiciously.
“Just answer the question,” Tamas said.
“I have the best people in all the Nine running my campaign. They tell me it’s a close thing. I’ve been matching Claremonte penny for penny as he bribes, threatens, and cajoles his way toward Election Day, and I’m almost out of money. He’s not.”
“That’s not the reassurance I was looking for,” Tamas muttered. More loudly he said, “What do you need to win?”
Ricard glanced at Taniel, who stood near the balcony windows, looking out over Elections Square. “The election is on the last day of autumn, which is just a few days away. Appearances from my running mate would help things. An endorsement from you would be enormously beneficial.”
“You’ll have it in the newspaper tomorrow morning,” Tamas said. For all the things he didn’t like about Ricard, the man was a gifted businessman. If he could run a country halfway as well as he ran the union, Adro would be the jewel of the Nine for decades to come. “I suppose just killing Claremonte would be out of the question?” he asked mildly.
Ricard stiffened. “Absolutely. We have worked far too hard for this election. We made the rules and we must play by them, else we’ve accomplished nothing.”
“I agree,” Lady Winceslav said.
“Well, at least there’s that.” Tamas gazed at his still-smoking pistol. The world was changing, and in a few days’ time he wouldn’t have the power he once had to silence his enemies. He had to relinquish that power willingly.
“Besides, the Proprietor already tried that,” Ondraus added. “It didn’t work.”
Ricard slammed his fist down on the back of a sofa. “I knew he was behind it! Blast him!”
“Where is the eunuch, anyway?” Tamas asked. “And Prime Lektor?”
“The eunuch is dead,” Ondraus said shortly. “The Proprietor has not yet appointed a replacement to this council.”
“Nor will he. It’s too late in the game for a replacement. After the election this council will be dissolved anyway. As,” Tamas said loudly, raising his hand to forestall protest, “we all agreed when this began. How about Prime?”