He nodded, wondering if he should start taking notes. She got out of bed stiffly, and walked toward the writing desk by the window. He stood to offer help, but she held up her hand to stop him. She wobbled a little on the first step, but quickly found her balance and made the brief journey unscathed. Once secure in the chair, she took a piece of paper, dipped the pen in the inkpot, and started to write. Done, she scanned the page and smiled.
“That’s it,” she said. “I can still see the carvings as if they were in front of me now.” She handed the page to Gill and leaned back in her chair. “Repeat after me…”
CHAPTER 10
The cathedral bells started to ring when Amaury’s carriage was about halfway to the palace. Moments later, the bells of other churches rang out as well and the Prince Bishop knew something was up—and suspected what that something was.
He had his driver stop the carriage.
“What’s all the fuss about?” he asked of a passer-by.
The man shrugged, then, when he realised who he was talking to, said, “Don’t know, your Grace. Sorry.”
The next person he asked gave the same response.
Then someone shouted, “The dragon’s been slain!”
So word had reached the city. Amaury’s first reaction was anger—at himself. Information was valuable only when you were the sole person to possess it. He hadn’t moved quickly enough, and now that word was out, what Amaury knew was all but worthless. He sat back in the carriage and thumped the roof for the journey to continue. The news being out meant he was running out of time to execute his plan to bring the Order out into the open. He was behind the curve already, which meant he had to work quickly and precisely.
When Amaury reached the palace, he asked his aide for the specifics of the news. The only thing anyone knew was that the dragon was dead. There was no word about who had killed it, which gave the Prince Bishop the space he needed. He sent people out into the city to gather up every bit of information being bandied about and cultivated the hope that there was still time to shape the story to his advantage.
He stared into the empty garden below his office window, stroking his chin, thinking furiously. All was not lost—if he could find a way to twist things to his benefit. The dragon had been slain by a great hero of Mirabay, but that didn’t mean Amaury could not claim the credit. After all, he had tasked Gill with the mission. The Order had been equally involved. If he acted fast, he could shape the story to his liking. Even if doubt was cast on it later, who would they believe? Surely no one would question the word of the Prince Bishop of Mirabay, Arch Prelate of the Unified Church, First Minister to the King.
Turning to his desk, Amaury quickly jotted down an announcement. He sprinkled the still-damp ink with pounce to dry it, blew the powder clear, and surveyed his words. His skill in rhetoric had improved over the years, but he would never go down in history as a man who could win hearts and sway minds with words. In this instance, he didn’t need to. He scratched out a few words here and there, added a sentence, removed one, then wrote the altered statement on a fresh sheet. Once it was blotted, he called for his secretary.
“Distribute copies of this statement to the news sheets, the city criers, and the bill posters. Make it clear that further details will be made known in due course. Also, send for Seneschal dal Drezony to attend on me at once.”
Dal Drezony wasn’t one to play power games, so Amaury knew she would be there as soon as was possible. Waiting had never been his strong suit, however. Up until recently, he had filled those spare moments with quick exercises to improve his magical skills, but considering all that he had learned about the Cup, that was now a waste of time. In a few days, the Cup would be in his possession, and he would wield a magical power the like of which had not been seen in a millennium.
Instead, he ruminated on the other plan he had set in motion that night. Guillot had trusted Barnot without question for years, and there was no reason for that to change now. Amaury, on the other hand, found trusting Barnot a far more difficult proposition. Asking a man to go against notions of honour and brotherhood born of battle was like asking him to cut off one of his hands, even if he was a ruined old dream-seed addict. When the moment came, Amaury needed to be certain that Barnot would do what was expected of him.
Conveniently, Barnot came with his own leash, and Amaury was in the singular position of being able to exploit it even more effectively than a dream-seed dealer. However, to do that, he needed dal Drezony’s help, and he suspected the seneschal would have objections. People with strong principles had their uses, but they had no understanding of the compromises necessary to run a kingdom and keep it safe.
Every time he needed her to do something she thought was morally questionable, such as rapidly advancing Solène’s training, they had an argument. It had been the same with his daughter. Amaury usually won, but arguing was tedious, the concessions he had to make were not completely satisfying, and now the time for keeping his underlings happy had passed. This was a crucial moment, when things needed to be done quickly and effectively, without consideration of anyone’s interests but his. He knew what was best for the kingdom.
After knocking, his secretary showed dal Drezony in; she looked resplendent in the Order’s cream-and-gold robes. When he had first encountered the woman, Amaury had developed a brief romantic interest in her, but attractive though she was, he had quickly realised that their personalities and outlooks diverged in too many fundamental ways. Had she not been such a brilliant fit for her role in the Order, he would never have considered working with her in the long term.
“Good evening, Kayte,” he said. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.” She nodded respectfully and he flicked his gaze to his secretary. “Coffee, I think.”
His aide nodded and disappeared silently, leaving Amaury and dal Drezony alone. He gestured for her to sit in one of the comfortable armchairs by the coffee table, then took the seat opposite.
“There’s something I need you to do. It relates to extremely important state business that has fallen to me to address.” He could see he had her full attention, so continued. “There’s a man we need to undertake a mission. He’s uniquely suited to carrying it out, but is possessed of a minor problem. He’s a dream-seed addict. I want you to cure him.”
Dal Drezony visibly relaxed. “I’d be delighted to. Dealing with addiction in the population is one of the roles I see the Order taking on once we come fully out into the open. I have to admit, I thought you were going to ask for something far worse.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair.
“Unfortunately, I suspect I am. We need to keep control of this man. I don’t want you to cure him completely, just enough that he’s clearheaded and able-bodied. Competent to do what he needs to do. I need the addiction itself to remain, so that he’ll do what he’s told.”
The colour drained from her face and all levity in her expression was extinguished. “You want me to maintain his addiction, but free him from the symptoms?”
“Precisely,” Amaury said.
“I … Even if I would agree to do something like that, I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to go about it.”
“I suggest you work it out,” Amaury said.
“I said if I agreed to. There’s no way I can agree to do something like that. It’s wrong on every level.”