Promise of Blood

“When you put it that way… I did enjoy it, and I still do,” Nikslaus said. “But not for the reasons you think. This isn’t personal. Powder mages are a stain. A black blot on sorcery. I don’t take relish in another person’s suffering. I take pride in seeing a powder mage struck down, as I did when Ipille ordered the death of your wife.”

“It makes you no less a beast,” Tamas said. He glanced sideways at the Warden. “No less a beast than the ones who made this.”

Nikslaus’s eyes narrowed. “Says the powder mage. Your kind are more monstrous than Wardens by far.” He looked at the ceiling. “I’ll never understand the minds of such as you, Tamas. We’ve both got our prejudices, I suppose.” He snorted. “Had you been born a Privileged, you would have made a formidable ally.”

“Or opponent,” Tamas said.

“No,” Nikslaus said. “Not an opponent. Our antagonism toward one another is based solely upon your being a powder mage.”

“I’m Adran,” Tamas said quietly. “You’re Kez.”

“And the Adran Cabal would have been enfolded into the Kez Cabal, had the Accords been signed. As they should have been.”

“Does Ipille really expect to rule Adro?”

Nikslaus blinked at Tamas. “Of course.”

Tamas could see in Nikslaus’s eyes that there was no doubt there. What arrogance.

“I’ve wondered,” Nikslaus said, “ever since news came of your coup, what finally did it? Is it simply revenge? Or do you honestly think you have the best interests of Adro at heart?”

“Do you honestly think it is in Adro’s best interest to bow to Kez?” Tamas countered. “No, don’t answer. I can see it in your face. You’re as blind a nobleman and monarchal stooge as any of those that I sent to the guillotine. Do you not read the papers? Do you not hear of uprisings in Gurla? I know you felt the sting of rebellion when Fatrasta rose up and threw your armies out.”

“Fools, all of them,” Nikslaus said.

Tamas persisted. “The world is changing. People do not exist to serve their governments or their kings. Governments exist to serve the people, so the people should have a say in those governments.”

Nikslaus scoffed. “Impossible. Decisions should not be left to the rabble.”

“One people should not be ruled by another,” Tamas said.

Nikslaus steepled his fingers. The gesture was often one of significance when a Privileged was involved—especially when he wore his gloves. “You’re either playing me, or you’re a naïve fool. You served in Gurla, in Fatrasta, and half a dozen other savage countries where members of the Nine have claimed land. As did I. The peasants and savages need to be tamed. As Adro and the powder mages need to be tamed.”

“We learned two different things from our experiences, you and I,” Tamas said.

Nikslaus wore a look that said he wasn’t that interested in hearing what Tamas learned.

“Who betrayed me?” Tamas asked. He had answers of his own to find.

Nikslaus gave him a glance. “Do you think I’d risk telling you?” He shook his head. “No. Perhaps when the guillotine blade is about to fall, I’ll whisper it in your ear. Not a moment before that.”

Tamas opened his mouth, about to taunt Nikslaus with the knowledge that Brigadier Barat was a traitor. He stopped himself. Was Nikslaus really worried he’d escape? Did he really think Tamas had a chance? Tamas was bereft of his abilities, his leg unusable. How could he possibly escape?

Nikslaus shifted in his seat. He moved the curtain enough to look out, then sat back, an annoyed look on his face.

“Are we being followed?” Tamas asked, his voice as casual as he could make it.

“You know,” Nikslaus said, ignoring Tamas’s question and glancing out the window again, “many in the royal court are happy about your coup.”

“I’m sure,” Tamas said. “If you take Adro, you’ll split the land we confiscated from the nobility.”

“Confiscated?” Nikslaus said. “Stole. Land and possessions will return to any living relations of the nobility. Titles will be restored. There will be a tax, but a hand of brotherhood must be extended to the ravished nobility.”

“So Ipille is not as big a fool as I thought,” Tamas said. “Nor greedy.”

Nikslaus looked for a moment as if he’d strike Tamas. He seemed to think better of it, simply raising his nose. “What mistake of breeding gave you such disrespect for your betters? Such disdain for the God-chosen king?”

“A god didn’t choose Ipille,” Tamas snorted. “Or that god is a fool.”

“I draw the line at blasphemy,” Nikslaus said. “This conversation is over.”

The day drew on, morning giving way to afternoon and the carriage grew very warm. Tamas loosened the collar on his sweat-stained riding shirt. His riding coat had been discarded for an inconspicuous brown overcoat. It was hot and close in the tight quarters, and he wished Nikslaus would open the window. The Privileged and the Warden alike seemed unaffected.

He could tell when they crossed the canal. The bridge was stone on steel over a long, tall span, and the wagon wheels rolled over easily. They were getting close to the harbor. He could smell it.