“Coincidence does not constitute evidence,” said Nicole. “If every coincidence in the world was considered magic, the Academy would be out of business.”
“True. Yet nineteen is a number large enough to rule out coincidence. That, along with the minor Simian rebellions of the past and the secession and re-annexing of Dromán from the kingdom, gives plenty of opportunities for a king to be assassinated. Yet it has never happened.”
“Because the Church’s magic has never let it come to that. If the buds of past Simian uprisings had not been nipped before they began, or if there had been any kind of bloodshed during the Dromán incident, then yes, there would be an environment where one would expect a king to be murdered. The reason why none of Diarmuid’s predecessors have been assassinated is because the Crown has never seen war before. Real war.”
“Consider this then,” said Farris, realising this line of argument was futile. “King Lionál the Fourth and Seventeenth—Diarmuid’s grandfather—fathered a son at the age of eighty-four.”
“Of course!” laughed Nicole. “That’s because he had a sixteen-year-old wife to do the hard part for him!”
“But Lionál died moments after his son was born. The old king spent half his life in the sick bay, slowly dying of consumption. The healers had only given him weeks to live—thirty years before he died. Yet the moment a son was born to him, the ailment finally took him.”
“An interesting interpretation,” said Nicole. “But what is more likely—that this is just another coincidence, or that the Trinity exists and Seletoth channels his power through the current living king?”
“And what makes the latter so unlikely?” asked Farris. “In a world where a mage can bend the elements to his will, does the existence of a god seem all that far-fetched in comparison?”
“Maybe I’m wrong,” said Nicole, gently patting Farris’s cheek. “Perhaps they really were right about you. Farris Silvertongue: lover of many women but married to one God.”
Relax. She’s only teasing you. He smiled at the thought. If some jeering was all it took to share the company of a Simian as wonderful as her, then so be it.
Still, her words brought back the image Farris had seen back in the Clifflands, down on the beach where he almost expired. For a fraction of a second, when he felt like he was supposed to die, he had seen the face of the Lady Meadhbh, as clear as if made from flesh and blood.
He brought his focus back to the present: the smell of smoke and fumes from outside, the beautiful female Simian in his arms, and that strange sound that swung through the air.
Farris closed his eyes and held Nicole closer. No need to dwell on the past. There’ll never be a time better than this.
“Wait,” said Nicole, abruptly. She lifted her head from the pillow. “Do you hear that?”
Farris didn’t answer, knowing deep down that the correct response would cause this moment to end.
“Shit,” she cursed under her breath, crawling out from her bed. She darted over to the chest on the other side of the room. “It’s the Silverback’s crystal. He must be sending a message.”
She threw open the chest, and the sound grew louder. The half-crystal resonated with a distinct pattern: three long pulses, three short pulses, repeating. Whoever was in possession of the other half was sending a message, coded in a way that only a trained crystallographer could interpret.
“It’s a distress call,” said Nicole, panic setting into her voice. “Something’s wrong.”
“How can you tell?” Farris stepped out from the bed. “You’re no mage.”
“Argyll had us learn some simple patterns,” she said, frantically dressing herself. “This one was to be saved for an emergency. We can’t delay.”
Farris smiled, remembering back to a morning just like this back in Cruachan.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
Once they were both ready, Farris and Nicole left the cabin and darted across the hangar, the empty frame of the Reaper standing abandoned in its centre. Nicole unlocked the front door and turned to lock it immediately after they stepped outside. It was Farris, then, who first noticed the state of the Steamworks outside.
“What’s going on?” asked Farris, nudging Nicole’s shoulder.
Nicole turned, glaring at the empty streets all around her. At this hour of the morning, the Steamworks would usually be crowded with workers.
“Where have they all gone?” she asked.
Footsteps rang through the silence, and the shape of a Simian child appeared around a nearby corner. He was running frantically, his hands and face covered with soot.
“Lad, what’s the matter?” asked Farris as he approached.
The child didn’t slow as he passed the two Simians. He called back, “It’s Borris! He’s been killed. The Silverback is taking his seat on the Triad right now!”
Chapter 17:
The Oppressed
BORRIS BLACKHANDS FOUND DEAD IN TRIAD HOME. SILVERBACK WILL SPEAK TO THE CITIZENS OF PENANCE AT NOON TODAY
Pamphlet distributed in place of the Daily Penance on the morning of the 15th Day under the Moon of Dana
***
The Tower of Sin loomed high over the crowd of Simians standing in its shadow, the noonday sun directly overhead. All those gathered there faced the House of the Triad, waiting expectantly before its empty steps.
Farris and Nicole joined the crowd, shimmying past a male Simian with a child perched upon his shoulders. The thick horde of spectators stretched out from the Triad’s steps like a funnel, spilling into the streets and alleys of the market district nearby.
“Does the whole city know?” asked Nicole as they pushed through the throng. “How could the news of Borris’s death spread so quickly?”
“Argyll practically runs the Daily Penance,” said Farris. “If he wanted the city’s population to come together at the same time, it’d take little effort.”
Nicole sighed, clutching the still-resonating crystal in her hand. “Except for me….”
Farris didn’t respond. If Nicole’s crystal really had been calling her all morning, it certainly meant Argyll wanted her at his side much earlier than now.
But not me.
“Look!” cried a lightly shaded Simian by Farris’s side. “Someone’s coming!”
Indeed, the distant figure of Argyll the Silverback had appeared on the Triad’s steps. He was alone, standing before the people of Penance with both hands raised.
The muttering that ran through the spectators was immediately silenced as soon as Argyll spoke.
The Shadow of Sin district had been designed by Penance’s best architects, built from scratch after the Fall of Sin. The House of the Triad was situated in the centre of a wide-open space, with tall buildings leaning inwards at its perimeter. Through feats of engineering Farris didn’t quite understand, this shape meant that the Silverback’s voice could be heard by every single person in the crowd, no matter how far away they might be.
“Simians of Penance,” boomed Argyll. “I come before you with grave news. Borris Blackhands, the Simian seat of the Triad, was murdered last night.”
A spattering of whispers responded to Argyll’s words, but these trailed off when he spoke again.
“Borris was murdered in his bedroom as he slept, butchered in the place he should have been most safe. No Human or Simian was found to be trespassing, yet our kind leader still lies dead.”
Argyll paused, glaring at the crowd expectantly. Those nearby Farris spoke in panicked voices, as if afraid of the conclusion Argyll seemed to be hinting at.
“Why is he telling us this?” asked Nicole, also apparently missing the point. “Why so much detail?”
