CHAPTER 16
Amaury stood at his window, staring down into the garden at the white marble fountain below, and if he listened carefully enough, he could hear the water. The gentle sound helped him relax. Though he always appeared to others to be in control, the dragon had placed him under a huge amount of stress. The creature had the potential to ruin his carefully laid plans.
With time and application, Amaury was certain they could recover the knowledge and skill of the Imperial mages, and build on them, but that day would come long after he passed. It wouldn’t benefit him, and he was not a patient man. He wanted what they had, and he wanted it soon. The Cup was the key, and now that he knew for certain it existed, he would not rest until it was in his possession. Ancient writings indicated that people had been using weak magic from before the earliest times recorded, but it was not until Amatus, the First Mage, that the power became something worthwhile. Amatus, a scholar, had spent several years travelling the world in search of knowledge. At some point he encountered the Cup, an object from a time before men. It was the spark that lit the fire. When he returned home, he could do magic unlike any ever seen before. He used it to help his friend, the first emperor, build the empire that came to span the Middle Sea. The acquisition of knowledge had been enough for Amatus; the man was never interested in the power his ability could have brought him.
Amaury thought him a fool for that. With all his power, the Empire could have been his. He would never understand why Amatus had foregone that in favour of scholarship. Amaury firmly believed that the latter brought the former. What use was study otherwise?
The moment he first read of the Cup, he knew he had to have it. Like Amatus, he could lead the world into a new era of magical exploration and achievement. His Order would learn from the mistakes of the mages and bannerets of the past, combining skill with magic and skill with a sword in each person, rather than dividing it between a master mage and a bodyguard banneret. No servants to turn on their masters.
It was taking too long, however. It was only a matter of time before word of the dragon leaked out. At first, it would be a disbelieved rumour. As more stories reached the cities, they would gain credence and Amaury would have another mess to clear up. However, if he gave people his version of the facts first, he could own the story. Particularly since he would offer it to them complete with a solution.
A solution they would love—the last of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle riding off to defeat a beast not seen in centuries. The people would lap it up. The tale would be told in taverns, inns, and coffee houses across the land. Or, perhaps not the last of the Chevaliers. Perhaps the first of the Order of the Golden Spur.
It was very unlikely Gill would succeed in killing the monster. What hope could one hungover has-been have against a creature like that? No amount of special anointing would save him from something that was already racking up quite a numbers of kills. If word of that reached the public, it would not go down well. He would look a fool for sending a brave man to his death. Worse, he would look a villain. The solution was to make sure Gill succeeded, or he found a way to turn the man’s death into an advantage. It had not taken him long to see the cloud’s silver lining. He had realised he had the opportunity to kill three birds with one stone—slay the dragon, settle his score with Gill, and introduce the Order to the people in a way that wouldn’t result in backlash.
Unlikely as it was, he had seen Guillot pull himself from more than one jam that would likely have killed any other man—even one of Amaury’s contrivance. That meant he needed to make sure the dragon died and Guillot did the same. Then the Order could take the credit and would be welcomed by the people with open arms. He wasn’t willing to leave that to chance.
Thinking about how to achieve it made him think of her—Ysabeau dal Fleurat. Her skills and reliability would be a gift at that moment. She had become the best problem solver he had ever encountered—the killer of a king. Hers was an invented title, but he couldn’t have his daughter, illegitimate though she was, walking around as a commoner. He wondered where she was, whether she hated him for what he had asked her to do. For the consequences of what she had done without question. He couldn’t understand the feelings the thought brought up in him. It surprised him that he cared.
Even now, he struggled to accept that he had a daughter. Her mother had come to him when Ysabeau was already an adult, seeking him out as a last resort. Their daughter, of whom he had known nothing until then, was a mage, and had been discovered by the Intelligenciers. Barely remembering his youthful encounter with her, years earlier, Amaury intended to ignore her plea for help, but curiosity drew him to the Intelligenciers’ commandery to look at the girl. The family resemblance had been so strong there was no way he could deny her. Even the man guarding her had done a double take when Amaury arrived. Having her freed had nearly cost him his career, yet he had done it—though he was not, to this day, certain why.
He had been surprised and delighted when Ysabeau demonstrated that she had far more magical skill than anyone he had previously encountered. He had allowed himself to hope she might be the person he needed, the person Solène now appeared to be. Sadly, Ysabeau’s power had proved to be insufficient. How she used what she had, though, was something to behold. She could merge with the shadows, blend into a crowd, and wield a blade with such skill that she could have rivalled Amaury himself at his best. These skills, the result of growing up in a tough environment, had made her a superb spy and assassin. Was he wrong to have guided his child down that path?
That she was exactly the person to deal with Gill when he had served his purpose—exactly the person Amaury needed at that moment—gave rise to an odd sensation. It took him a moment to realise that it was pride. Still, she was gone, and he had no way to contact her. He had to make do with other means. In Ysabeau’s absence, Leverre would deal with Gill if the dragon failed, but it was difficult to muster the same level of confidence he would have had if the job were hers. He needed it done, and wanted a backup to make sure that it was.
A knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts and the tranquil garden view. His secretary peered around the door’s edge. “Your Grace, your next appointment is here.”
Amaury nodded. The backup. “Show him in.”
“Nicholas,” Amaury said, when dal Sason stepped into the room. “I have a little something extra I might need you to do for me.”
With only one appointment left in the day, Amaury relaxed, knowing he would soon be free to delve back into the secret archives. The thrill of the unknown, of what discovery he might make, caused his heart to quicken. He also needed to think of a way to entice Solène, in case she did not see the wisdom of accepting his offer. If he could show her the Priory, the organisation she could be part of—be at the forefront of—he was sure she would agree to join. With Guillot whispering in her ear, that probably wasn’t going to happen, but he would be out of the city soon enough, and then Amaury would have her all to himself. Dal Sason was barely gone when there was another knock on the door.
“Banneret-Commander Leverre, your Grace,” Amaury’s secretary said, peering around the door.
“Show him in.”
Leverre walked in a moment later, his back straight and his head held high—as was almost always the case with bannerets. The Prince Bishop had been the same, once upon a time.
“Thank you for seeing me at this hour,” Amaury said. “Please sit. I’ll try not to keep you too long. I’m sure you have a great many things to do.”