He was being carried along dark hallways and down spiraling stairs, head thumping against the Hand’s backside. Drusilla was following, shaking her head.
“Stupid old fool.”
The old man groaned in reply as the Lady of Blades sighed.
“This is what having a heart gets you…”
CHAPTER 31
WAS
Drusilla left Mercurio in the apothecarium.
Despite her better judgment, the Lady of Blades always had a soft spot for the bishop of Godsgrave. She might have lingered longer by his bedside if she were able. But sadly, she had a massacre to oversee, and the tides of time wouldn’t be kept waiting by sentimentality. Drusilla had left her old lover sleeping, gray and gaunt, his thin chest rising and falling swift as a wounded bird’s. She’d growled instruction that he was to be given the best of care, waving one of the chief apothecary’s bonesaws in his face to impress upon him the gravity of her request. And with a cold kiss to Mercurio’s damp brow, Drusilla set out to murder the girl he loved like a daughter.
She’d gathered her flock about her, all in black. Gone over proceedings one last time for safe measure. The plan was set, the path was clear. All they needed now was for the guests to arrive, and the red, red gala could get under way.
The murderers waited now in the gloom, wreathed in the stink of hay and camels. The Red Church stables lay below them in all their fetid glory. Aside from the exterior doors leading from the Mountain’s flank out to the Ashkahi wastes, there were two other exits from the chamber—double doors, high up on the east and west walls. These doors led farther into the Mountain and were reached by twin sets of polished steps with heavy granite railings. Winding along the chamber’s outer wall, these stairs eventually met in a single broad descent, leading down to the animal pens and storage rooms below. Drusilla stood swathed in shadow near the upper western doorway. Long knives hidden in her sleeves. Blue eyes gleaming in the dark as she pushed all thought of Mercurio from her mind.
Scaeva lurked behind her, bodyguards arrayed about him, blades drawn and ready. In his typical fashion, the imperator stood close to the exit—ready to flee back into the safety of the Mountain if things somehow went badly, but still close enough to watch the massacre unfold. Scaeva’s shadow serpent was coiled about its master’s shoulders, watching with its not-eyes.
Drusilla idly wondered how deep in his dark gifts the imperator stood. How dangerous he’d truly be in a place like the Mountain, where the sunslight never shone. In all the years she’d had her spies watching him, Scaeva had never once made a display of his shadow power—the lady had no idea what his true capabilities were. If not for his passenger, Drusilla would hardly believe him to be darkin at all. Those unknowns made him dangerous. Almost as dangerous as his daughter had become.
The difference being, of course, Drusilla didn’t get paid by his daughter.
The Lady of Blades disliked the imperator, truth told. She respected his intelligence. Admired his ruthlessness. But the man was too ambitious for his own good. Too power-hungry. Too fond of the sound of his own voice. Far, far too vain. And of course, Scaeva had power over Drusilla, which made her dislike him all the more.
Coin.
It was astounding, how insidious its silvered grip was. How Drusilla’s love of wealth had started with her love of familia. Whoever said money was the root of all evil had never seen the bliss in her grandsons’ eyes the turn she bought them their first ponies, or heard her daughter weep with joy when Drusilla paid the full sum of her wedding without a thought.
Whoever said money couldn’t buy happiness obviously never had any.
She’d amassed a fortune in the years she’d served the Ministry. Most of it from Scaeva’s own coffers. But the real evil of wealth lay in the truth that too much was never really enough. No matter the sum you acquired, it seemed you always needed more. In her mind, Drusilla still needed Scaeva. When her familia’s future was assured, when their wealth was absolutely unassailable, then perhaps she could reassess her relationship with the young imperator. But for now …
“Remember, Drusilla,” Scaeva murmured behind her. “If one hair upon Lucius’s head comes to harm, your grandsons shall pay the forfeit of the cost.”
“We know a thing or two about killing, Julius,” Drusilla replied, keeping the cold