Erika took a handful of his greatcoat and kissed him deeply before he set off at a limping run across the street. Each step sent an agonizing spear of pain up his leg, breaking the focus of his powder trance. He moved from alley to alley, sticking to the deepest shadows out of the light of the full moon, eyes on the rooftops as he waited for the first attack.
A flicker of movement was his only warning before a fireball streaked out of the sky, rocketing past his head, and splashing against the wall behind him. He stumbled forwards, catching himself on the street curb, then running forward, forcing himself to ignore the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.
Blast after blast followed him down the street, flaring into the night sky, getting closer and closer to his heels. He tried to put on a burst of speed only to falter, ankle turning beneath him.
He looked up helplessly, snatching out his pistol and trying to pinpoint the moving shadow that threw fire from above.
A pistol blast made him jump. Erika’s shot was low, hitting the lip of the wall just below Dienne, showering the street with masonry and forcing the Privileged to jump back.
Tamas limped to cover, then watched as a gout of flame lit up the ground just down the street. Dienne had Erika in her sights now.
He tore open the closest door, stumbling through the dark halls of the tenement until he found the stairs, and climbed them one agonizing floor after another. He battered open the door to come out on the flat roof, searching to get his bearings.
The night was silent. He crouched, creeping as fast as he dare, searching the surrounding rooftops. His noisy entrance had stopped Dienne from firing at Erika, but it had also given away his element of surprise. He kept his pistol raised in front of him, listening for any sound of movement, trying to hear above his own labored breathing.
Tamas’s foot hit something, and he tried to step over it out of instinct. His leg didn’t move. Nor, he found a moment later, did anything else.
He stood frozen in place, his hands suddenly trembling, unable even to pull the trigger of his pistol. Dienne emerged from the shadows of the rooftop only a dozen feet away, stepping into the moonlight, her gloved hands held high. One of her fingers twitched and Tamas’s pistol was torn from his hand and thrown into the street below.
Tamas strained against the sorcery that held him. The helplessness of his position made him furious, fueling his strength, but even with his powder trance he could do nothing. Over Dienne’s shoulder he saw a figure on the next rooftop over.
Damn it, Erika, he thought. She had ignored his advice to stay off the roof. He tried to will her to flee. She wouldn’t be close enough to bluff Dienne, and he doubted she’d had time to reload her one pistol before Dienne could capture her as well.
“Finish it,” Tamas grunted, using all his strength just to move his mouth. If she killed him now, Erika would see it a lost cause and flee.
Dienne shook her head. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? No, I’m going to enjoy this. I’m going to kill you slowly, painfully, over the next several years. You and your companion, whoever the pit she is. I’ll make you watch each other scream. I’ll …”
“Oh, shut up,” Tamas said.
Dienne looked startled.
A heavy clay shingle soared through the air and slammed into Dienne’s shoulder with enough force to throw her to her knees. Dienne turned, her fingers twitching, and at this range Tamas could feel the sorcery she pulled into the world.
But her focus had been broken, her attention turned from him.
He surged forward, free of her spell, covering the distance between them in the blink of an eye. He broke her wrist first, then spun her away from Erika just to be sure. Tamas snatched her by the throat and lifted her above his head.
“You and your damned arrogance,” he said. “It’s going to get you killed some day.”
He threw her from the roof, watching her body strike the cobbles with a sound like a hammer striking meat. She lay at an odd angle, staring upward at him, her neck almost certainly broken.
Tamas drew his knife and limped for the stairs.
With a Privileged, one always had to be sure.
Three days before his scheduled hearing Tamas was summoned to see General Seske.
He arrived half an hour early, feeling somewhat wary, and was made to wait in the sitting room outside Seske’s office. He sat stiffly, hat in his hand, wearing his best dress uniform, and practiced the breathing techniques that Erika had taught him for fencing. Calm, she claimed, could be attained without black powder.
The magistrates and generals for his hearing had been appointed and Tamas’s attempts to see any of them beforehand had been rebuffed. His appeals to General Seske-after his return from holiday-were dismissed. His letters to the Iron King had been ignored. Even Erika had been away with her family. He had not been able to see her for some time. He felt blind, betrayed, and entirely too vulnerable.
The clock struck the hour, and Tamas was left alone in the waiting room. Fifteen minutes stretched into forty-five before he was finally admitted.
General Seske sat behind his desk, fist beneath his chin, examining Tamas down the bridge of his nose with an annoyed expression. Colonel Westeven stood at ease beside him, a more welcoming smile on his face.
Tamas was not asked to sit.
“Good afternoon, General, Colonel. Captain Tamas reporting in.”
Westeven seemed about to respond, but he was silenced by a glance from Seske. Seske watched him for several moments, allowing Tamas to stand at attention, before he spoke.
“Do you know why you’re here, Captain?”
“I do not, sir.”
“The hearing about your duel is in three days.”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“I know it is, that’s what I just said,” Seske said peevishly. “Or rather, it was. The hearing has been cancelled.”
Tamas frowned, not daring to hope. “Has it been rescheduled?”
“No. You will return home and await further orders. You are dismissed.”
His hearing cancelled? Surely there was more to the story than that. “Sir,” Tamas said, “May I know the details surrounding the hearing?”
“You may not.”
Colonel Westeven bent over to General Seske. “He has the right, sir,” he said gently.
Seske glared at Tamas before plucking an open letter from his desk. He produced a pair of reading glasses and lifted the letter, allowing Tamas to glimpse the broken seal of the king. Tamas’s heart soared.
“To whom it may concern,” Seske read aloud, “Hearing number seven four three five eight, regarding one Captain Tamas, has come to my attention. I myself pinned a medal on Captain Tamas eight years ago and therefore have a vested interest in the nature of his character. I have conducted multiple interviews with the captain and determined that he is beyond reproach. I consider the matter closed. He should be returned to active duty and his application to the rank of major reconsidered.”
Seske lowered the letter. “It’s signed by the king.”
Several moments passed while Seske reread the letter silently to himself, as if still unconvinced by the contents. “Our esteemed monarch,” he finally said, “pins a thousand medals on a thousand heroes every year. Why he took interest in you, I cannot fathom.”
“I don’t know, sir.” Tamas sighed inwardly, a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He had thought the king had forgotten him, or even gone back on their agreement.
“Of course you don’t know,” Seske snapped. “You’re a captain and a commoner. If this whole business is above my head, then it is certainly above yours.” He took off his glasses, pointing them at Tamas like a weapon. “The king has practically ordered me to make you a major. I won’t disobey that, but I don’t have to like it, either. The paperwork will take many months. In the meantime, you’ll be assigned to a garrison in the Black Tar Forest, well out of my sight.”