“Thanks for the dance!”
Ashe stood in the center of the dance floor by herself, hands at her sides balled in white-knuckled fists as the bells tolled the time. She stood there still as stone, unmoving like the marble statues littered throughout Gargantua’s walking paths. Anger roiled within.
Betrayal, the mist said.
Liar, the flames of vengeance fumed.
Killer, the enmity harkened.
By the Pentax, she was a lost soul.
Joyous couples took to the floor as the vocalist’s range began anew, music striking chord once more in a style meant for the passing of partners. Women and men separated, forming a line across from one another, clapping in tune while the vocalist wailed. Prien Soabin watched her with sickening fascination.
She stumbled away, ignoring the stares accompanying her exit. Her torn feet slapped against the hardwood, leaving fresh hurtful jolts with each step. She snaked a perspiring glass of bubbly wine from an unsuspecting noble and downed it in a single gulp.
Zenith’s cock, that man is maddening. We’ll see what he thinks when I remove myself from this place. Shit, Father, I can’t. Her anger flared. “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Talking to yourself are we, Godsblood?” A smirk graced Solanine’s face, elbow leaning on a linen-covered tabletop nearby.
Finally, she thought. “Lu Har let you out of your cage, bitch?”
“A mastiff can still tear you apart even when not hunting, but a defanged snake is nothing more than writhing leather, Brynn Benld.”
“Been working on that one long?”
The Fallen’s pet’s face turned hard. “Your barbs have no sting, Godsblood. I would rather you willingly join our cause. I should so hate to have to kill you right after you break the Seals.”
“What do you want?”
“The rebellion dies today. Or didn’t you hear?”
“And?”
“The heir of this dung heap of a city is at this party. The Gutter King, or should I say Emre Benld, is bold enough to show his face. And the rest of his inner circle. My soldiers are onto them as we speak. Your father is not prepared for the wrath of the Fallen.” Solanine tittered. “But I bet you didn’t know that part of the plan your father cooked up had to do with you.”
“And what of Slag’s End? They weren’t part of it.”
“I would burn this city to the ground if my Divine demands it.” Solanine played with a pendant of obsidian. “Innocent or enslaved, none of it matters to me. Death is the only way to immortality. Purposes they serve, these desert ants. And when their use is over, I will gladly send their souls to the Divines as tithe. Your friends in this city have merely reached the end of their usefulness.”
“You sent Wren to kill me.”
“On the contrary, girl. I sent her to make you harness your aetheurgy.” The small aetheurgist glided closer and Ashe couldn’t help but recoil. “All to make you open the way to Eminence. The end is nigh for so many, Brynn Benld. Like I said, the rebellion dies today. You might consider it a blessing you still have use, lest you share their fate.”
Ashe waved her hand in front of her face. “See this, this is my ‘fuck you’ face.”
Solanine laughed mirthlessly. “Spoken like your mother. Ah, speak of the daemon.” The aetheurgist pointed.
Ashe saw a woman dressed in the scale armor of a scourge descend the staircase. Face of flushed olive, same as her own. The mouth, the lips, the cheeks. All the same as Ashe’s. Hair shorter, wavier, but the same hue of black. But with all-onyx colored eyes instead of her all-white.
The same woman from her visions.
“Mother…”
The woman, nay, her mother, marched straight across the dance floor toward where her father stood amongst the crowd.
“And it looks like she’s seen a ghost. The end begins for the Benlds, Godsblood. Reap what those two have sown for you.”
XXXVI
Lojen
ONCE INSIDE THE tunnel, Lojen dredged up the compound layout from his pocket.
Lojen crawled through the tunnel toward another hatch, this time it led into the compound itself, into a sterile hall of laboratories. Easing out, he scanned the halls for guards, but found the way clear. He could do nothing about the cameras at each juncture, so Lojen kept his back to the plastered wall as he prowled through a maze-like hallway hoping the guards on camera duty were more interested in the party than these stray halls.
Aethecite lights stuck out of both walls near the ceiling where copper tubes were riveted. The piss-yellow orbs doused the burrow in an unnatural glow. There were doorways baked into walls with signs above to indicate what was inside. Every one of them closed by an automatic locking system with a keycard access point and multiple blinking buttons. Most were machinery or service rooms, radio connections or communications supply.
But a few made Lojen’s tail flick with unease.
One was named Munitions and it was painfully obvious by the darkened stone around the door that weapons and explodable things occurred beyond. There were a couple rooms called Science Division but Lojen didn’t want to guess what went on behind those doors—though his mind could probably come up with some really frightening ideas if the colored lenses Emre’s rebels had conjured were any hint. The one he found himself staring at for long moments was called Vault of the Fallen. The room marked on the map as his target.
“Lojen!” The drakken practically jumped free of his exoscales at the sound of his name. Heart palpitating, he saw Wick hop-running toward him, a similar hand-drawn map in his furry paw. Wick breathed a sigh of relief as he skidded to a halt. “What took you so long? The cameras are only disabled for ten minutes. We don’t have time to dally.”
“They are?” He glanced up at the one nearby and realized there were no blinking lights upon it. And to think he had nearly pissed his trousers in fright over being seen. He shook his massive head. You’re such a Scurred Hatch. Some wardkeeper you make, Lojen Tevunson. What would Father have to say about all this?
