Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(99)

“If only we had bloodsworn horses,” Lyss said, shaking her head sadly, “and bloodsworn ships. We’d be unstoppable.”

Samara smiled thinly. “I understand that there are more of your countrymen on the way to join the bloodsworn. That should make you feel at home.” Having planted his daily thornbush, Samara heeled his horse and trotted away.

But even a thornbush grows a flower sometimes. And sometimes the loveliest flower has poison at its heart.

That afternoon, Lyss met with the empress on her pavilion by the sea. The empress’s current favorite, Tarek, was there, fanning her with a palm leaf and feeding her sugared grapes from a golden bowl. He was very young, extraordinarily handsome, and absolutely terrified.

“You should choose a lover, General,” Celestine said, licking sugar from her lips. “You are welcome to Tarek when I am finished with him.” She patted his cheek fondly.

Lyss’s cheeks heated. “No thank you, Your Eminence.”

“Would a girl suit you better?” The empress gestured toward a small group of maidservants sunning themselves on the cliffs nearby. “If none of them suit, we could go farther afield depending—”

“I’m . . . ah . . . really quite busy with . . . other things,” Lyss said.

“Too bad,” the empress said. “You’ve been working so hard, and I’ve been trying to think of a way to reward you.”

Lyss cleared her throat. “Your praise is all the reward I need, Empress.” And a promise that I won’t have to join your undead army.

“I think this will please you,” Celestine said. “You’ve been saying that you would like to have more officers to work with you in order to manage our numbers. Yet, as we’ve seen, the bloodsworn do not do well in a command position. So—I have a surprise for you.”

She clapped her hands, and her maidservant went into the palace, returning with a small group of battered-looking prisoners, most wearing bits and pieces of Highlander uniforms.

“These men claim that they were officers in your army, Captain,” the empress said, gesturing toward them. “Experienced at command of troops in the field. If you can persuade them to serve me without joining my bloodsworn, I will let them live.”

Lyss gave the candidates a look-over. Of the six, three were unknown to her. From the looks on their faces, however, she was not unknown to them. The question was, did they know her as Captain Gray or as the heir to the Gray Wolf throne?

The other three, she recognized. Demeter Farrow, a Waterwalker and lieutenant in her salvo; Munroe Graves—son of Lydia Byrne Graves—an artist turned artilleryman; and, finally, like a recurrent bad dream, Quill Bosley.

Bosley. He was definitely the sort to survive when so many other, more worthy soldiers had died. Lyss took a deep breath, then released it. Just when you think things can’t get any worse.

They’d all seen hard use, from the looks of them, Farrow in particular.

Celestine disentangled herself from Tarek and levered to her feet, “Wetlanders!” she said. “Welcome to Celesgarde. Your lives have been spared because you have been selected to join my army, under the command of General Gray. Do well, and you will be richly rewarded. Disappoint me, and you’ll find that there are other ways to serve.”

The others stood silently, their eyes shifting from Celestine to Lyss, but swiving Bosley instantly fell to one knee. “Empress,” he said, head bowed. “We will not disappoint you.”





40


MASQUERADE


“King’s Guard black might be your color,” Robert said, looking Hal up and down. “You would give any citizen of the empire the shivers.”

“If so, it’s more the uniform than the man,” Hal said, hoping he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. He buckled his belt, with its empty scabbard, hoping he’d be given a weapon to fill that scabbard before long. He attached the braid that said he was a private. Privates are a copper a pound—not worthy of notice. At least that was the hope.

That was about as much as he knew of the plan. Hal was the sort that wanted to know from the start what he was getting into and how he was going to get out.

You should’ve given up on that a long time ago, he thought.

The door banged open, startling the both of them. Hal expected Destin Karn, but instead it was Lila Barrowhill, this time clad in scribner blues. She shut the door behind her, strode over to them, and looked them up and down. “This,” she said, stabbing her forefinger into Robert’s lapel, “goes on the left side, not the right.” He stood there, speechless, while she unpinned a badge and repinned it on the other side.

“Who are you?” Robert managed.

“My name’s not important.” She turned to look at Hal. “Yours is correct,” she said. “Quit gaping.”

“Is it just my imagination, or do you work for everyone?” Hal said.

“That’s me—everybody’s girl. Do you have your masks? Good. If there’s anything you want to bring with you, get it now, because you won’t be back.”

That, at least, is good news, Hal thought.

Lila tossed Hal a large cloth sack. “Put all your clothes in here and give them to me. You’ll want them later, when you stop being a blackbird. And hurry. It’s important that I get you two into position before we get this party started. We can’t risk your running into people who might recognize you without your masks.”