Lord Aren emerged in the dungeons, a gloomy expanse. Glow bulbs shed strong light at regular intervals, but the spacing of those glass orbs allowed for deep shadows to pool in between, the better to invite a rapid response in the unlikely event of a prisoner escape.

  Rebels occupied most of the cells in this stretch. Some were retainers from the lost times of Queen Tania, deemed too close to her to be trusted under the new regime. It was not common for a newly emerged queen to jail her predecessor’s agents; in particular her elites, who often had ties to high houses; but then it was not common for a lowborn youth to rise to the station of Shadow Queen either.

  It would be so much simpler to do away with the old tradition, to establish a regime which expressed its power matrilineally so that power was inherited and not simply given, but Shadovane could not afford to be so short-sighted…so frivolous in their expression of power. No, there was power in the way they conducted this business. It just happened that power was volatile, and the current expression of it was, to put it politely, antisocial.

  It was no secret to him why the old regime had been pulled down. Nor was it any secret why Lord Elise, a man barely into his thirties who had served as a Bloodless for a handful of years, was now their ruler. No secret either why she tolerated Lord Cree’s frequent attempts to poison his more problematic subordinates, or the occasional low-born nobleman who got on his bad side. The queen had proven to be politically savvy, yes, but she was more a monster than any who had come before her since at least Queen Mariah’s time.

  He marched through the dungeon, his bronze-shod boots beating a rhythm as he passed by those rebels, many of them who he had known in his youth. If he shared little in common with his queen, he knew what it was to be born in the slums. A boy in the Second Turn had few choices if he wanted to escape the extreme poverty so common to that area, a problem that had only gotten worse with her rise. He could join the military, or he could leave…venture out into the world in hopes that he would escape the attention of the Wraiths and Thorns who would undoubtedly pursue him. He might find himself in a place of safety, in the Ring of Fire perhaps, if he could find his way to Star Island on the northern side, or to Amsol. If he was lucky, he might get to Daemonheim and the dense forests around that ancient relic, the Norenberg, but that posed its own complications.

  Join the military, or run away and hope he could find a place of safety. The easy option was also the hardest one. Many of these were men who would have made fine Wraiths, or Mauls…who might have become Thorns under his lordship if they proved themselves worthy. Yet they had chosen a different path, to defend their city from itself, to save it from one of their own, and time and again they had witnessed failure. Had been pulled into the shadows, their secret meetings broken up, their ploys to assassinate this tyrannical queen thwarted. Much of that had been by his own hand, something he had come to treat with ambivalence.

  He recognized the faces of those elder, who had grown up with him, who had risked everything for their cause. Emaciated ruins of their former selves, some bearing dark, yellowing bruises where they had been beaten at some point in the recent past, or wounds of other stripes.

  He had been like them once, and he had chosen his path. Not for nothing, he respected them for their tenacity, but it was all useless in the grand scheme. A new queen would rise when the old one was deposed, and so the cycle continued, and it was all because of a pendant. A silly trinket which legend said housed a fragment of a goddess’s soul, which chose who would become queen, as an extension of Her will.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  He turned corner, followed an adjacent hall almost to its end. There were no more prisoners in this section of the dungeons. None within ear shot of the man who had, for much of his life, commanded the highest price among them, the greatest priority for his capture.

  He halted in front of Aldeirel’s cell. Safe behind cadmium bars, he could not hope to use magic, to pull down the Cosmic Orchestra, as the uninitiated called it, for his use. But it was not his command of magic that made the man dangerous. Here was a man who bled hope from his veins, who inspired others with the power of his voice, with his sermons in the slums along the cliffs. Here was a man who had become a Thorn in the side of the crown, who had only recently been captured…not for the first time.

  Lord Aren stood on one side of the bars, watched as the man labored to get his feet under him, to approach them from the other. His back was bent horribly under the labor of keeping himself up, and he clutched his knees as arthritic joints worked to move his feet, to slide one and then the other forward. With the use of a cane, he might be able to make greater progress, but even then he was disadvantaged by advancing cataracts that had left him nearly blind.

  His voice came out reedy and thin when he spoke.

  “This is a rare treat.” He said. “You coming to call on me. What might you be after, old friend.”

  “That you still see me as such holds its own virtues.” Lord Aren said.

  “Were it that I believed you were infatuated with this regime’s philosophy, Silas, I would perceive you very differently, I suppose. But you were never that man. Not susceptible to the propoganda they feed the young ones.

  “Have you thwarted the great rebellion, yet?”

  Lord Aren bit his tongue.

  Aldeirel nodded. “I did not think so. Well, out with it, then. You would not have come here without a purpose.”

  “Amaia seyan ojahs ar’delantia, lothor.” He said.

  “Do you think he will answer?”

  “I know he will.”

  “Ah, but there is another complication floating about in this palace, isn’t there. Another one who can hear him, who might just steal away his loyalty.”

  “You sense him from this distance.”

  “Like a bonfire, Silas. Like a bonfire. Such warmth…it is a comfort, I will not lie. It has been long years since I witnessed the arrival of a Seem.”

  “Not since you yourself were born, yes?”

  “Oh, it would not be fair to say as much as that. It is a rare thing, though, isn’t it. Perhaps he shares the blood of Laula.”

  “Perhaps, but that is of no concern just now. I have come because I believe you may know something of a certain program. A certain woman’s role in it.”

  “Ah ha ha.” Aldeirel chuckled. “What do you want to know.”

  “Do the words ‘blue-eyed scum’ mean anything to you. As spoken by her.”

  “Perhaps. It may be that she is useful to the queen in an oblique way. In supporting the overall…environment…she needs in order to maintain her hold on the city’s elites. On their hearts and minds. Comfort, after all, goes a long way in enticing others to put up with bad behavior.”

  “The scum she speaks of?”

  “Watchers, I think.” Aldeirel turned hard eyes on Lord Aren then. “A wasted opportunity, if you ask me. If you know where they are, why have you not sought to use them. You have an entire supply of patsies at your disposal, don’t you? You might have cleaned house a long time ago.”

  “If I could gain their trust.” He said. “I must wonder how she succeeded.”

  “Oh, I doubt its anything as innocent at that. Gifts of the Blood are Five. Just that. You have been exposed to two of them just in this conversation. Then there are the Whisperers, who may be of some use against Watchers, but must inherently be unreliable for their ability to convince others of mistruths. Then there are Seers, but they have little bearing on the matter at hand. And last, Shields, who serve as a perfect counter to the Watcher’s gift.

  “If she was one of mine, I suppose I might have made use of her somewhere down the line.” He gestured airily, and smiled crookedly, his teeth clamping together, making the effort seem painful. “But then she is not, is she?”

  “This has been…enlightening.” Lord Aren said. “For your cooperation, I will see to it that you are compensated. A nice meal. Perhaps a wash.”

  “For all of your many faults, you were always fair.” Aldeirel acknowledged.

  He turned on his heels and marched away, a scheme half-formed in his head.