“Mercurio,” Drusilla said again. “He came down to your chambers a week ago. Spoke to you and your sister at length, or so I am informed.”
“Escape from the Mountain, good Mercurio seeks,” Adonai shrugged. “And I am one such escape. Words had he also, most choice, about my … hungers.”
Adonai watched Drusilla, pink eyes glittering. He knew where her coin went, too. Where she spent the slow fortune she was amassing since Lord Cassius perished, leaving the Church completely under her command. How much she had to lose. And why she was so desperate to cling to what she’d built.
“We should kill Mercurio and be done, Drusilla,” Solis muttered.
“You catch more fish with live worms than dead ones,” the Lady of Blades replied. “If our little Crow learned of his murder, we might never see her again.”
“And how would she learn what happens within these walls?” Spiderkiller asked.
Drusilla shook her head. “I know not. But she seems to have a knack for it. The imperator was clear—Mercurio is not to be touched until Scaeva’s heir is returned.”
“Perhaps he entertains delusion his daughter will still join him?” Mouser said.
“She’s no fool,” Aalea said with a delicate shrug. “There’s much to be gained from standing with Scaeva now. Mia may yet accept his offer.”
“And you hope she will, I suppose?” Solis growled. “That her life might be spared? You always had a soft spot for that girl. And her old master.”
“I have many soft spots, Revered Father,” Aalea replied coolly. “And you are welcome to enquire about precisely none of them.”
“Regardless, Mercurio cannot be trusted.” Spiderkiller interrupted the pair, eyes on Drusilla. “We should at least lock him in his room.”
“No,” Drusilla said. “I want to give the old bastard enough rope to hang himself.”
“All due respect, Lady,” Mouser said. “But Mercurio is one of the most dangerous men in this Mountain. Are you certain that your personal feelings for h—”
“You are treading on extremely thin ice, Shahiid.” The Lady of Blades glowered. “I would choose my next words with utmost care, were I you.”
“If there be nothing else?” Adonai sighed.
“Are we boring you, Speaker?” Drusilla snapped.
“Forgive me, Lady.” The speaker bowed. “But I hunger.”
Drusilla aimed one last poisoned glare at the Mouser, then turned her full attention to Adonai. “I understand. And I’d not seek to keep you from your meal. But before you leave, there is one last matter to discuss.”
“Pray then, Lady, let us discuss it swift.”
“Since Mia Corvere so neatly did away with his last, Imperator Scaeva has need of another doppelgänger. Inform your sister we shall be in need of her services.”
Adonai felt a flicker of excitement in his veins.
“Coming here, shall Scaeva be?”
“Unless the situation has changed,” the Lady of Blades said. “I was informed Marielle could not create simulacra without the imperator present.”
The blood speaker gave a lazy shrug. “’Tis as with any artisan. Be the model present in the room, a more accurate portrait can the artiste paint. Be my sister love’s work intended to fool the Senate, or Scaeva’s bride, then aye.” Adonai smiled. “’Twould be prudent for the imperator to make himself available for a sitting.”
“Very well,” Drusilla replied. “I will inform you when he is due to arrive.”
“As it please thee,” Adonai said, stifling a yawn.
The speaker turned and left the Revered Father’s chambers with a slow swish of red silk, taking his long and sweet time. His bare feet made no sound on the stairs as he descended into the dark, his pale lips twisted in a small smile.
He could feel Drusilla’s eyes on him as he left.
* * *
“Brother love, brother mine.”
Adonai found Marielle in her room of faces, reading by arkemical light. She was buried in some tome from the Athenaeum, tracing her progress across the pages with twisted, seeping fingers, careful never to touch. But she looked up as her brother entered her chamber, silken robe parted from his pale, smooth chest.
Her red eyes shone with joy to see him, but she kept her smile small and tight, lest the skin of her lips split again. It had taken weeks to heal the last time.
“Sister love,” he replied. “Sister mine.”
Adonai gently pulled her cowl back, pressed his lips to the top of her head, locks of greasy blond spread thin over her scalp. She turned away from him, ashamed.
“Look not upon me, brother.”
Adonai put his hand to her cracked and swollen cheek, turned Marielle to face him. A nightmare of wasted