The False Martyr (124 page)

Vontel did not bother to
bring himself from the padded chair that held him even as Ipid
rounded the table and offered his hand. Only then did Ipid see how
old and tired and crumpled the ambassador seemed. All the pomp and
playfulness seemed to have left him. His eyes were downcast and
tired, posture deflated, face slack and joyless. “A brandy would be
most welcome,” he answered as if to a barkeep rather than a
sovereign. “Large and strong,” he said to the footman who was
pouring from a decanter into a cut-crystal snifter.

“
Thank you for seeing me,
Lord Chancellor.” He caught Ipid hand in a weak, clammy embrace
then turned to Eia. “My lady, I’ve come to beg your assistance in
returning to Sal Danar.” His eyes remained on her, but the
flirtation was gone, replace by wariness bordering on fear. The
brandy arrived as Ipid was walking around to the far side of the
table. The ambassador downed it in a series of gulps and handed it
back to the footman. “Another.”

“
Returning?” Ipid asked
and waved off the footman’s offer of a glass. He remained standing
at the head of the table, watching the interaction, expecting their
previous play, waiting for it. Eia curled herself into one of the
big chairs, knees pulled to her chest, long dress flowing off the
end of the chair, pale-blue silk held together by the slim white
bands of her arms. She smirked at the ambassador but said nothing
as his anxiety grew.

“
They’re dead,” he blurted
out of nowhere, voice breaking.

“
Who?” Ipid glanced at
Eia. Her cat’s grin had not changed. The footman delivered the
ambassador’s second glass with wide eyes, and Ipid motioned him
decisively from the room.

“
All of them,” Vontel
moaned, losing his composure for the first time Ipid had seen.
“Stully found them. He killed them all. The butler, the cooks, the
stable master, the order advisor. But not just them. My entire
network. My messengers, my street men, my tavern girls.”

Ipid could not grasp what
the near hysterical ambassador was talking about. “What . . . what
are you talking about? Who’s dead?”

“
Everyone! All of them!
They’re all dead!” Vontel’s voice rose again. He wiped his nose and
eyes with a silk cloth and looked at Ipid beseeching. “I received
the list last night with the names of every person in my
confidence.” He took a deep steadying breath. “Each name had a red
X on it. I knew immediately what it meant, but it took most of the
day to squeeze enough information from the watch to confirm it.” He
threw his hands up, eyes wide and wild, rant continuing with rising
fanaticism. “There have been so many murders over the last week
that they were barely registered, but these were my people, my
people.”

He brought his eyes to
Ipid, saw the shock, and laughed. “You don’t know how bad things
have gotten, do you? Well, there are countless murders every night.
That idiot, Tyne, thinks they are fights over food. He’s doing
everything he can to keep it from you, but then he’s the only one
who doesn’t know how this ends, isn’t he?” The ambassador laughed,
but it was a dark chuckle that made Ipid’s skin crawl. “You
probably don’t even care that it’s Stully, that he’s in the city,
that he’s gone completely crazy, that he’s eliminating anyone not
under his control, that he’s purging the city in preparation for
his return. Look at you. Sitting here in your manor, fucking your
Exile whore, oblivious as the world falls apart around
you.”

“
Watch yourself!” Ipid
sprung from his chair and pounded his hand on the table.

Eia caught him with her
hand on his chest and guided him back to his seat. “Do not forget
yourself, Ambassador. You will upset not only him, but
me.”

“
I . . . I am sorry,” the
ambassador mumbled, anger turning to real fright, eyes never
leaving Eia. “I . . . I allowed my emotions to get ahead of my
mouth. I . . . I beg your forgiveness.”

“
Granted,” Eia proclaimed
like a magnanimous emperor. She waved off the insult then sat back
in her chair. “So someone had killed your informants?”

“
Stully!” Vontel wailed.
“Not someone. Stully. He blames me for what happened to his son, so
he’s getting his revenge. He killed them. I don’t know how, but I
am surely next. I have to leave. I must return to the
Empire.”

Ipid was just getting over
the insult and considering the other part of Vontel’s rant. Captain
Tyne’s well-honed sense of self-preservation had likely kept him
from hearing about the violence in the city, but as much as he
wished it were not the case, the news was almost welcome. It meant
that Stully was tying up loose strings before making his move, that
he was here and almost ready.
He’s
careful
, Ipid reminded himself.
He doesn’t do anything unless every variable is
accounted for, unless he’s guaranteed to succeed.

“
How did he know?” Ipid
asked, wanting only to understand what he was facing. Even Allard
Stully could not have infiltrated a network as vast as Vontel’s
without help. And to have killed so many so quickly? Even with the
city watch at a fraction of its strength, it would require a vast
network of enforcers. It didn’t add up. There was a traitor about,
and if he could take down Vontel so decisively, what role would he
(or she) play when it was Ipid’s time to go.

“
I have no idea! I’m not
an amateur, you know. We didn’t have meetings. We didn’t
communicate directly. Only a very few even knew each other. It is
almost impossible that he could have found them all. A few,
certainly. In his own household, in a few of his closest allies.
But the street and tavern people? How could he have
known?”

“
Someone knew them all,”
Eia offered. She sat forward and placed a cool hand on Ipid’s
forearm to keep his questions on his lips.

Vontel stopped. He looked
at her meaningfully, face flushing white. “Only . . . . But I trust
him absolutely.”

“
You already knew,” Eia
said as if fact. “You knew the moment you got the list. There is no
traitor, no spy, no conspiracy. You and I both know what this is. I
sensed it the first time I met him. He’s been wanting to turn on
you for years.”

Vontel’s jaw hung slack.
His body lost all form. The blood ran entirely from his face so
that he looked like a ghost who’d just learned of his earthly
demise. “He was my son,” he said in a whisper. “His mother was a
whore, but he was mine. And now . . . .” He stopped and looked at
Eia. “How could you . . . ?”

“
How could I? How could
you?” Eia snapped. “You stupid fool! You whored out your son, used
the fact that the counselors here condemn men like him to entrap
his lovers. Every relationship he ever had was ruined by you, was
twisted for your gain. Every lover he had ended up hating him
because of you. Did you think he had no emotions, no feelings for
those he was with?” She paused but there was no answer. “He hated
you. He wanted nothing more than to be away from you, but he was
afraid you’d do the same thing to him, that you would destroy him
just as you threatened to do to his lovers, that you would ruin
your own son.”

Vontel froze. Ipid held
his breath, eyes bouncing between Eia and the ambassador. He was
afraid she had gone too far, that Vontel was going to
snap.

He broke instead. “You are
right!” A tear rolled down his round cheek. He caught it with a
handkerchief. “I did it to myself. There is no one to blame but me.
I am the fool. I am of no use to you, so please, send me
home.”

“
But what about Stully?”
Ipid asked as if the ambassador might disappear simply by saying
it. “When is he going to strike?”

“
Have you not been
listening?” Vontel bellowed. “I don’t know anything. He destroyed
me, everything I have built for years. To move so decisively, he
has to have known for weeks. He has probably been feeding me lies
since the moment you met him. You cannot trust a thing I have told
you. I know nothing. Do you hear me, nothing. It was all lies. It
was all a game, and he swept me from the board like a
child.”

Ipid considered that.
Though there had not been nearly as much information as he would
have liked, everything pointed to Stully following exactly the
script that he had agreed to in Aylesford. He had allied with the
former governors and members of parliament. He had kept protests to
an almost excessive minimum in Wildern and the outlying cities.
Wallock had confirmed that he was part of it, was using his
resources to help Stully coordinate. It all made perfect sense,
except this. “So why eliminate your network?” Ipid finally asked.
“If he knew who they were, why not use them to feed us lies?
Killing them only told us that he knew, so why give that
away?”

“
Revenge,” Eia answered
with certainty. “Stully only has one path to what he really wants,
and he knows it. No matter how he feels about you, he is smart
enough to know that your plan is the only one that gets him what he
really wants. The spies and informants don’t matter. We already
know how things will go. But Vontel was responsible for the death
of his son and now was his last chance to have his revenge before
he had to answer to a parliament and populace. So he had his
revenge as his last act before replacing you as Chancellor.” Eia
paused and grinned as if pleased by finding the answer of such a
brutal riddle. “And maybe he sent us a message as well. Maybe, he
is telling us that the feud is over, that this puts us on even
ground, that everything can now proceed as planned.”

“
You’re right,” Vontel
blubbered. “I failed and he’s had his revenge, but please, don’t
let him get me as well. I don’t want to die here. I want to see my
home again. Please. Please, send me home.”

“
Though you sicken me, I
will see to your transport. You who prey on people’s choices, who
use your Church’s prejudices against the freewill of the people
under its care. You more than any of your servants deserve Allard
Stully’s punishment, but I will help you escape so that you can
live the rest of your life knowing what your depravity has
wrought.”

“
Thank you!” Vontel nearly
leapt across the table to show his appreciation. “I will never
forget this. I have learned my lesson. I will never . . .
.”

“
You will shut your
mouth,” Eia ordered. “Leave the room. I will find you and transport
you in a few minutes.”

Taking Eia’s order to
heart, the ambassador showed himself out, bowing and scraping as he
went. But Ipid had heard almost nothing of his exchange with Eia.
His mind was locked still in what Eia had said about Allard’s
message.

“
Are you alright, my
dear?” Eia disturbed his thoughts with a cool hand on
his.

“
Something isn’t right,”
he answered. “How could Allard Stully, for all his power, move that
quickly against that many? It had to have been more than just
Vontel’s valet. I mean, even if he knew all the names, how could he
have known where they were? How could Allard have positioned men to
kill them so quickly and completely?”

“
Does it matter?” Eia
asked. “The only thing that matters now is that Allard is doing
what we need him to do. And there is nothing in this to suggest
that is not the case.”

“
I suppose,” Ipid mumbled
as he considered. “I suppose you’re right. But then why won’t he
communicate with us? Why won’t he tell us when he’s going to
strike?”

Chapter 72

The
56
^th
Day of Summer

In the time since its
founding, the city of Gorin West had faced more trials than men
could count. It had been sacked by invaders, burned by fires,
flooded time and again by the rivers that met before it. It had
been destroyed and rebuilt so many times that no one could even say
when one disaster had ended and the other began. But all those
tragedies, all those disasters had come from outside the city, had
been perpetrated on the people of Gorin West by forces outside
their control. Today, even that tide had turned against it. Today,
Gorin West was a city of chaos, a city without law, a city owned by
mobs. It was a people rising up against the very institutions that
bound them together. And the only thing that could give them pause
was Teth.

By the time she ran into
town, the blood covering her had darkened from glossy crimson
toward matted burgundy, except where her sweat had kept it bright
on her cheeks, neck, and arms. It ran in scarlet drops from her,
making it appear that she was its source, but no person could have
that much blood inside them, no one could ever believe it was her
own. Her auburn hair was plastered to her head. Her face and neck
were painted, deadly eyes and clenched teeth the only white. Her
shirt was soaked, the same color as her chest where the shirt had
been ripped open and contrasted to the pink-stained wrap that
contained her breast. Her brown pants were dark and stiff, shoes
soaked so that they left carmine shadows behind her even now. The
knife in her hand sparkled, lacking the mar of blood but seemingly
begging for its own crimson palette.

She saw the first mob of
revolutionaries as she came through the empty, barren streets of
the outer district – windows shuttered, doors closed, silence
stunning – to the first commercial street. It consisted of nearly
fifty men. Carrying makeshift weapons, they pushed down the street,
tearing open doors and cleaning out the shops inside, looking for
food to steal, wealth to procure, authority to destroy. They
entered the intersection a few paces before Teth, blocking her way
to the inn. Until they saw her.