The Autumn Republic

“Yes, yes.”

“Then you haven’t lost everything. Who is Darilo?”

“My bartender. Poor man. I sent him into my office to grab a coat for Cheris, and then…” He stared absently at the wall of his warehouse. “He’s been with me for over a decade. I went to his wedding. I had to send word to his wife. I’ll go see her myself tomorrow.” He finally looked over at Adamat. “Only fourteen people were killed in the explosion and it’s a bloody miracle. There were nearly two hundred of us in there for a party. The heads of the goldsmiths’ and millers’ unions are dead. The head of the street cleaners’ union is having his leg amputated as we speak. I’ve lost half of my hearing. Cheris was hit in the shoulder by flying debris. It’s just…” He trailed off.

“You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

“But the campaign…”

“You’ll recover.”

Ricard met Adamat’s eyes for the first time and Adamat realized that Ricard was still in shock. “Several of my friends were in there. Relationships. Money. Time. Resources. All of them lost because of some damn bomb. Who the bloody pit would have done this?”

Claremonte seemed the likely answer, of course. Ricard’s competition in the campaign for First Minister was not a man to trifle with. He would not hesitate to kill hundreds, maybe thousands, to reach his goals. Adamat knew from firsthand dealing with his lackey, Lord Vetas.

“The police will find out.”

Ricard suddenly took Adamat by the collar. “I want you to find out. Bloody police. They won’t get anything done.”

“Shh!” Adamat tried making a significant glance toward the police commissioner, who was standing a dozen feet away. Ricard was talking very loudly.

“Don’t shush me! I’ll pay you anything, Adamat. Just find out who did this!”

“Calm down, Ricard. I’ll help. Of course I will.” It wasn’t even a choice. Ricard had helped him and Faye with so much over the years. And now, against his will, Adamat was being dragged back into the fray.

CHAPTER 26

Taniel and his group of Riflejacks and powder mages entered the Black Tar Forest under the cover of darkness the next evening. Wary of ambushes, they pressed on along the road with two men out front at all times, ready to spring any traps.

Taniel felt a pressure in the depth of his chest that urged him forward. They had not yet come across a small, broken, freckled body left to rot alongside the road. Ka-poel might still be alive. She had to be. Otherwise they would have killed her during their raid on the Adran camp and been done with the whole affair. They must need her alive, and that prospect scared him almost as much as finding her dead.

When he caught these Kez dogs, he would put a bullet through every last Privileged’s brains. He would garrote the grenadiers with their own bootlaces. The rage pushed him onward, while a voice in the back of his head warned that he was pushing too hard.

He ignored it. What if the Privileged couldn’t kill her? Perhaps she shielded herself with the same sorcery that she used to shield him, and they would be forced to keep her prisoner until they managed to unwind her wards.

She was not impervious to pain. What kind of tortures would they inflict on her?

He had to get her back.

“Taniel!”

Vlora’s voice snapped through his thoughts like the sting of a wasp.

“What is it?”

“We have to stop.”

“Already?” He blinked moisture into his eyes, dry from staring into the wind as they rode. “Gavril, call the halt. We’ll rotate men.” It was their practice these last two days to ride with the two far ahead watching for traps, and to rotate those two every hour. Gavril put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, calling the vanguard back toward them.

“No,” Vlora said, drawing her horse closer and lowering her voice. “We have to stop for the night. It’s a miracle none of the horses have fallen in the dark. The men are exhausted.”

“Dark? There’s still plenty of light to see.”

Gavril said a few words to the men and brought his horse stepping toward them. “You’re running a damned powder trance,” he said. “And you’ve been running it too long. Can’t tell the night from the day.”

“What are you talking about?” Taniel rubbed his eyes and for the first time felt the tension in his shoulders, the ache in his legs. Perhaps it was past dark. “The sun must have just gone down.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Vlora said softly.

There was concern in her eyes, and it made Taniel angry. Why did she care? He thought to tell her off and keep the men moving, but a glance around the group found them all bleary-eyed and stiff. “We’ll camp here,” he said. “Norrine and Flerrier, take first watch. I’ll take second. Vlora and Doll, you take third. We move again at dawn.” He dismounted, putting his horse between him and Vlora, glad to hear her trot off. He’d assigned only powder mages to watch, a technique he’d learned from his father for smaller missions. Though the mages were ranking officers, they needed less sleep than the regular soldiers.