“Things are bad?”
“They are. Hopefully not for much longer, if we can get our hands on the great Lord Protector. After what he’s done, I’d like some time with him myself.”
“What did he do?”
“Magic.” The man spat the word out. “Killed thousands in Balcony Square. One word, and thousands dead. Even more hurt. After that, me and the lads cleared out. We weren’t the only ones, as you can see.” He waved a hand, gesturing at the whole camp.
Gill grimaced. He didn’t think much of Amaury, but it was hard to believe he’d killed thousands of people in cold blood. Was it a sign that the man wasn’t able to control his magic? Considering how worried Solène had always been about that, it seemed a likely explanation. Still, thousands of people? There was no way back from that. No matter what happened in the coming battle, Amaury would never be accepted as ruler of Mirabay. It might take a year, it might take ten, but one day, he’d get a dagger in the back. Until then, neither the city nor the country would be at peace.
“And the dragon? Did you see it?”
“Nah, a few of the lads did, though. They were on duty guarding it. Said it just lay there asleep the whole time. Then it went missing. I mean, how in three hells does a dragon in a cage go missing?”
Gill smiled and nodded. “Yeah, strange, that. Good talking to you.”
He walked away, smiling. The dragon’s disappearance meant Solène had most likely succeeded—and gotten away without trouble. He wondered where she was now, and what she was doing. He’d have felt a lot happier going into what lay ahead with her power at their side, but he could understand why she might stay away. There was no way she could get through the battle without blood on her hands. The only way to avoid that was to stay away. That was the right choice for her.
His mood had been greatly improved by the news that things weren’t going well for Amaury, even though the thought that he was letting his magic off the leash and killing people was worrisome. Guillot wondered if that news had reached the king.
Boudain could not afford a lengthy siege if Amaury was slaughtering his citizens. Then again, a long siege was never really a good prospect—it was always worst on the innocent inhabitants on the inside, and Boudain would not be welcomed back into the city if he had spent months starving it.
As Gill headed back toward the command tent, it occurred to him that someone should tally the soldiers who had come to the camp from the standing regiments. Every one of them was one man fewer for Amaury. If enough had defected, that might make those still with him think twice when it came time to fight. Even so, Amaury had been buying mercenaries for months, and destroying the big company didn’t mean he would be short of troops.
Once again, Gill was glad he wasn’t the one making the decisions.
CHAPTER 46
Amaury glanced over the anatomical diagram one last time. He was so familiar with it by this point that he reckoned he could draw it himself. There was no one in the Order with the power to do what he sought to do, and no one he trusted enough to anyway.
He had already run his final few queries past both a surgeon and a professor of anatomy at the university. There was nothing to be gained by delaying any longer. Amaury focussed his thought and directed the Fount to his hip and the injury that Gill had left him with, all those years before. The injury that set him on course to his current predicament.
Power flowed through him. His skin tingled as though touched by a cooling breeze; he felt a sense of incredible wellness, such as he’d never felt before. Amaury held his focus for a moment, then was overcome by a sense of panic. He was flooded by memories of what had happened on the balcony, how he had created magic that he had not intended. Shutting his mind to the Fount, he scrabbled at his clothes as he jumped to his feet.
He pulled his britches down far enough to expose the scar. There was nothing there. Not even a blemish. His mind caught up and he realised that he should have already known it had worked—there had been no pain or tightness when he’d leaped out of his seat. The discomfort was such an old companion that most of the time he barely noticed it, but now it was entirely absent. Unable to contain himself, Amaury pulled his britches back up and jogged across the room. His hip felt loose and strong—as good as it had when he was a young man. Laughing, he jogged the short distance back to his desk.
There was a knock, and the office door creaked open. His secretary peered in and gave Amaury a quizzical look.
“Lord Protector?”
“I, uh, I was just testing something,” Amaury said. “What is it?”
His secretary took a deep breath. That expression of doom, again, Amaury thought. He sat down and braced himself.
“An army has been sighted a short distance from the city,” his secretary said.
Amaury shrugged. “That was to be expected. Now that they’re here, we can get on with things.” Not so bad, after all, Amaury thought.
“That’s not all, Lord Protector. The mercenary company on the way to the city was attacked and dispersed. They won’t be coming.”
At that, Amaury’s heart sank. All the joy of finally healing his hip was sucked from his body. “Get out,” he said.
When the door closed behind his secretary, Amaury cradled his head in his hands. He wanted to scream. After he managed to get his anger under control, he began to think of next steps. He needed to scout the enemy force, find out how many he had to deal with and the composition of the king’s army.
Where is Solène? he wondered. Was she another weapon that would be brought to bear against him? It was a concern, but he reckoned he had the measure of her—after all, he had drunk from the Cup and she had not. He could deal with her.
He reached forward and rang the bell on his desk. It was time to get to work.
Solène had walked through the night and into the next day. She’d noticed that since she’d become enlightened, her need for food had diminished, as though the Fount itself was providing her with sustenance.
She was still in open countryside, having avoided one or two villages along the way. She had no desire for human company. Her sense of being a pariah was as strong as it had ever been. She had magical power that almost no other person had ever had. Even before she’d become enlightened, she’d been running away from her magic, hoping that one day she would wake up and it would be gone. Instead, her choices had somehow led her to a point where it was stronger than she had ever imagined.
How could she hope for a normal life now? How could she be satisfied by being the best baker she could be when all she had to do was close her eyes and think to create hundreds of perfect loaves? Cakes, pastries, whatever fancies and delicacies she chose, no matter how complicated. There would never again be the reward that came from honest toil and effort—she could have whatever she wanted with only a thought.
Yet she couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted, other than to be rid of this curse once and for all.
Could she do that? Solène shut her eyes and focussed. Rid me of this power. Of this curse. She repeated the thought over and over. She felt the Fount swirl around her, in her, through her. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked around. She felt no different. She focussed her mind again—a random thought, the first to enter her mind—and a bolt of lightning shot from her fingertips into the sky. It hadn’t worked.
She let out a sigh and wondered what to do next. She knew there was much good she could do, but that didn’t change what an enormous burden she now carried. All she could do was follow Pharadon’s advice—to believe in herself. To use her power in the best ways she could.