There were crowds gathered outside Greyspike Palace as the carriage carrying Soonia Darniss, Captain Silva and Princess Ardria approached. They were jeering and throwing things, some of which bounced noisily from the sides and roof, but Ardria, wearing a new gown given to her by the sister of the Mayor of Tarchem, the town where they'd stopped the train, sat bolt upright and stared straight ahead, ignoring the protest, shielding herself with dignity. There were guardsmen holding the crowd back, as well as soldiers guarding the gates of the palace grounds, and she half suspected that the crowd was only making a fuss for their benefit, wanting to be thought loyal by the King, whom she could see watching the approaching procession from the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Their very poor aim was one of the things that made her think this. More of the lumps of horse dung and rotten fruit was hitting their military escort, riding on horses ahead of and behind them, than was hitting the carriage.
“Charnox at last,” said Darniss, also dressed in a gown donated by Lady Henly of Tarchem, although not as fine or splendid as that worn by the Princess, something that she had never commented on but which made her scowl nonetheless and which made the Princess smile with amusement. “I had forgotten how beautiful the city was!”
Ardria looked about at the buildings of bare brick, blocky and simple in their construction. They were big, there was that to say about them. Big enough to crush the spirits of the people who walked between them in the streets where their sheer weight could be felt pressing down on them, impressing them with their insignificance. The road they had come in on was the only really wide street in the whole city, it seemed. Wide enough for armies to parade along it with crowds lined on either side, as they were now. Even this great avenue was made to seem small and cramped by the towering government buildings, though, and the Princess found herself breathing a sigh of relief as they emerged from it and entered the Grand Concourse, the wide open area in front of the palace grounds.
There were Radiants floating overhead. The three occupants of the carriage watched them warily as the carriage clattered and bounced their way across the Concourse towards the tall, spiked railing that surrounded the palace grounds. “Will they hold off, do you think?” asked the Princess.
“The telegraph operator said he’d passed on my warning to the King,” said Silva. “Now that we’re here, in sight of the King himself, I think we’re safe enough. Anything the Radiants do to you now will only confirm what I said, let him know that they're afraid of what you have to say. Their best chance now, I think, is to simply deny everything, say that you’re simply trying to drive a wedge between Carrow and the Radiants. That'll be what the King thinks anyway, they only have to confirm it.”
“But how do they explain what happened on the train? With you, Darniss and the other two men to tell what happened?”
“We can simply disappear. We're no-one.”
“Speak for yourself, young man,” said Darniss angrily. “I am a Duchess of the Kingdom. Related by blood to the King himself.”
“Begging your pardon, Madam, but that counts for very little here,” replied Silva. “The other aristocrats have been seen about society. They have reputations, contacts...”
“You don’t think that the King himself is the best possible contact? If one of the King's traitorous advisors makes me disappear, Nilon might start thinking that there's some truth in what Ardria's trying to tell him.”
“With respect, Your Grace, the Princess is the prize. If you were to disappear, the traitorous advisors would probably only have to tell him that you'd quietly gone to Lord Krell’s mansion, being anxious to see your daughter again, and he'd probably be satisfied with that.”
“Even if I told him that she had vital evidence to present to him?” said Ardria. “If the King demands that the Duchess be brought before him and she can’t be because she's already dead...”
“Then they'll just tell him that she's on the road somewhere, that they've been unable to find her. They'll say that highwaymen must have gotten her.” He turned back to Darniss. “I’m sorry, but only the Princess herself is truly safe. She may end up in a dungeon, or paraded in chains about the city, but she's far too well known to simply disappear.”
“That's comforting,” said the Princess drily. She looked up at the Radiants again. Maybe they couldn't act openly in front of such large crowds, but once they were in the palace an adoptee could easily curse back to a Kestrel, or all the way back to whatever the Kestrel had been before, and her place taken by an imposter coached to say whatever the Radiants wanted her to say. It could even be done without the King’s knowledge! He'd never met her in person, after all. He had no idea what she looked like. “We have to protect each other,” she said. “I will try to keep the two of you by my side at all times. If we speak with one voice, we will be much harder to ignore.”
“I'm afraid that you may find it impossible to protect us,” said Silva, though. “The King will want to make it plain to the crowds that you are his prisoner. He will almost certainly order your hands to be manacled, and then you will go where they take you and we will be taken somewhere else. The last we heard, Helberion was almost finished. You no longer have a country to give you weight and influence.”
“I wouldn’t write Helberion off so quickly, Captain,” said Ardria, trying to look confident and unafraid. The last news had been bad, though. There was no denying that, but she still hung onto the hope that her father and the Brigadier had managed to cook up some little last minute trick to save the country. They hadn't told her in case the Carrowmen forced her to reveal it. Had there been something in her father’s face, in his voice, when they said their goodbyes outside the palace, or was she just grasping at straws? The Brigadier had saved them so many times before, though! It was so easy to hope that he was about to do it again! Where was he, anyway? Their decision to enter Carrow by a different route meant that they had failed to meet on the road, but he might still be out there somewhere, making plans. He might even be in the crowd right now! She searched the faces of the nearest people, still shouting and throwing things, but she failed to see him.
They were approaching the gates now, and two garishly uniformed gatemen were opening them to allow one of the palace carriages to emerge. Not one of the ornate golden carriages the King and other members of the royal family used on state occasions, but a simple stagecoach such as might be used by guardsmen and other members of staff going about their duties. Ardria's carriage came to a stop beside it, and the Captain of the palace guard came to open the door. He regarded the occupants with a flat, expressionless face. He gave the impression of a man who knew all three of them personally and would know if they were not who they claimed to be. “Your Highness?” he said to Ardria. “I’m sorry, but I must put these on you.” He reached down to his belt and produced a pair of manacles.
Ardria felt her heart go cold and a nervous sweat broke out across her body. She forced herself to remain calm, though, and held out her wrists. “Do what you must, Captain.”
The man looked embarrassed. “Your pardon, your Highness, but your hands must be behind your back. I have my orders, ma'am.”
“Of course.” Ardria twisted around in her seat and put her hands behind her while the man manacled her. A lock of hair immediately fell across her face and she instinctively tried to brush it away before the cold iron stopped her. Ardria tried to tell herself that she was no more helpless than she'd been before, but the iron was heavy on her wrists and was already beginning to press painfully into her skin. She realised she was panting heavily in fear and forced herself to breathe evenly. She would show no fear! She was a princess!
The guardsman took her by the elbow and helped her out of the carriage. More rotten fruit was thrown by the jeering crowd, but none of it hit Ardria, except one mouldy apple that glanced off her shoulder. Several pieces hit the guard, though, who muttered curses under his breath, and more splattered on the ground around them. Even for untrained civilians their aim was awful unless they were deliberately trying not to hit her, and the Princess felt herself cheered at this sign that the common people were sympathetic to her. They hated their own king far more than they hated her.
The guard Captain led her to the other carriage and helped her into it. This carriage was pretty much identical to the one they'd just left. The only reason they were changing carriages, Ardria knew, was to show her off to the crowd with her hands manacled, show the Kingdom, the whole world, that she was a captive of the King of Carrow. A public humiliation to emphasise the superiority of Carrow over the country that had humiliated them again and again over the past century. Silva and Darniss got in after her, the Duchess waving to the crowds and getting no reaction from them. They have no idea who you are! thought Ardria in amusement. Poor Soonia Darniss! You spent all these years plotting the restoration of your family name and fortune, and now that you're here you have nothing to show for it!
“Can we have these off now, do you think?” she asked, showing the guard her manacled hands.
“I'm sorry,” he replied, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I was told to put them on you, but I have no orders to remove them. If it was up to me...”
Ardria nodded, understanding. “Ever since I entered your country, I've had the good fortune to encounter decent, civilised people,” she said. “This could be a great country in which to live if you had a better king.”
“I would be speaking treason if I said any such thing, your Highness,” replied the guard Captain. “I hope your meeting with the King goes well.” He then closed the door and spoke to the carriage driver. The man slapped the reins, and the carriage clattered off along the wide, gravel road towards the palace.
☆☆☆
Private Grey and the Brigadier, standing near the back of the crowd, watched silently as the Princess, her hands manacled behind her back, was taken from one carriage to the other. “What do we do?” asked Grey, his hands clenched in anger.
“For now, nothing,” replied the Brigadier. “She's in no immediate danger. Did you see how the guard handled her? With consideration and respect. And listen to the crowds, listen to what they say to each other, low enough that the guards can't hear. They love the Princess! They see her as their best hope for a better future! No, her danger comes from the Radiants and the adoptees, not from the people of Carrow. Even King Nilon is no threat to her. He knows her value as a hostage so long as Leothan remains free.”
“We have to get into the palace, make contact with her!”
“Yes, and I know how to do that. There's a man in the city I have to make contact with. He'll help us.”
“A Helberion agent?”
The Brigadier looked around to make sure no-one in the crowd was paying attention to their conversation. He moved a couple of paces away, to an empty space against the wall, just to be safe. “The head of the Charnox network. I’ve had dealings with him before. He'll be able to put me in touch with Wombat, our agent in the palace itself.”
“We have an agent in the palace?” Grey stared in astonishment. “Why hasn’t he just killed Nilon?”
“Because assassination is not a door we want to open. If we do it to them, they'll do it to us.”
“They tried to do it to the Princess!”
“Yes, and If we had credible proof, more than just Darniss’ confession, they’d have been condemned by the whole human world as a result. Besides, we’re better than that. We meet the enemy honestly, on the battlefield.”
“Would you really rather lose honestly than win by assassination? Losing is losing, no matter how it happens!”
“Obviously we want to win, but we want to do it in a way that will inspire future generations. We want to set an example.”
“There have to be people to learn from that example! If we lose, it's not just us who lose, it's all humanity! Future generations will admire our code of ethics from inside cages!”
“I am confident that we will win. There are things in motion that, for security reasons, you can't know about.” He moved back to the crowd and pushed his way through it to see the Princess’ carriage pass through the gates into the palace grounds. “We have to move,” he said as Grey joined him, and he led the way back into the narrow, claustrophobic streets of the city.
☆☆☆
What an ugly palace! thought Princess Ardria as the carriage drove along the King's Road towards it. It was blocky and functional, made from great slabs of granite that made it look like something a child had made from toy bricks. What it lacked in style, though, it made up for in sheer size. Paisley Palace could have fit into the space occupied by one wing! It looked stronger as well. It looked as though it would have shrugged off the earthquake that had half destroyed Paisley Palace with a sneer of contempt, and that artillery shells would just bounce off it! Just an illusion, she knew. No rock could withstand artillery bombardment, but it was a powerful illusion nonetheless and it made her shiver with nervous fear as she was carried helplessly towards it.
Other palaces were surrounded by gardens and decorative hedges. Greyspike Palace was surrounded only by grass and, immediately in front of the massive iron strapped oaken doors, a large parade ground of the same crushed granite as the road. Ardria imagined hundreds of soldiers in splendid dress uniform arranged in ranks and files, parading across it to the sound of a brass band for the inspection and amusement of the King and his family. And also for the intimidation of the common people, she realised when she saw that the grass closest to the parade ground was of a poorer quality, as if the soil beneath had been compacted by crowds of thousands of people, brought in to watch. She imagined the great gates in the fence being opened for the King’s birthday and other special occasions and all the occupants of the city, maybe half a million people, flooding in, with no-one daring to remain outside in case they were marked by agents of the King for being unpatriotic. Then having to stand there for hours, cheering and clapping with no food or water to see them through the day, while the soldiers drilled and marched, and all the while the King and his family would be standing on the balcony, smiling contentedly at the total control they had over their people.
The King was there now, she saw. Gloating over his moment of triumph. There was another man standing beside him, also dressed in royal finery. Prince George, she guessed. The man she had once been pledged to marry to seal the peace between their two countries. All a sham, she now knew. King Nilon had only pretended to agree to the marriage to hide the fact that he intended to invade Helberion, urged on by his adoptee advisors at the urging of their Radiant Masters. She wondered what kind of life she would be living now if the marriage had actually taken place. Probably not a pleasant one, she guessed. The adoptees would have had to find another pretext for a war with Helberion, in which case she would have immediately become a hostage to be used against her father. Strange though it seemed, therefore, Darniss might actually have done her, and Helberion, a great favour by blessing her. She glanced across as the woman sitting opposite her but said nothing. Her former matron had been motivated purely by ambition and greed, she knew. Her hatred of the woman remained as strong as ever.
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The carriage came to a halt in front of the palace gates and the Captain of the Palace Guard opened the door for her. He also had to help her out, to prevent her stumbling without the use of her hands to steady herself, and Darniss and Silva exited behind her. “The King has ordered you to be taken to the Great Hall,” he told her. “You will await him there.”
“He'll probably keep you waiting for an hour or two,” said Silva. “It's his way, they say.”
“If he has to resort to such tricks in order to establish his dominance over his guests, what does that tell you about his confidence and sense of security? Right here, in his own palace?”
“I advise you, Your Highness, to be careful what you say. There are some who seek to ingratiate themselves with the King by conspicuously punishing those who are, how shall we say, insufficiently respectful.”
“Thank you for your advice, Captain Silva. You have been kind to me when you had no need to. I will remember that if some happier day finds me able to show my gratitude.”
Captain Silva nodded, and the Captain of the Palace Guard move in to lead her away. He then leaned closer on the pretence of checking that her manacles were secure. “You are the hope of Carrow,” he whispered in her ear. Ardria tensed up in astonishment, then forced herself to make no reaction. “We merely wait for the day that the power of the army is broken. If Helberion has proven costly to conquer, that day may be near.” He then straightened and turned to the house guards emerging from the palace. “She is yours,” he said. Their leader nodded and led her away.
Darniss and Silva made to follow her, but another house guard approached them. “Captain Silva, you are directed to return to Tibre. Colonel Hemdall is no doubt eager for you to resume your duties there.”
“The King will want me to deliver a report on the Radiant attack on the train!” said Silva, though.
“There was no Radiant attack on the train. You were deceived. No doubt a ploy by Helberion agents to sunder us from our Radiant allies.”
“That's ridiculous! The Duchess here can confirm it, as can the Princess herself! The King must be told! He must be made aware...”
“You spoke to him personally by telegraph, I doubt there is anything you can add to your rambling and incoherent account. Helberion agents deceived you, a final, desperate ploy to avoid defeat. Now be about your duties!” Captain Silva stared in disbelief, but he couldn’t disobey without being arrested and charged and so he merely spun on his heels and marched to the palace stables to borrow a horse.
“And what about me?” demanded Soonia Darniss. “Am I to be dismissed to some far flung corner of the country too?”
“Not at all!” said the house guard, smiling. “Lord Krell is waiting for you in the South Wing. After you have refreshed yourself from your journey he will debrief you, and then see about returning you to your family. No doubt your daughter is eager to see you, and you her.”
“And when I have been debriefed, will the King see a copy of the report?”
“Of course!” smiled the house guard. “What he will make of it, though... From what I've heard, the story you have to tell is quite fantastic! Will you allow me to escort you to the South Wing?”
“Lead on,” said the Duchess dismally, and allowed herself to be led to a smaller doorway some distance from the palace’s great main doors. It almost looked like a servants’ entrance.
☆☆☆
The great doors of the palace led through to a wide entrance corridor, almost a great hall in its own right, but it was basically an entrance foyer from which doors led into corridors leading to other parts of the palace. The inside of the palace was similar in style to the outside, with a minimum of fancy decoration and relying on size to make an impression on visitors. The floor across which the palace guards led the Princess was polished granite, with grains of lighter stone embedded in a matrix of dark, brick red, while pillars standing against the walls spread out at the ceiling in a fan tracery vaulting, as if the architects had rebelled at leaving the palace entirely without any gothic ornamentation.
The feet of the Princess and her two escorts echoed like gunshots as they walked along the hall to the doorway, scarcely smaller than the great external doors, that led through into the Great Hall. The huge chamber was lit only by six chandeliers of electric candles that hung from the ceiling on stout iron chains, but even they lacked the power to illuminate the whole of the room and the corners were hidden in darkness. Deep shadows were cast by the two rows of doric pillars that ran along the room, separating the central walkway from the tiered rows of seating that ran along the walls. At the end of the hall was a raised platform, accessed by three steps, on which the throne itself stood, and behind the throne was a door leading to the King’s private chambers.
The throne was empty, and Ardria had to wait many long minutes before the King appeared, as Silva had promised. As she and the two guardsmen escorting her waited, the Princess amused herself by imagining what this chamber must be like on state occasions. King Nilon sitting on the throne in all his finery with Prince George, looking little less splendid, standing to one side and Queen Matilda, wearing one of her trademark silver gowns with its long train, on the other. All three wearing crowns or tiaras and with spotlights hidden in the ceiling aimed at them so that they shone like gods in the otherwise gloomy room. The great ministers of state would be arrayed on either side of them, and the seats would be occupied by the aristocrats and the wealthy commoners of the Kingdom, a faint susurration filling the air as they whispered to each other and waited for the ceremony to begin, whichever ceremony it was. A birthday blessing for the King, perhaps, delivered by the archpriest to Those Above, or the issuing of a new proclamation, for which the King would stand and advance to the edge of the platform, his great voice aided by the acoustics of the room which were said to be superb.
Right now, though, the huge chamber was empty and silent, with only the soft breathing of its three occupants to fill the air, along with the occasional whisper of clothing as one or another of them shifted position to ease the cramp in their legs and the slight clink of a link in the Princess’ manacles. Eventually, though, there was the sound of a door opening, echoing across the chamber so that it was difficult to tell from which direction it came. Then they heard footsteps, though, and the Princess turned her head to see a man in a highly stylised, over elaborate military uniform crossing the room towards them. The two guards fell to their knees before him.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Your Highness,” said King Nilon. “Matters of state, you understand. They crop up at the most inconvenient times.”
“Of course,” said the Princess. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
The King smiled wolfishly, then gestured for the guards to go. They rose to their feet, nodded their heads at him, and scurried off. King Nilon waited until they'd closed the door behind them before speaking again. “I'm afraid your mission has become superfluous, Your Highness. There is no longer any need to negotiate a surrender. Helberion is conquered. I await only confirmation from my Generals.”
“That is not the reason I came, as you no doubt already know,” replied Ardria.
“Ah yes!” said Nilon, his smile widening. “You want to warn me about the Radiants. You want to tell me that they wish only to destroy Carrow. Did you think I didn't already know? Did you think I was a fool, that I was duped by the creatures?”
“They tried to kill me on the way here,” replied Ardria, frowning in confusion. “Why would they do that unless they were scared of what I might say to you?”
“There are those in my administration who don't know the truth. People who are too useful to be easily replaced. If you were to speak to them, it could cause problems for me. That is why you were attacked. Now that you are here, though, that danger is ended. You will speak only to those to whom I wish you to speak. Our little secret is safe.”
“Darniss? Silva?”
“They are already dead. A pity, they both performed their duties admirably, but I just couldn’t take the risk.”
Ardria felt a stab of anger and grief. Darniss she had mixed feelings for. She remembered a time when she'd burned with the need to see her executed, but she'd come to regain some fondness for the woman over the course of their journey and she was surprised to feel some sorrow at the news of her death. Silva had become a real friend, though, and she silently vowed that she would see him avenged if the chance ever came. “But why?” she asked. “Why would a King be complicit in the destruction of his own kingdom?”
“Because I have been promised something greater.” He took a step closer to her. “Look closely, Princess, although I'm sure you've already guessed.”
She knew what to look for, and so she saw it straight away. There was powder on his skin, a thick layer that completely his its natural colour. All her self control couldn’t keep her from taking a half step back in fear. “You've been adopted!” she hissed.
“I will be a Radiant one day,” he agreed. “A higher being. Something as far above human as a human is above a cow or a dog.”
“An ordinary Radiant! The Radiant equivalent of a commoner! But here you're a King! With the power of life and death over millions!”
“Radiants have leaders too, and I will be one of them. My natural authority, my ability to sway the minds of others, they will be carried on to my next incarnation! The one who adopted me told me that Radiants assume similar roles of their society as those of the humans from which they were raised. Human farmers become Radiant farmers. Human scholars become Radiant scholars, and human kings...”
“You idiot!” spat the Princess, stepping forward to glare into his face. He took a step back in astonishment. “You are a fool! You have been duped! They will use you and they will cast you aside...”
Nilon slapped her hard across the face. She spun around, crying out in shock, and fell to the ground. The granite floor was cold against her bare arms. “One does not speak so to a King in his own palace!” he roared, his voice echoing around the huge chamber. “Remember your place! You are no longer a Princess! You are my prisoner and you will speak to me with respect!”
Ardria climbed back to her feet. It was hard with her hands manacled behind her back, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of making any concession to the fact. She tossed her head to throw the hair out of her face. There was the taste of blood in her mouth. “And what about Prince George?” she asked. “Will he also be adopted, or is he still expecting to inherit a kingdom?”
“George is not your concern. Your only concern will be to persuade your father to surrender himself.”
“He will never do that!”
“I think he will. He knows that I am fond of falconry, and that I am always looking for new birds to add to my collection. I have wizard powers now. You were a Kestrel once. If your father does not surrender himself, you will be a Kestrel again.” He reached out towards her face. She backed away in sudden fear, but he gripped her by the arm and drew her back to him. Then he touched her face, running his fingers across her cheek and under her chin. Her skin crawled, but she forced herself to stand steady. She was a Princess! She would not show fear!
“The telegraph connection to my army in Helberion has been interrupted for now,” he said. “A lucky strike by a Helberion shell, no doubt, but it won't take long to fix. When communications have been restored, you will speak to your father and you will tell him to surrender himself.”
A door opened and two palace servants appeared, both with powdered skins, she noticed. “They will take you to your rooms,” said the King. “Everyone you interact with from now on will be an adoptee. Your maid, Your guards, everyone. Say whatever you like to them. They will all join me as Radiants when the war is over.”
“Do they know that they’ll still be your servants when they're Radiants?” Nilon glared at her, then gestured for the servants to take her away.
☆☆☆
Soonia Darniss followed the house guard as he led her down through the servants areas of the palace to the kitchens. Servants and maids bustled everywhere, barely glancing at the two new arrivals. “Are you sure Lord Krell is down here?” asked Darniss doubtfully.
“His presence in the capital at the moment cannot be known, for political reasons,” replied the house guard. “He arrived Incognito and, when he had completed his business here, he will leave the same way.”
Rot, thought Darniss. She knew bullshit when she heard it. So what's going on? There was a saying, that no-one fears theft like a thief. In the same way, no-one fears treachery like a traitor. Is he taking me somewhere to kill me? she thought, and as soon as the idea passed through her head she was certain of it. He was taking her to a place where there were no witnesses, probably the furnace room, where her body could be disposed off, and as soon as they got there he would kill her with the ceremonial but perfectly deadly sword he was wearing at his belt, or maybe he would just snap her head like a twig. Less blood that way. Less messy, and he certainly looked strong enough to do it.
Once, she would have quailed with fear, but she had a weapon now. The dagger she'd taken from one of the other passengers on the train. While changing clothes in Tarchem, she'd found a better place to hide it, inside the bodice of her dress, against her chest, and she had fashioned a makeshift sheath for it out of a leather comb holder. She reached a hand inside her dress, pretending to be scratching an itch, and when she saw the guard glancing into a room they were passing she gripped it by the hilt and drew it free. She then hung her hand down by her waist, the blade up against her wrist where the kitchen staff, hopefully, wouldn’t be able to see it.
“Lord Krell is waiting for you in the furnace room,” said the guard, looking sideways at her. Darniss nodded, trying to look confident and at ease. I believe this man completely, she said to herself. I believe he is taking me to meet Lord Krell. It was an old trick she'd used back in Paisley Palace, when she'd been playing the part of a loyal member of King Leothan's staff. She would tell herself what she wanted other people to believe, it helped her facial expression and body language match the lie. She would make a part of herself believe it, to make her reactions easy and natural. It had always worked in the past, and it seemed to work again as the guard studied her face, looking for any trace of suspicion. After a moment he looked away, returning his attention to the way ahead, his body completely relaxed and at ease. Totally unsuspecting.
They passed the kitchens and continued on, deeper into the bowels of the palace where few people ever came. It was dark and gloomy, lit only by the occasional oil lamp, half of which had gone out leaving long stretches of corridor in darkness. It grew warmer as they approached the huge boilers that warmed the palace, and the guard led the way into a large room from which a red glow came. Half the room was filled with a great pile of coal, and one entire wall was made of sooty black iron in which were large doors and small murky windows. Tongues of fire leaped and danced behind the glass.
The guard indicated the chute in the ceiling down which deliveries of coal were dropped. “That way,” he said. There was nothing in that direction, he only wanted her to turn her back to him. She nodded, gullible and innocent, and took one step, but then she paused as if one of her boots was troubling her. She bent over to adjust the laces.
The guard came closer, frowning with impatience, and as he came within reach Darniss lashed out with the dagger, slicing across his throat. He staggered back in surprise, blood spraying everywhere, and Darniss jumped back before she was covered with it. The man's hands flew to his throat and squeezed, as if he could hold the blood in. For a moment it looked as if he might succeed, as if Darniss hadn't cut deeply enough, and she tensed herself for another attack.
One of his hands left his throat for a moment to reach for his sword, but blood sprayed again and he returned his hand to his neck, squeezing even tighter. He staggered towards the door, looking for help, but the strength left his legs before he could make it and he leaned against the door frame for support. He turned to look at her again, and this time there was a look of desperate fear on his face. He reached a bloody hand out towards her, as if begging her for help, then slid slowly down the wall. He died sitting with his back against it, and his hands dropped to his sides, his eyes still open.
Darniss waited long enough to make sure he was really dead, and then stepped carefully over him and back out into the corridor. For a moment she thought about trying to get him into the furnace, to hide the evidence, but he was much too heavy. Also, there was much too much blood all over the place. The moment the caretaker returned he would know what had happened, no matter what she did to try to hide it. She just had to get away while she could, therefore. Get out of the palace and hide in the city.
And then what? Spend the rest of her life on the run? They would search for her, she knew, and one day they would find her. And even if they didn't, she knew she couldn't live in a world ruled by the Radiants. A farm animal in a cage. She was too used to her comforts. Money, jewellery, people to obey her commands. That would never be if Carrow won the war, but if Helberion won...
If she somehow helped Helberion win the war, perhaps Leothan would be grateful enough to commute her death sentence and allow her to live with her family, in exile. And so long as she was alive, there was still hope for a return to power, even if it was for her children rather than herself. She knew things about powerful people in Helberion. Guilty secrets gathered over decades, not all of which she'd passed on to her masters in Carrow. It was always prudent to keep an Emperor in the hole, after all, as the card players liked to say. Powerful people would do things for her in return for keeping their secrets. Gives her time, and she could build a new power base. A chance for power, riches, influence. If Helberion won the war.
“Dammit!” she muttered as she scurried along the corridor, looking for the way out. “Looks like I've got to help rescue that little twit!”