33 #2
It took them the better part of half an hour to reach the upper rooms. Gloriana struggled free from the crowd, brushed off her bewildered brother, then shut the three of them inside a protected chamber. There, she turned to Myria and Felix, her eyes demanding an explanation on pain of death.
“I know better than to trust you,” she said coldly. “If you’ve done something, planted something for the prefecture to find—”
“As I said, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of it,” Myria cut in. “Unlike someone. No, old girl, no one’s going to spy the rotten core. You’ve routed the lord of the grayside! Another ill-deserved plume in your helmet. You’re going to spare me out of damp-eyed gratitude.”
Gloriana raised one eloquent eyebrow. Myria grinned and clapped her hands together, relenting.
“Oh, alright, you’ve got me. No, I’m going to threaten you,” she confessed. “You see, when Vixius civilly stopped wasting oxygen, Lysander gave me control of the . . . what did you call it? Depraedeon?”
“Which you just gave to the prefecture.”
“Course I didn’t. Dashed good simulacrum, though.”
Thanks to the arcanic shields, she could’ve heard the falling dust. She definitely heard the crack of Gloriana’s knuckles. It seemed a prudent moment to get the threat out of its sheath, bluff or not.
“He also engineered the thing to turf the grayside out into Carintheum if I don’t give it the countermand every twenty-four hours,” she said.
“And you, you’ve just seen off their master.
Everyone will know by dawn. That’s going to upset a lot of nasty men who earned a lot of money off him.
Kill me, and they might be paying you a visit. ”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Gloriana shot back.
“You’d be surprised,” said Myria. “After all, that Leo’s an awful gossip. Might’ve started spreading rumors on the grayside that you’re not half as powerful as people say. That, ah . . . your reputation’s just as stolen as Vixius’s powers.”
She met Gloriana’s stare without remorse, and the centurion glared straight back at her. Then her gaze flicked sideways to Felix, and something seemed to snap. The balance tipped. Myria smiled.
Got you.
“Still, I don’t like the fellows either,” she went on.
“How about I keep the silver lining locked, you keep your killing curses to yourself, and, oh . . . birthday list. Order your brother to clear our names, free Felix from that vow, leave the lot of us alone, and give me those dashed biscuits I asked for.”
“I can’t force my brother to abuse his offi—”
“I think you’ll find you can, Gloriana Valora, and I also think you’ll find it’s really a very cheap price I’m demanding,” she interrupted, her voice turning diamond-hard.
“You don’t want to find out just how expensive I can be.
So. Vindication. Liberty. Vow.” She smiled with the delight of sheer audacity. “Biscuits.”
Gloriana’s jaw worked furiously, but Myria could see the shackles closing. All that power, and in the end, a few words could bind her like anyone else.
At length, the centurion raised her chin and spoke.
“Felix Aurelias, I release you from her vow,” she said. “As for the rest, it shall be done. Now . . . get out.”
“Thank you, Centurion,” Myria said with a curtsy. “My pleasure.”
She stepped out into the hall with Felix at her side. The crowds were roaring with scandal, and the champagne flowed as fast as the gossip. Beyond the windows, fireworks had begun to burst above Carintheum.
“Well, Prefect, it was a pleasure being arrested by you,” said Myria, shaking his hand.
Felix grinned. “Please don’t make me do it again.”
“Take heart, old boy. You’d have to catch me first.”
“Now that, I might enjoy.”
She chuckled and released his hand. All of a sudden, she felt a little sad. She’d become used to having him around. There was something comforting in that steady flame of decency. She mightn’t wholly understand it, but she liked the light it cast.
“Well, I’ll be sad to see the back of you,” she said. “What now?”
“Pantheon knows,” Felix said with a one-sided smile. “Strike a truce with Gloriana, I expect. Negotiate a cake out of her?”
Behind the levity, though, she could hear the grief. She instinctively reached out and pressed his arm.
“Little though I like the woman, she’s not Vixius,” Myria said. “I do believe she cares.”
“She was prepared to kill you.”
“She’s not the first.”
“And me.”
“Believe me, sir, I understand the impulse.”
Felix laughed, then took her arm and started slowly down the hallway. Myria looked at him sidelong.
“She didn’t want to,” she added, voice muted by the hubbub. “Even I could see that. I imagine . . . war hardens you to those kinds of trades. Necessity triumphs over goodness.”
“Perhaps so,” he said.
Moments later, they reached the edge of the crowd. Myria sighed and looked to the stairs.
“Well, they’re waiting for me. Best be off. But, ah . . . thank you, by the way, for stitching me up. Looks as though the devil isn’t ready for me quite yet.”
“Poor beast wouldn’t know what’d hit him,” said Felix, but his parting smile was warm with sincerity. Myria curtsied, only half in jest, and Felix took her hand and pressed it briefly to his lips. With that, they parted—one to his commander, and the other to her crew.
Fireworks shattered in brilliant colors overhead as Myria glided down the steps of the Praetorium. The night was warm, the air was sweet with spring, and the din of chaos and celebration roared up from behind her. Just the way she liked it.
She glanced across the curving driveway for her friends, and set eyes on an awfully nice phaeton at the foot. The driver—a smart woman in prefecture uniform—gave her a cheery wave. It took her a moment to recognize Cassia.
Oh, you didn’t . . .
Myria strode to join them, admiring the gorgeous vehicle as she approached.
It was an open-topped model in glittering midnight blue, riding low as a crouching jaguar, with golden running boards that swept out like a lyrebird’s tail.
It was decked out inside with pure cream leather, marbled rosewood, and two smiling gentlemen reclining in the back seat.
It also happened to have a scored-out Evander crest in the center of the wheel. Myria leaned against the driver’s door, eyeing up the glorious creature. Cassia spun the keys invitingly around her finger.
“Told you she was going through his pockets,” Leo said. Cass grinned.
“Turns out, even the alarms on a Cordilon Seraph can’t tell the difference between mercuria and the real thing.”
“Powers working nicely?” asked Myria, sizing up her friend’s flawless prefecture coat.
“Good as new. Now, who fancies a roister at the Divinitas?”
“Best idea you’ve had all year,” said Leo, lounging back on the leather bench. Lysander nodded his approval. Cassia only climbed out of the phaeton and clapped the keys into Myria’s hand.
“Here you go,” she said, her dark eyes warming. “Reckon you earned this one.”
It was a weightier compliment than she could’ve paid with words. Myria took the keys and slid into the driver’s seat. A smile swept irrepressibly across her face as she closed her fingers on the wheel. The phaeton felt like a racehorse, ready to run.
I know the feeling, old girl.
She coaxed the vehicle down the driveway, relishing the butter-smooth hum of the engine. The fireworks burst above them, rainbow showers mirrored in the shining bonnet.
Then, they drew out onto the Imperatrix Highway, and she pressed the pedal to the floor.
The phaeton shot out like a falcon from the heights.
The hot wind snatched her hair and sent it streaming out behind her, and the lights of Carintheum turned to streaks on either side.
Cassia let out a whoop. In the back seat, Leo began to carol out a comic opera piece. Pure glee stole through Myria’s spirit.
It was hard to think that not an hour past, she’d run a dagger through the fifth lord’s chest. She turned over her conscience, examining it for any speck of guilt.
Nothing? she thought, scrutinizing the little creature smiling contentedly inside her. No . . . no, nothing. That’s that, then.
Myria raised her face and smiled into the thunder of the wind. That night, she thought, was going to be a good night.