I have everyone's eyes on me. Shaken by my words. I am a rumbling thunder that burst through a sky until then covered only with tiny clouds. I'm a stormbringer. One that does not want to end anytime soon.

I look at each of the individuals as if I must pierce them through and through. There is no doubt or hesitation in me. I stiffen my muscles, but not a spasm betrays me. It is hatred that I give off. Deep. Intense. It is poison that I share and that I do not hesitate to spread around.

None of those present raise questions. Good. Because I, to them, owe none. Nor I do to anyone. But just in case, I have already thought of how to urge them: I will give them a reason to act.

"I guess you were not expecting such a request," I resume. I seize the moment; I slip into their hesitancy.

"It's not just that." The Beggar's Prince sits down. "Actually, I find the proposal tempting." His fellows turn, surprised. "I have a deep fear for Prince Sheikh."

Better than I had hoped. An excited muttering rises.

The Beggar raises a hand and forces everyone to be silent. "The Prince of January is a danger, to everyone. There is not a Note that passes without me having to dread the moment when he ascends the throne."

"You will agree with me, then, that it is better to act." A danger, yes. But no one really knows how much. "Even if it means betraying the Crown." I step forward. Those present do not know whether to stare at me or at Kumaras Ashvin. There is a thread that binds us. I can swear it is red and long. I just have to find the spot where it knots ties more and pull until it comes to my favor. "That is why I ask for your help, to put an end to the Prince's madness."

Glances meander. Excited hubbub. They talk and talk. One is the deciding head, but the other organs are in turmoil. Yet, the Beggar's Prince does not turn his eyes away from mine. They are deep black. His beard is grayish, with dark-colored tips.

"Madness from which, however, we can always defend ourselves. With a little time and due effort..." he resumes.

I interrupt him. "Sheikh is not someone you can bargain with." I have to mark a long line: a point where the bearable breaks down and the drop makes the pot overflow. "I'm sure word has reached you about Sargas, in the Archbishop of Scorpio; about how the city has been raided to the ground."

Shivers run down the spines of everyone present. They are as deep as my own.

Kumaras bends down and grabs a pipe. It is black. Precise carvings depict a lion's head. "Everyone knows what happened to Sargas," he comments, meanwhile stuffing a pinch of tobacco into the combustion chamber. "Kind of a rough way to flush out heretics, if I may say so." He presses down to fill half the stove, his fingers trembling in a spasm.

There it is, the knot. "He spared no one." I gamble it all. I trust that the news was hidden or kept in great secrecy. "He set the flames during the Solar Pacts and blocked every escape route. Those who managed to leave the city were caught and forced back into the flames: he drove them into the fire, and those who resisted were felled by the steel of his blade."

A light goes out in Kumaras's gaze, eyes that meet mine just enough to hope it is a lie.

And I wish I could lie, at least about that. I lean down. The fire crackles over the embers. There are people squirming, houses blackening, faces screaming for help. The Prince Heir to the throne laughter echoes mournfully over them. "Like roasted pigs! Mother, do you hear them grunting?" he shouts with his arms spread wide.

I shake my head. I was so close. I could have hit him from behind, but...

"The prince just wanted to see the city burn. The heretics were nothing but an excuse," I conclude. I turn away from the fire. I had enough the first time, and the embers reminds me of that scene without sparing me details. As soon as my back is straight, I turn around.

I catch Kumaras intent on slipping a wooden stick from a pocket. He catches a candle flame and moves it across the surface of the tobacco. He take a long breath in, then puffs It out.

"Terrible," he exclaims, his voice broken. His nerves are so tense they are on edge. His eyebrows droop wrinkled. His mouth is stretched into an upturned curve. "It's not hard for me to imagine."

That's what I hoped to hear him say. Now that I've sunk the dagger in the right spot, I just need to push deeper. "When my men and I arrived, the city was already in flames and the bodies left to burn. The prince did not even let his holy priest administer the Rite of Rest."

Horror runs over wide-open eyelids and stunned mouths. I face each gaping eye and the disgust I have awakened in them. It is the same as I had upon seeing those bodies blackened and without the Miracle of the Passing given to them. Since the world began, there is no man, poor or rich, who has not been allowed to rest in the warmth of the Sun God. No one. Not even the heretics. Except for one event alone, one that sinks into the hearts of all present, and on which I rely to lead them to my cause.

An older man grabs Kumaras and mutters something in his ear. I don't need to strain or stretch my ear: I know exactly what he is saying to him.

"She must have mistaken wood for bodies" or "She's just a woman, what can she understand about sieges?" Nothing new. My men, or rather those who were once soldiers in my father's service, say even worse behind my back.

I prod them. "If you think you can deal with Sheikh, then be well prepared: for you will end up on the gallows and he will enjoy the show. That is, if he doesn't decide to set the whole Hill on fire for fun and amusement."

I know I am being mean. My words have a hint of venom that I have been preparing for so long that I can't even remember when I started making it. My muscles clench in a spasm. My heart beats like a drum.

Kumaras raises his right arm. He stops the people present as if he commands them with a baton. He rises slowly and coughs to clear his hoarse voice. "None of those here had even come to light when the Sea of Flames struck our Hill and our homes. However, our ancestors passed down the memory of that tragedy to us, and that memory is etched in the heart of every beggar, whether Prince or not." He takes a step forward. His gaze is proud, but I read in the irises an ancestral awe. It is as deep as the Great Orchestra of the Cosmos. "But even if fear of the Prince of January and what he is capable grips us, we cannot draw the Crown's anger upon ourselves. Everyone knows that His Majesty's love for his favorite son is enormous. To strike one is to strike both. And His Highness does not give discounts or prisoners to those who pay attention to his scion. Surely you remember what happened Solar Dances ago."

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I am aware of that. More than I would like to admit. But, like His Majesty, I too do not forget and nor do I forgive. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to hide. I understand that." I move closer. I stare straight into his eyes. I'm so close that if I decided to lash out at him with a cranium, he wouldn't even have time to dodge it. "For that very reason, it will be me and me alone who will deliver the coup de grace to Prince Sheikh. It will be the Black Bands who will take responsibility for it. I ask you nothing but to help us in the shadows." I push the purse full of coins against Kumaras chest. I force him to grab it. Meroll, behind me, throws the remaining two to the ground. "Then again, I don't know the city as well as you do."

Kumaras inhales from his pipe. Then he releases the smoke in a milky cloud. "Besides me, there is one other person who will have to be made aware of the matter: there are two Princes in the Beggar's Hill, and no one takes action unless the other also agrees. I will need some time before I can give you a concrete answer."

It's better than nothing. I'm ready for anything so long as I get my chance to pierce that royal turd through and through.

"Go back to the tavern," Kumaras resumes without turning around. "If I know her well, I am sure she have already sent one of her men to wait for you there. After all, the tavern belongs to her."

"Whose is it?" I am about to ask, but I don't make it in time.

The Prince greets me with a wave of his hand. He instructs a servant to collect the coins and disappears at a brisk pace between finely decorated draperies. Behind him is a procession of humble sycophants.

I follow him with my eyes, first, and hearing, then. Only when I am sure he has vanished who knows where do I decide to take my leave and leave the room. I put on my hood. I take a deep breath.

There is an expectant gust of wind that slaps me as soon as I step outside. It calms down, however, soon after, not even if it had been a goliardic gesture. I sink my boots into the sleet.

Meroll's presence behind me doesn't leave my side for an instant. "I'd say that went better than expected," she exclaims, with a pat on my back.

I turn gently and nod. "The last is not yet said, but at least we're one step closer to convincing them."

Outside, the black market is already closed. I am all too relieved. The muscles dissolve calmly. The heart is now a weak thud in my rib cage. The idea of being surrounded by people bumps me to the core. I need space. A lot of space. I cast my eyes all around. I sigh. I have calluses on my big toe and heel rubbing against the leather of my boots. Swollen like bagpipes.

My legs are trembling. I will never get used to this kind of pressure. How my father could convince his men so easily is a mystery to me. Ah, how I wish I could make anyone an ally with just a handshake! Why do I have to work three times as hard even when I am right?

"I hope all is well," I sigh.

Meroll stretches her lips between the wrinkles on her face. "You were pretty convincing. I would have agreed in a hurry in their place."

"Now you say that," I chuckle. "You protested quite a bit when I told you what I wanted to do."

"Only because I'm worried. But every Sister is a sword and every other Sister is her scabbard. I wouldn't have let you go off on your own."

Yeah, but I'm not a real sword. I'm an ornamental trinket and not even that pretty. It was like that with my father before. It still is with Meroll now. I am a blade with the edge made soft and inoffensive.

"We will be the ones to launch the attack, there is no need for you to take unnecessary risks," reiterates Sister, almost stomping her feet.

"I won't take any. I don't feel like broaching this subject. At least, not now.

Meroll brings her left hand to her side and shifts her body weight to her right foot. "Apart from that, where will those two have gone?"

"I gave them specific orders." I look up: the sky is leaden and the Moon Cry shows no sign of subsiding. "If they don't show up, we'll go back without them."

Meroll advances. She passes me by a few steps and looks for the Sisters by casting her eyes around.

Rosanne peeps out from the other entrance of a column and joins us with a short jog. She has boredom and annoyance painted on her face. "Finally!" she says and shrugs her shoulders, puffs fading in midair into white clouds.

I look around nervously. "Where is Claudiette?" The mere fact that she has wandered off makes my stomach turn.

Rosanne shrugs. "She said she was bored and went for a walk."

A walk?! Ah if I put my hands on her.

"You took a long time. Did it at least go well?" Claudiette appears like that, out of nowhere. And almost as if nothing had happened, she sinks her big rabbit incisors inside an apple.

"Where have you been?" I attack her, restraining myself from screaming.

"I..."

I don't let her finish. "I gave you an order and I demand that you carry it out perfectly."

Claudiette wrinkles her nose, her brow furrowed. "You may be the leader of the mercenaries, but you are not Mother Superior. You can't boss me around."

"As long as you are part of this mission," but I don't finish in time that Meroll intervenes.

"That's enough!" She says in a firm voice. "One of the Beggars said he was interested." Or should we say frightened? "However, the deal is not sealed and we have a lot more to do. So let's stop this and return to the inn."

I sigh and try to calm down. However, I will not forget this insubordination anytime soon. However, for now it is best to take a good look of the situation. The Sisters need information, although I only tell them what is most important. I summarize as best I can and warn them that we will have to do some work. Nothing new. We Sisters are used to this kind of situation. Like the time we were supposed to defend a fort and, instead, ended up plowing fields.

"Everything is good for tempering the spirit!" had replied Mother Superior, upon hearing the news.

It certainly tempered my hatred for the nobles. Not that I needed it: my resentment for the Crown grows with each passing Note and will know no end at least until the heir to the throne's shoulders are lightened. I wave to the Sisters to pick up the pace, but as soon as I move Meroll grabs me.

"Be careful!" She shouts.

I jump. What's going on? An arrow? Someone about to attack me out of nowhere? I take a step back. Then I see him, on the ground, small and black. Shit. "I almost put my boots on it." I lift the soles and examine them. No, no uncomfortable tracks. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Meroll."

Sister shakes her head, her eyelids half-closed. "You're welcome, though be careful: the streets here are really dirty." She opens her eyes and waves her index finger back and forth.

I shouldn't be surprised, for a place where poverty is at home, yet a chill tingles from my back to the nape of my neck. "We'd better hurry." Yes, better. I miss the tub of hot water. But now that my mind is reminiscent of the scents of bath salts, I feel that stench tingling my nostrils again. I really think I will wash again as soon as I get back. I can feel the filth clawing under my clothes. I can already imagine when this is over and the city is washed, as in one of those passages from the Chorus about the fate of the ungodly and the righteous.

"Who knows if I am ungodly or righteous?" I hear the voice ready to come out of my throat, but I restrain myself. I must not question myself. To doubt is dangerous, especially now that I have come so far. Whether I am punishable in the eyes of the Sun God I will find out when the Silence comes for me. Until then, I must not feed my heart with unnecessary thoughts.

Hesitation is defeat, my father used to say.