The Autumn Republic

Adamat whistled. “With good reason.” He’d heard of Knackeds like that. One of the most valuable Knacks in the world, and very rare. Adamat wanted to ask what the man was doing working for a police force in Adopest when he could be some king’s truthsayer and living like, well, a king. But that would have to wait.

“And you’re saying that Claremonte didn’t lie?”

“Not a word of it. Fudged a little bit when he said we could have access to all his employees, but that’s no surprise. A man like that has secrets. But he didn’t order Ricard killed.”

Adamat bid farewell to the commissioner and returned to his carriage, dropping into his seat with a sigh.

“Somethin’ important?” SouSmith asked.

“Claremonte isn’t our man.”

“Hmm.”

“My thought exactly. I don’t even bloody well know where to start if it’s not Claremonte.” The carriage was soon rolling, and Adamat slowly went through the list of Ricard’s known enemies in his head. “We’ll have to go see Ricard. I have to find out if Claremonte has as good a chance at winning as he seems to think. Maybe we’ll have a…” Adamat trailed off, a thought entering his mind.

“What?”

“We need to go to the library, too. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, but… Pit!”

SouSmith cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”

“I just figured out what was bothering me so much about that room. Claremonte was sitting in the window, with the morning sun at his back.”

“And?”

“And he didn’t cast a shadow.”

CHAPTER 28

Field Marshal Tamas!”

The voice echoed up the line and made Tamas’s shoulders tighten with recognition. He could hear the approaching rhythm of hoofbeats and the occasional curse of the infantrymen as a man rode up the lines too closely. A glance beside him showed Olem turned in his saddle-not, as some might think, to look toward the rider, but to see which soldiers he’d show the back of his hand later that night.

This was no time to tolerate any show of disrespect, even to Adro’s enemies.

“Good afternoon, Beon,” Tamas said as the rider came abreast of him.

“Field Marshal,” Beon said. The third in line for the Kez throne looked well. His wounds had healed nicely, thanks to the Deliv Privileged, and his cheeks were fuller now from weeks of inaction and enjoying Sulem’s hospitality. “I must speak with you.”

“It appears you already are,” Tamas commented. The wound in his side still itched despite Sulem’s healers and he imagined he could still feel the sharp pain deep in his flesh, though whether that was real or was due to the sting of an old friend’s betrayal, he did not know.

Beon had a boyish face despite being in his late twenties-the effects of cabal sorcery meant to keep the royal family looking young-and Tamas thought that the pale scars from the Battle at Kresimir’s Fingers helped make him look more serious. He removed his hat and mopped at his forehead. “In private, if possible.”

Tamas exchanged a look with Olem. The bodyguard gave a slight smirk.

“There’s not a lot of privacy on the march, Sir Prince,” Tamas said.

“This is a serious matter,” Beon insisted. “I have…”-he checked himself, glancing toward the nearby marching infantry, and lowered his voice-“I have learned that you sent away my father’s messengers. Without even hearing them!”

“Someone’s tongue has been wagging, Olem.”

“I’ll see to it, sir,” Olem said gravely.

Beon stiffened. “I don’t make use of spies, but I do have ears, sir! Your men talk to each other loudly and I need only but listen to find out what’s going on in the camp.”

“You disapprove? I find letting my men gossip is easier and more beneficial than the Kez way-silence enforced by fear. Keeps up the morale.”

“You evade my meaning.”

“The messengers? It’s true. I have nothing to say to them and nothing to hear from them. You know what your father did.”

“But did he do it?” Beon demanded. “Can you be certain?”

“I have the bodies of thirty-seven grenadiers in Kez uniforms, carrying Kez muskets, bayonets, swords, and powder. They have Kez coins in their purses and they wear boots made in the south of Kez. That’s fairly damning evidence.”

“I would agree, sir, but…”

“But what?” Tamas felt his ire returning. He respected Beon. He even liked him, as much as he could like a member of the Kez royal family. He was a talented cuirassier and had a sharp mind. Tamas had not thought him so naïve.

Beon plowed on before Tamas could continue. “But I don’t think my father would have done this. Why did they go west instead of south? If they were my father’s men, they would have bolted straight for the Kez lines after such a daring attack.”