Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(195)

“We should go,” Bluefingers said urgently.

Treledees was quiet. Then he walked over to one of the fallen soldiers and picked up the man’s sword. “Very well,” he said. “Gendren, take half of the soldiers and go with Bluefingers. Take His Majesty to safety.” He looked at Bluefingers. “Seek the docks, if you can.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Bluefingers said, looking relieved. The priests released the God King, and he rushed to Siri, taking her in his arms. She held him, tense, trying to sort through her emotions.

Bluefingers. Going with him made sense—the look in his eyes indicated that he had a plan to save her and the God King, get them away from the priests. And yet . . . something felt wrong to her.

One of the priests gathered three of the soldiers and then moved to the far side of the room, peeking out. They waved to Siri and the God King. The other priests joined Treledees, taking weapons from the dead guards, their expressions grim.

Bluefingers pulled on Siri’s arm. “Come, my queen,” he whispered. “I made you a promise before. Let’s get you out of this mess.”

“What about the priests?” she asked.

Treledees glanced at her. “Foolish girl. Go! The attackers are moving in this direction. We will let them see us, then we will lead them in another direction. They will assume we know where the God King is.” The priests with him did not look hopeful. If—when—they were caught, they would be slaughtered.

“Come on!” Bluefingers hissed.

Susebron looked at her, frightened. She slowly let Bluefingers tug her and the God King to the side, to where the solitary priest and three soldiers had been joined by a group of servants in brown. Something whispered in her mind. Something . . . Lightsong had told her.

Don’t make too many waves until you’re ready to strike, he had said. Sudden and surprising, that’s how you want to do things. You don’t want to appear nonthreatening—people are always suspicious of the innocent. The trick is to appear average.

Average.

It was good advice. Advice that, likely, others knew. And understood. She glanced at Bluefingers, walking beside her, urging her forward. Nervous, as always.

The fighting, she thought. Several groups have been contending back and forth, seizing control of my room. One force belongs to the priests. The second force—the one with the Lifeless—belongs to someone else. This mysterious third party.

Someone in T’Telir had been pushing the kingdom toward war. But who would have anything at all to gain from such a disaster? Hallandren, which would expend huge resources to quell rebels, fighting a battle that they would win—but likely at great cost? It didn’t make sense.

Who would gain the most if Hallandren and Idris went to war?

“Wait!” Siri said, stopping. Things were suddenly falling into place.

“Vessel?” Bluefingers asked. Susebron laid a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with confusion. Why would the priests sacrifice themselves if they were planning to kill Susebron? Why would they simply let us go, allow us to flee, if the God King’s safety were not their prime concern?

She looked into Bluefingers’s eyes, and saw him grow more nervous. His face paled, and she knew. “How does it feel, Bluefingers?” she asked. “You’re from Pahn Kahl, yet everyone always just assumes that your people are Hallandren. The Pahn Kahl people were here first, in this land, but it was taken from you. Now you’re just another province, part of the kingdom of your conquerors.

“You want to be free, but your people have no military of their own. And so here you are. Unable to fight. Unable to free yourselves. Considered second-class. And yet, if your oppressors were to get into a war, it might give you an opening. A chance to break away . . .”

He met her eyes, then took off in a dash, fleeing from the room.

“What in the name of the colors?” Treledees said.

Siri ignored him, looking up into the God King’s face. “You were right all along,” she said. “We should have trusted your priests.”

“Vessel?” Treledees said, stalking over.

“We can’t go that way,” Siri said. “Bluefingers was leading us into a trap.”

The high priest opened his mouth to respond, but she met his eyes sternly and turned her hair the deep red of anger. Bluefingers had betrayed her. The one person she’d thought she could trust to help them.

“We go for the front gates, then,” Treledees said, looking over their motley collection of priests and wounded soldiers. “And try to fight our way out.”
* * *

IT WAS EASY for Vivenna to find the location the beggar had mentioned. The building—a slum tenement—was surrounded by gawkers, despite the morning hour. People whispered, talking about spirits and death and ghosts from the sea. Vivenna stopped at the perimeter, trying to see what had drawn their attention.

The docks were to her left, the sea brine pungent. The dock slums, where many of the dockhands lived and drank, were a small section of buildings clustered between ware houses and shipyards. Why would Vasher have come here? He had been planning to visit the Court of Gods. From what she could gather, there had been a murder in the building where the crowd had formed. People whispered of ghosts and of Kalad’s Phantoms, but Vivenna simply shook her head. This wasn’t what she was looking for. She’d have to—