Best Served Cold

“No better basis for an alliance than mutual loathing.” Cosca watched her contortions with an expression stuck between distrust and fascination. “It’s a brave new age, my friends. Time was you had to dig for months, hundreds of strides of mine, tons of wood for props, fill it up with straw and oil, set it on fire, run like merry hell, then half the time it wouldn’t even bring the walls down. This way, all you need do is sink a shaft deep enough, pack the sugar in, strike a spark and-”

“Boom,” sang Ishri, up on her toes and stretching to her fingertips.

“Ker-blow,” returned Cosca. “It’s how everyone’s conducting sieges these days, apparently, and who am I to ignore a trend…” He flicked dust from his velvet jacket. “Sesaria’s a genius at mining. He brought down the bell tower at Gancetta, you know. Somewhat before schedule, admittedly, and a few men did get caught in the collapse. Did I ever tell you-”

“If you bring the wall down?” asked Monza.

“Well, then our men pour through the breach, overwhelm the stunned defenders and the outer ward will be ours. From the gardens within we’ll have level ground to work with and room to bring our numbers to bear. Carrying the inner wall should be a routine matter of ladders, blood and greed. Then storm the palace and, you know, keep it traditional. I’ll get my plunder and you’ll get-”

“My revenge.” Monza narrowed her eyes at the jagged outline of the fortress. Orso was in there, somewhere. Only a few hundred strides away. Perhaps it was the night, the fire, the heady mixture of darkness and danger, but some of that old excitement was building in her now. That fierce fury she’d felt when she hobbled from the bone-thief’s crumbling house and into the rain. “How long until the mine’s ready?”

Friendly looked up from his dice. “Twenty-one days and six hours. At the rate they’re going.”

“A shame.” Ishri pushed out her bottom lip. “I so love fireworks. But I must go back to the South.”

“Tired of our company already?” asked Monza.

“My brother was killed.” Her black eyes showed no sign of emotion. “By a woman seeking vengeance.”

Monza frowned, not sure if she was being mocked or not. “Those bitches find a way of doing damage, don’t they?”

“But always to the wrong people. My brother is the lucky one, he is with God. Or so they tell me. It is the rest of my family that suffer. We must work the harder now.” She swung herself smoothly down onto the ladder, let her head fall sideways. Uncomfortably far, until it was resting on the top rung. “Try not to get yourselves killed. I do not intend that my hard work here be wasted.”

“Your wasted work will be my first concern when they cut my throat.” Nothing but silence. Ishri was gone.

“Looks like you’ve run out of brave men,” came Shivers’ croak.

Cosca sighed. “We didn’t have many to begin with.” The remnants of the assault were scrambling back down the rocky mountainside in the flickering light of the fires above. Monza could just make out the last ladder toppling down, perhaps a dot or two flailing as they fell from it. “But don’t worry. Sesaria’s still digging. Just a matter of time until Styria stands united.” He slid a metal flask from his inside pocket and unscrewed the cap. “Or until Orso sees sense, and offers me enough to change sides again.”

She didn’t laugh. Perhaps she wasn’t meant to. “Maybe you should try sticking to one side or the other.”

“Why ever would anyone do that?” Cosca raised his flask, took a sip and smacked his lips in satisfaction. “It’s a war. There is no right side.”

Preparation

R egardless of the nature of a great event, the key to success is always preparation. For three weeks, all Talins had been preparing for the coronation of Grand Duke Rogont. Meanwhile, Morveer had been preparing for an attempt to murder him and his allies. So much work had been put into both schemes that, now the day for their consummation had finally arrived, Morveer almost regretted that the success of one could only mean the spectacular failure of the other.

In all honesty, he had been having little success achieving even the smallest part of Duke Orso’s immensely ambitious commission to murder no fewer than six heads of state and a captain general. His abortive attempt on the life of Murcatto the day of her triumphant return to Talins, resulting in nothing more than at least one poisoned commoner and a sore back, had been but the first of several mishaps.