“As a matter of fact, they’ve caught one.” Capric held his gloves in one hand, shaking them emphatically at the air. “Two days ago, they tracked him down trying to take a coach service into Grent.”
Demir scowled, trying not to jump to conclusions. “Only one?”
“It’s the only one they could identify from all the witnesses. He’s a former Grent soldier, and he confessed under shackleglass that he was sent – along with the rest – by the Duke of Grent. He doesn’t know why he was sent, but the duke wanted Adriana killed publicly.”
Grent was Ossa’s twin city, located just a few miles down the river, their suburbs practically bleeding into each other. On a clear day Demir could see Grent buildings from the roof of the hotel. While Ossa was the head of an empire, Grent was a small but powerful city-state with a massive merchant fleet, independent of the larger nations around it. Grent and Ossa had a history of contention, but mostly small trading disputes. Nothing to get a guild-family matriarch killed.
Except … Kastora was a Grent siliceer master. That couldn’t be a coincidence. “Glassdamn,” Demir muttered. “And the Assembly?”
“The Assembly has voted for war.”
Demir inhaled sharply. The Assembly rarely acted this quickly. “So soon? On the murder of a single politician? Grent is our neighbor!” Even with no small amount of bloodlust in his heart, Demir could not imagine his mother’s death reason enough for an entire war.
“It’s … more complicated than that,” Capric admitted. “I’m not a senior member of the Assembly so I’m not privy to everything, but I can give you the gist. The duke has been meddling in Ossan affairs for decades and he’s grown increasingly bold over the last few years. He’s stolen trade contracts, bribed Ossan magistrates, and even had Ossan officers assassinated out in the distant provinces. He’s been warned repeatedly to back off. Your mother’s murder is the last straw. The Foreign Legion has already been activated. We invade tonight.”
“To what ends?” Demir asked.
Capric spread his hands. “An international slap on the wrist. We kill some soldiers, occupy the ducal palace and the senate buildings, and then the duke surrenders with a formal apology and a massive restitution payment. You might even see some of that money.”
The idea of some government payout for his mother’s death felt more insulting than vindicating. Demir scowled. War. The word made his insides twist. And not some distant foreign war, fought through proxies on another continent. War right on their doorstep, mere miles away. Cannons and armies and fires. He tried to remember the last time the Ossan capital had seen actual military combat. Not in his lifetime, nor in those of his immediate predecessors.
It all felt so sudden, but if what Capric said about the Duke of Grent was true, it made sense. The Assembly moved so quickly only when they felt personally threatened, and one of their number murdered by a foreign assassin was awfully damned personal.
Demir said, “I’d like to question the killer.”
“Impossible, I’m afraid,” Capric said with a grimace. “The high-resonance shackleglass drove him mad. He’s a raving lunatic now.”
“Convenient.”
“Convenient or not, it happens with such powerful shackleglass.” Capric’s grimace turned into a scowl. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t sense any foul play, at least not in the assassin’s madness.”
“There were five other killers,” Demir pointed out.
“And the Cinders are searching for them.” Capric shook his head sadly. “I suggest you let them do their jobs. We’re invading, Demir. Justice will be done for your mother and a hundred other slights, insults, and attacks.”
Demir bit hard on his tongue. It was not unheard of for shackleglass to drive a man mad, but it did seem awfully convenient. He would have to resort to unconventional means for his answers, if he was to get any. He glanced down at the death journal in his hands. He desperately wanted to show it to Capric and ask him what he thought it meant. Secrecy may be the only thing that saves us. Again, those words stopped him from acting. Mother was working with a Grent siliceer master, only to be killed by the Duke of Grent. Had she been betrayed? Was the work close to completion? What was the work?
Something was wrong about all of this. Demir’s hand itched to reach for his witglass, to churn through the possibilities. But witglass had done nothing but give him headaches since his breakdown at Holikan.
“Thank you for letting me know,” Demir said quietly.
“Of course. I know they…” Capric glanced around the office. “… ransacked things to preserve state secrets. I’m sorry that you have to stay so much in the dark. I’ll pass on whatever I can without getting into trouble.” He slapped his cane against his palm. “I should go, and I know you have a lot to catch up with. If you need anything, just call on me.”
Demir walked Capric out to the top of the stairs in the hotel foyer. He said goodbye, and then went and found Breenen in the concierge’s office. He stood in the doorway, watching Breenen write tiny, neat numbers into his ledgers for a few moments before asking, “Is my uncle’s battalion posted near Ossa?”
“It is.”
“Where are they?”
“Garrisoned just to the southwest of the city, I believe.”
Demir chewed on the inside of his cheek. On a normal day, he might have jumped in a carriage and headed into Grent directly to confront this Master Kastora and find out what he knew. If he did that now, he wouldn’t be able to return before the invasion began tonight and would be stuck behind enemy lines – a bad idea, even for a glassdancer.
“Find out exactly where they are. I might need their help with something.”
“Right away.” Breenen nodded.
“Wait!” He paused, wrestling with the question on the tip of his tongue before forcing it out. “This may seem like an odd question, but has the hotel become haunted in the last nine years?”
Breenen scowled. “Are you being serious?”
“Only slightly.” Demir decided not to follow that line of questioning. The staff would already be on edge with Adriana’s death and the return of the glassdancer prodigal son. It would complicate things if they thought his mental breakdown had caused him to go insane. Besides, Demir was a modern man. He didn’t believe in hauntings.
Demir watched Breenen hurry off across the foyer, his brow furrowed, trying to find his way through the confusion clouding his mind. He was tempted to disappear: to flee back into the provinces, where he could live out the rest of his life as a friendly grifter. Why bother himself with his mother’s puzzles and the Assembly’s new war? He could go somewhere far away where he might – someday – have the chance to be happy.
Happiness had no place in the Ossan guild-families. Only wealth, prestige, power, and progeny. Demir had little of those things, but he did have people that depended on him now. Abandoning his duties meant abandoning the hotel and everyone who worked in it. Many of them were new, but some he’d known since he was a child. He could not discard them.
Besides, there was enough of the old Demir to be intrigued by that addendum in the death journal. He could always disappear into the provinces later. For now, he needed to find out what got his mother killed.
“You left me a real shitshow, didn’t you, Mother?” he muttered to himself. “I think I will need some help.”
3
Thessa Foleer awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her tiny room in the dormitory of the Grent Royal Glassworks. She had dreamed of men dying; women weeping; and a city burning. It was a common nightmare, one she’d had for nine years, though it had grown more frequent as the newspapers ran story after story of the wars in the east. Sweat caused the sheets to cling to her body. She looked out the open window, unable to decide whether she’d been awoken by the nightmare or some sort of noise outside.