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The bodies on the floor—that splay of bone and brains. Soldiers from the balcony above. The ones that she had killed. Other bodies, skewered by someone else—servants, guards, she couldn’t tell. The scent of smoke, the panicked servants huddling in corners.
“This wasn’t me.” She knew that it was, but it also wasn’t. It wasn’t what she had intended.
“Of course it was! With all your screaming at the Hall—the Faenish have risen up! And fine they should. You were right, little wolf. It was too quiet around here! This is not our way.” He put a thumb to his forehead—the sign of the soti, one warrior to another—and then turned and swung the backside of his ax so hard into the face of the soldier who was running at him that the jaw exploded.“Gods how I missed it!” he roared. He turned back for a final grin. The blood splattering his face reminded her of spots on a fawn. “Little Wolf, with blood all over her fangs. You were right. Eaborik is ours, and no one else’s.”
And then his body jerked, and he looked down. The front of his tunic was tented—the tip of a javelin. He stumbled, his hand reaching behind to find the shaft.
The soldier that had thrown it wasn’t helmeted. His own eyes were wide, his skin sickly pale. He was green, new. Gods, he was young. Sharp elbows jutting from arms like little twigs. Did he have a tattoo? Revni couldn’t see.
“In the name of the p-prefect of the c-city of Nnn—Help!” The boy gave up. “In here!”
Kill him, the god within her urged.
Take, pressed Kyrianos.
Move.
Speak.
Listen.
So many voices in Revni’s head—but which was hers?
Svei lumbered after the boy, his growl growing into thunder, but it was only then that what he’d said sank through:
The Faenish had risen up. If that was true…if that was the cause of all this…
A girl was crouching behind a giant vase. Revni dropped to a knee in front of her.
“Did a messenger arrive for the prefect?”
But at Revni’s attention, the girl dissolved in hysterical sobs.
“Shh! Stop!”
The girl’s hiccups turned to panic. She clawed at the vase, up the wall. A vole caught in a tunneled trap.
Revni stood, searching. She scanned the room, but there was so much blood, so many broken shafts, and heat was blooming from the far wing, more screams. Black smoke was beginning to billow.
“You!” She pointed.
A small Faenish man shrank against the wall. He’d been trying to sneak away.
“Please! I don’t know anything!”
Isfolj. Revni breathed easier. “Who is the emperor?”
“What do you mean?”
“The emperor! Is there a new emperor?”
“What? No! The emperor is Peronus! He’s been emperor for twenty years!”
Revni sagged with relief. Eavus hadn’t arrived. Eavus hadn’t delivered his message.
And then something new sparkled within her. If he hadn’t delivered the message—was he here? Had he tried, and been detained? Because that second messenger, the one he’d said was sent from Triconum, that second messenger would still arrive, bearing orders for his execution, and that pleased voice from her god again—he will die—crippled something within her that she hadn’t wanted to face.
Eavus.
