Promise of Blood

“Tamas is spending too much on the army and too much on spies. This is wartime, however, so his expenditures are practical. He’s increased public rations higher than I would like, but that came about from a previous agreement of ours. A ferret could run this country better than Manhouch did. At least Tamas listens to my advice.”

Ondraus went on without prompting. “If Tamas were to die, the military leadership would not be up to the task of holding off the Kez. The Kez would conquer Adro, and Adopest would be taxed. The Kez have a long history of excessive tax on their colonies in Fatrasta and Gurla. We would be no different, and the city coffers would be even worse off than they were under Manhouch.”

Adamat considered, not for the first time, Ondraus’s singular position of power. If he wanted to thwart Tamas, he could be far more subtle than by having him killed. He could just tell Tamas there was no money to pay the army or feed the people. Tamas would have riots within a month and be completely undone within two.

What he’d said about Ricard bothered Adamat. Ricard may have been the head of the Warriors of Labor and received a great deal of money, but he was not wealthy in the way that people like Ondraus or Charlemund considered wealth. He was no king. The Kez had the money to make him one.

Adamat said, “Thank you for your time. I think I’m done here. I may return if I have further questions.”

The reeve turned back to his ledger without another word.

“I’ll show myself out,” Adamat said.

Nikslaus, whether he feared Tamas or not, was taking no chances. Tamas sat facing backward in the carriage. He wore wrist and ankle irons, both of them bolted to the floor by thick chains in the style of a prison wagon. A Warden sat next to Tamas, his twisted bulk pushing Tamas against the side of the wagon. Tamas’s skin crawled being so close to one of the creatures.

Despite the irons, the carriage was fit for a duke. Nikslaus sat opposite Tamas upon a velvet cushion, which left plenty of room for his legs. The wall covering and window hangings matched the cushion and did a little to muffle the sound from outside. The carriage had recently ceased its rocking motion and now moved upon a cobbled thoroughfare. From the sound of increasing traffic they were getting close to the city.

Nikslaus appeared deep in his own thoughts. His fingers danced in his lap, sheathed in white, runed Privileged’s gloves. Tamas wondered whether he was doing some sort of unseen sorcery, or simply passing the time. Tamas lifted a finger to the curtains and glanced outside. There was nothing of interest to see. At the sound of his chains jingling, Nikslaus glanced at him. He nodded to the Warden, who reached out and firmly moved Tamas’s hand from the window.

Tamas sighed. At least his vision had cleared. They’d left the farmhouse late in the afternoon the day before. Something had calmed Nikslaus and he seemed no longer worried they’d be caught. Tamas sent his senses inward, then probed out. He tried to open his third eye.

Powder mages were the only kind of sorcerer whose power could be disrupted like this. Tamas didn’t know how it had been discovered, or when, but gold in the bloodstream could render a powder mage’s power completely null. It even blocked their ability to see the Else. Removal of a Privileged’s hands at the wrist was said to keep them from manipulating the Else, but not from seeing it.

“I’m not a bad man,” Nikslaus said suddenly.

Tamas gave him a glance. The duke stared at him, a troubled look on his face.

“I don’t revel in your discomfort, or smile at the thought of your doom,” Nikslaus said.

Tamas said, “Such knowledge would not keep me from choking the life out of you, given the chance.”

Nikslaus gave him a distracted smile. “I’ll be glad not to give you such a chance.” He paused. “I was thinking, just now, what it would be like if I couldn’t use sorcery. If my hands were struck from me and my ability to touch the other side was gone. It was a harrowing thought.”

“You’ll not win any goodwill from me,” Tamas said.

“I simply want you to know,” Nikslaus responded, “that I don’t do any of this out of pleasure. I act on the whim of my king. I am but a servant.”

“Were you a servant when you delivered the head of my wife in a cedar box?” Tamas said. The sentence began calmly. By the time he finished it, he was snarling, his anger bared. It had come upon him like a rogue wave. His chains jingled and clanked. The Warden gave him a dangerous look.

Nikslaus calmed the Warden with a raised hand. “Yes,” he said. “I was a servant.”

“You enjoyed it,” Tamas said through gritted teeth. “Admit it.” Bitterness dripped from his voice. “You enjoyed ordering the headsman’s blade, you enjoyed bringing her head to me and seeing my sorrow, and you enjoy seeing me incapacitated now.”

Nikslaus seemed to think on this. “You’re right,” he finally said.

Tamas fell silent, shocked that Nikslaus would admit such a thing. It was beneath a duke.