Queen of Candesce (21 page)

Her own appearance must confirm that. She wore a high-collared black leather coat over a scarlet blouse, with her bleached shock of hair standing straight up and silver trefoil-shaped bangles the size of her hand hanging from her ears. Her makeup was dark—she'd redrawn her brows as two obsessively black lines. Trailing behind her in a V-formation like a flock of grim birds were two dozen people, all similarly startling to look upon. Some appeared pale and unsteady, their faces and exposed hands bearing bruises and burn marks. Others attended these souls, and marching behind like giant tin toys were soldiers of Liris and various preservationist factions. Venera knew that Bryce's people peppered the crowds, there to listen and give an alert if necessary.

“Do you think Jacoby Sarto brings his gun to council meetings?” she asked offhandedly. Corinne, who was walking beside her, guffawed.

“Here,” she said, handing Venera a large black pistol, “try to take this in and see what happens. No, seriously. If they don't stop you, then he's probably got one too. You may need to get the drop on him.”

“I can do that.” She took the pistol and slipped it into her jacket, which promptly dragged down her right collar. She transferred it to the back of her belt.

“Not
too
obvious,” said Corinne doubtfully.

A preservationist runner puffed to a stop next to her and saluted. “They're on the move, ma'am. Five groups of a hundred or more each were just seen exiting the grounds of Sacrus. They're in no-man's-land now but they have nowhere to go except through their neighbors. Of course, they own most of those estates…”

“What have they got?” she asked. “Artillery?”

He nodded. “We're moving to secure the elevator cables, but they're doing the same thing,” he continued. “There's been no shots fired yet…”

“All right.” She dismissed the details with a wave of her hand. “Let me see what we can do in council. We'll talk after that.” He nodded and backed off.

The big front doors of the building were for council members only. The ceremonial guards there, with their plumed helmets and giant muskets, raised their palms solemnly to exclude the people following Venera. She turned and gestured with her chin for them to go around the side; she'd been told there was a second, more-traveled entrance there for diplomats, attachés, and other functionaries. She strode alone into the frescoed portico that half-circled the chamber itself.

The bronze council chamber doors were open and a small crowd was milling there. She recognized the other members; they were just filing in.

Jacoby Sarto was talking to Pamela Anseratte. He looked relaxed. She looked tense. He spotted Venera and, surprisingly, smiled.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, strolling over to her. Venera glanced around to see what other people—or pillars or statues to hide behind—were nearby, and started to reach for the pistol. But Sarto simply took her arm and led her a bit to the side of the group.

“The preservationists and lesser countries are following you right now,” he said. “But I can't see that continuing, can you? The only leverage you've got is the name of Buridan.”

She extricated her arm and smiled back at him. “Well, that depends on the outcome of this meeting, I should think,” she said. He nodded affably.

“I'm here to engineer a crisis,” he said. “How about you?”

“I should have thought we were already in a crisis,” she said cautiously. “Your troops are on the move.”

“And we've seized the docks,” he said. “But that may not be enough to serve either of our interests.” She tried to read his expression, but Sarto was a master politician. He gave no sign that Spyre was balanced on the edge of its greatest crisis in centuries.

“Our interests aren't the same,” he continued, “but they're surprisingly…compatible. You're after power, but not so much power as you'd have to have if you used the key again. It's difficult—you possess the ultimate weapon but no way to use it to get what you want. But the blunt fact is that as long as we hold the docks, the little trinket you stole from us last night is even worse than useless to you,” he said. “It's an active liability.”

She stared at him.

Apparently oblivious to her expression, Sarto continued as though he were discussing the budget for municipal plumbing contracts. “On the other hand, the polarization of allegiance you're generating is useful to us. I've been impressed, Ms. Fanning, by your abilities—last night's raid came as a complete surprise, advantageous as it's turned out to be. You got what you wanted, we get what we want, which is to flush out our enemies. The only matter of dispute between us, privately, is that ivory wand you took.”

“You want it back?”

He nodded.

“Go fuck yourself!” She started to stalk toward the giant doorway but couldn't resist turning and saying, “You tortured my man Garth! You think this is a game?”

“The only way to win,” he said so quietly that the others couldn't hear, “is to treat it as one.” Now his expression was serious, his gray eyes cold as a statue's.

It was suddenly clear to Venera that Sacrus already knew what she had been planning to say and do here today—and they approved. She made an excellent enemy for them to rally their own forces around. If they had needed an excuse to extend martial law over their neighbors, she had provided it. If civil war came, they would have their justification for marshaling the ancient Spyre fleet. The civil war would provide a nice smokescreen behind which they could seize Candesce. It wouldn't matter then whether they won or lost back home.

She had given them the enemy they needed. Sarto's candid admission of the fact was a clear overture from him.

Venera hesitated. Then, deliberately clamping down on her anger, she walked back to him. They were now the only council members remaining in the hall. The others had taken their seats, and she saw one or two craning their necks to watch their confrontation.

“What do I get if I return the key?” she asked.

He smiled again. “What you want. Power. For the rest, take your satisfaction by attacking us. We know you'll be sincere. We're counting on it. Only return the key, and at the end of the war you'll get everything you want. You know we can deliver.” He held out his hand, palm up.

She laughed lightly, though she felt sick. “I don't have it with me,” she said. “And besides, I have no reason to trust you. None at all.”

Now Sarto looked annoyed. “We thought you'd say that. You need a guarantee, a token of our sincerity. My masters have…instructed me…to provide you with one.”

She laughed bitterly. “What could you possibly give me that would convince me you were sincere?”

His expression darkened even further; for the first time he looked genuinely angry. Sarto spoke a single word. Venera gaped at him in undisguised astonishment, then laughed again. It was the bray of disdain she reserved for putting people down, and she was sure Sarto knew it.

However, he merely bowed slightly and turned to indicate that she should precede him into the chamber. The doors were wide, and so they entered side by side. As they did so Venera caught sight of Sarto's expression and was amazed. In a few seconds he had undergone a gruesome transformation from the merely dark expression he'd displayed outside to a mask of twisted fury. By the time they split up halfway across the polished marble floor he looked like he was ready to murder someone. Venera kept her own expression neutral, her eyes straight ahead of her as she climbed the red-carpeted steps to the long disused seat of Buridan.

The council members had been chatting, but one by one they fell silent and stared. Several of those were gazes of surprise; although they were masked, the ministers from Oxorn and Garrat were leaning forward in their seats as if unsure whether to run or dive under their chairs. August Virilio's usual expression of polite disdain was gone, in its place a brooding anger that seemed transplanted from an entirely different man.

Pamela Anseratte stood as soon as they were seated, and banged her gavel on a little table. “We were supposed to be gathering today to discuss the change of stewardship of the Spyre docks,” she began. “But obviously—”

“
She has started a war!
”

Jacoby Sarto was on his feet before the echoes of his voice died out—and so were the rest of the ministers. For a long moment everyone was talking at once while Anseratte pounded her gavel ineffectually. Then Sarto held up one hand in a magisterial gesture. He gravely hoisted a stack of papers over his head. “I hold the signed declarations in my hand,” he rumbled. “This is nothing less than the start of that civil conflict we have all been dreading—an unprovoked, vicious attack in the heartland of Sacrus itself—”

“To rescue those people
you
kidnapped,” Venera said. She remained obstinately in her seat. “Citizens of sovereign states, abducted from their homes by agents of Sacrus.”

“Impudence!” roared Sarto. Half the members were still on their feet; in the pillared gallery that opened up behind the council pew, the coteries of ministers, secretaries, courtiers, and generals that each council member held in reserve were glaring at one another and at her. Several clenched the pommels of half-drawn swords.

“I have a partial list of names,” continued Venera, “of those we rescued from Sacrus's dungeon last night. They include,” she shouted to drown out hecklers from the gallery, “citizens of every nation represented on this council, including Buridan. The council will not deny that I had every right to seek the repatriation of my own kinsman?” She looked around, locking eyes with the unmasked members.

Principe Guinevera's jowls quivered as he thunked solidly into his seat. “You're not going to claim that Sacrus stole one of my citizens? Surely—” He stopped as he saw her scan the list and then hold up her hand.

“Her name is Melissa Ferania,” said Venera.

“Ferania, Ferania…I know that name…” Guinevera's brows knit. “It was a suicide. They never found a body.”

Venera smiled. “Well, you'll find her right now if you turn your head.” She gestured to the gallery.

The whole council craned their necks to look. People had been filing into the Buridan section of the gallery for several minutes; in the ruckus nobody on the council had noticed.

On cue, Melissa Ferania stood up and bowed to Guinevera.

“Oh my dear, my dear child,” he said, tears starting at the corners of his eyes.

“I have more names,” said Venera, eyeing Jacoby Sarto. Everyone else was staring into the gallery and he took the opportunity to meet her eye and nod slightly.

Venera felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

She had stage-managed this confrontation for maximum effect, calling for volunteers from the recently rescued to attend the scheduled council meeting with her. Garth alone had refused to come; pale and still refusing to talk about his experience in the tower, he had remained outside in the street. But there were prisoners from Liris here as well as half a dozen other minor nations. As her trump card, she had brought people taken from the great nations of the council itself.

Sarto seemed more than unfazed at this tactic. He seemed
satisfied.

She realized that a black silence had descended on the chamber. Everyone was looking at her. Clearing her throat, she said—her own words sounding distant to herself—“I move for immediate censure of Sacrus and the suspension of its rights on the council of Spyre. Pending, uh…pending a thorough investigation of their recent activities.”

For once, Pamela Anseratte looked out of her depth. “Ah…what?” She pulled her gaze back from the gallery.

August Virilio laughed. “She wants us to expel Sacrus. A marvelous idea if I do say so myself—however impractical it may be.”

Venera rallied herself. She shrugged. “Gain a seat, lose a seat…besides,” she said more loudly, “it's a matter of justice.”

Virilio toyed with a pen. “Maybe. Maybe—but Buridan forgot its own declaration of war before it invaded Sacrus. That nullifies your moral high ground, my dear.”

“It doesn't nullify
them.
” She swept her arm to indicate the people behind her.

“Yes, marvelous grandstanding,” said Virilio drily. “No doubt the majority of our council members are properly shocked at your revelation. Yet we must deal with practicalities. Sacrus is too important to Spyre to be turfed off the council for these misdemeanors, however serious they may seem. In fact, Jacoby Sarto was just now leveling some serious charges against
you.
”

There was more shouting and hand waving—and yet, for a few moments, it seemed to Venera as though she were alone in the room with Jacoby Sarto. She looked to him, and he met her gaze. All expression had drained from his face.

When he opened his mouth again it would be to reveal her true identity to these people: he would name her as Venera Fanning and the sound of her name would act like a vast hand, toppling the whole edifice she had built. Though most of her allies knew or suspected she was an imposter, it had been neither polite nor expedient for them to admit it. If forced to admit what they already knew, however, they would find her the perfect person to blame for the impending war. All her allies would desert her, or if they didn't at least they would cease listening to her. Sarto had the power to cast her out, have her imprisoned…if she didn't counter with her own bombshell.

This was the great gamble she had known she would have to take if she came here today. She had rehearsed it in her mind over and over: Sarto would reveal that she was the notorious Venera Fanning, who was implicated in dastardly scandals in the principalities. Opinion would turn against her and so, in turn, she would have to tell the people of Spyre another great secret. She would reveal the existence of the key to Candesce and declare that it was the cause of the coming war—a war engineered by Sacrus for its own convenience.