Chapter Forty The Minister and the Horror
CHAPTER FORTY
The Minister and the Horror
“The gods told me a twin was angling to marry the prime minister,” the Beauty Dipped In Blood taunted the Horrors, using her divine gift of prophecy to be cruel. “Which twin was it?”
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Pio walked into his home and into chaos, the sound of slammed doors and crashing falling objects overhead.
This was the result of allowing Nemeth to share his bachelor quarters: first, Nemeth was maimed, then Pio could not then turn away the children when disaster came.
A single invitation had become an invasion.
He ran up the stairs and, without knocking, into the chambers prepared for the Nemeth ladies.
Hortensia Nemeth was tearing apart the rooms, hurling Nemeth possessions – dresses and waistcoats, miniature portraits, enchanted weapons – into a carpet bag.
“You appear to be in some distress.”
“I always thought you one of the cleverest men at court.”
“Thank you for the compliment. I’m not sure it requires genius to make this particular observation. You’re ransacking your own rooms and—” Pio made a small, abortive gesture. “You’re… flickering.”
It seemed ungentlemanly to remark a lady’s appearance, yet the fact remained. The eldritch glow of her person ever since she consumed the Flower of Life and Death seemed to be failing, as if a guttering candle in a night wind were caught beneath her skin.
Pio wondered if this was a symptom of distress.
Hortensia tried to fasten the bag, but found it crammed too full. She gave a sobbing breath, as if this small inconvenience had been added to a heap of too many disasters to bear.
“I always thought you one of the kindest gentlemen, too.”
“Please don’t share that opinion with anybody else at court,” said Pio. “Think of my reputation. You’re clearly distraught and not making any sense.”
Hortensia fixed her strange gaze upon him, glowing like the eyes of an animal in pitch darkness. “You let Father stay in your home because you knew we didn’t have any money, and let him keep his dignity by pretending it was for political convenience—”
“I assure you,” said Pio, much harassed. “Everything I do is for political convenience—”
The luminous distraught maiden in his home didn’t seem to be paying attention. “I used to think that when the frightful king married some poor soul, I would be free, and we could be married. I thought I would be safe then.”
“Lady Hortensia!” Pio almost shouted. “You’re young enough to be my daughter.”
She was of an age with his niece Ninell.
Tears slid down her face, each tear-track glowing like the path of moonlight on the sea. “It doesn’t matter. It hasn’t for a long time. I was dying, and now I’m – and you hate magic.”
“I also dislike displays of strong emotion.” Pio offered her a handkerchief. “You’re completely overwhelmed and raving. You need to sit down and have a cup of tea.”
She was always the sensible twin. The sisters used to joke it came from being minutes older.
Hortensia wiped her face. “I can’t. I have to go.”
“Where are you going? When will you be back?”
“We are not coming back,” Hortensia whispered.
Despite the late hour, there was no sign of her twin. There was no sign of her brother Fabianus.
Pio knew, despite every muscle in his body wishing fervently not to know, that another catastrophe had occurred. “Will you not say goodbye to your father on his sickbed?”
“There is nothing I can say to comfort him.”
She turned away, towards the door. Pio forgot himself enough to catch at Hortensia’s hand as she went by, then gave a hiss of horror.
The girl’s hand was blood-red to the wrist.
“Hortensia, what happened?”
She shook her head, loose hair flaring luminous as a sheet of lightning about her shoulders, and said nothing.
“Hortensia.” Andras tried to keep his voice steady. “What did the Emperor do to you?”
“He tore my brother’s heart out,” Hortensia answered.
She spoke in her old prim tones. Always the polite twin, the perfect lady. Dread held Pio frozen.
Hortensia made a low curtsy. “The princess has escaped. I am leaving. You will not see me or my sister again. Thank you, Prime Minister, for your many kindnesses to my family. I hope you survive the coming wars.”
With that, the lady turned her glowing-pale back and left his house, like a ghost grown tired of haunting.
By sunrise the whole court knew that the Emperor had poisoned one of his ladies and murdered Fabianus Nemeth, that sweet, helpless fool, down in the labyrinthine tunnels under his palace.
One of Pio’s spies among the guards swore he saw the twins, weeping and carrying their brother’s corpse between them, down the longest tunnel towards the sea.
Another scout reported blood on the stone walls, and carried back proof. He delivered to Pio the crushed remnant of a human heart.
Crushed by cruel steel claws.
Though his scouts scoured the city, no other trace of Hortensia, Horatia or Fabianus could be found. And there was worse news yet. Pio visited the Maidens’ Tower to make sure Ninell knew it.
“Have you heard about Lady Rahela?”
His niece jumped at the question. They were all, Pio supposed, a little on edge. “No. I have not left my chambers! Has she… met with some accident?”
“I wish she had.” Ninell’s eyes were wells of horror as Pio continued, “Lady Rahela released our hostage the princess, and restored her to our enemies. She has been well rewarded for her treachery. Both women were seen in the enemy camp.”
He was not surprised Ninell gasped. “How did Lady Rahela end up there? What does this all mean?”
“This means war is certain. The raiders may burn our city to the ground,” Pio concluded. “Unless our Emperor, in his fury, kills us all first.”