Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Rather than wait for Sister Armina to direct her, Nicci started up the ramp. She had surveyed the encampment from up on the observation platform in the palace and knew how it was laid out. She knew where to find the command tents. She would have no trouble making her way to Jagang's tent. Since Jagang was probably watching Nicci through Sister Armina's eyes, the woman did not object to Nicci striking out on her own.

There was no use being dragged kicking and screaming to the emperor's feet. It wouldn't change anything. She might as well go to her fate under her own power and with her head held high.

More than that, though, Nicci wanted Jagang to see her in the same way as he had always seen her. She wanted him to see what he knew, see her as the same, even if she wasn't. Even if he suspected she might be somehow different, she wanted to present him with the familiar.

In the past her safety had been in her indifference to what he might do to her. That indifference gave Jagang pause. It infuriated him, it frustrated him, and it fascinated him. She had been someone who had fought on his side, fought for his goals, and yet she had been someone he could have only by force.

Even if she didn't have command of her power, she did have command of her mind, and it was her mind that was her true power-that was what Richard had taught her. With or without her gift, she could still be indifferent to what Jagang might do to her. That indifference gave her power.

Once up and out of the pit and past the heavily armed perimeter guards, she began encountering row upon row of workers hauling dirt and rock from other pits. Hundreds of mules, pulling every sort of wagon, plodded along in long lines through the darkness. Torches showed the rows of men the way to the ramp. The men, the average soldiers in the Imperial Order, the young, the strong, the pride of the Old World, had become common laborers. Not exactly the glory for which they had gone off to fight.

Nicci paid the activity little heed. It no longer mattered to her what they were doing with the ramp-the ramp was only a diversion. She felt sick at the thought of the brutes spread out in the camp getting up inside the palace.

She had to think of a way to stop them.

For a brief moment the very thought of her stopping them struck her as absurd. What was she going to do to stop them? She stiffened her resolve, along with her back. She would fight them with her last breath if need be.

Sisters Armina and Julia both trailed behind as Nicci marched through all the activity of the camp. Sister Armina would only make herself look silly if she pushed her way out front, now. By taking the lead, Nicci had already retaken her place as the Slave Queen.

Old patterns were hard to break. Now that they were entering the camp, neither Sister wished to challenge what Nicci was doing, at least not for the moment. She was, after all, stalking off toward where they would have taken her anyway. They would have no way of knowing for sure if Jagang was in her mind or not. They knew, the same as the soldiers knew, that she was Jagang's woman. That gave her unspoken rank over them. Even back at the Palace of the Prophets, she had always been a mystery to them. They had always been resentful and jealous of her-which meant that they feared her.

For all they knew, it was possible that the emperor had merely sent them to bring his stubborn and defiant queen back to him. Jagang, no doubt watching Nicci through their eyes, seemed to be making no effort to change that perception in their minds. It could even be that Jagang really did look at it that way, that he really did think that he could have her back.

She noticed but didn't acknowledge the large contingent of guards who had formed up into a train behind her. A queen did not acknowledge her attendants. They were beneath her. Fortunately, they couldn't hear her heart hammering.

As they entered the camp proper, where the regular soldiers had set up their tents in squalid clusters, men stood mute, looking like beggars watching a royal procession passing before them. Others rushed up from the darkness to see what was happening. Hushed whispers passed through the crowd; Death's Mistress had at long last returned.

To many of these men, even though they feared her, she was a heroine of the Order, a powerful weapon for their side. They had seen her rain down death on those who opposed the teachings of the Fellowship of Order.