and did a passing job of appearing to do just that. Mercurio’s supposition was exactly right—with the guests arriving in droves and the gala now in full swing, the servants and slaves and mistresses and minor domos they passed all seemed far too busy to even look their way. A long procession of slaves was streaming out from the many kitchens and larders, bearing carafes of the finest wines and trays artfully stacked with exotic aperitifs. It was simple enough for the quartet to slip through the brimming chaos to a quiet stairwell, and from there, to the apartments above. But still …
This is too easy.
Another cadre of Luminatii waited on the landing above, their centurion frowning at Mercurio as he led their small cohort up the stairs. The man’s question was silenced by a wave of Adonai’s hand and a bloodblade whipping through his throat, sending him and his fellows to the marbled floor. The blood speaker drank a few quick mouthfuls from the fallen centurion’s neck before Sid and ’Singer dragged the bodies into an antechamber, and the quartet were soon marching through the apartment levels. Past a grand study with a grand map of the Republic laid out on the floor. What might have been a counsel room, lined with charts and shelves full of scrolls. An elaborate bathhouse trimmed in gold and peopled with beautiful statues. The old bishop couldn’t shake the trepidation from his shoulders, the feeling that something simply wasn’t—
“Where’s Jonnen’s room?” Sidonius asked.
“How the fuck should I know?” Mercurio muttered.
“Because you were bishop of this city for almost a year?” Bladesinger whispered incredulously. “And you brokered information for the Church for fifteen years before and your eyes are fucking everywhere?”
“Well, not everywhere, obviously,” Mercurio said.
“’Byss and blood,” Sid hissed. “So we just stumble about until we find it?”
A bald man in expensive servant’s livery and the triple circles of an educated slave branded into his chubby cheek walked out of a washroom, wringing his hands. At the sight of the four mismatched Luminatii before him, the fellow came to a stop, looking somewhat confused. Mercurio shrugged.
“We can ask him?”
In a quiet blinking, Sidonius had slammed the servant up against the wall, palm clapped over his mouth, knife to his groin.
“Make a squeak, I’ll cut your fucking jewels off, tubby,” the gladiatii growled.
Bladesinger sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s a eunuch, Sid.”
“O…” Sidonius glanced downward, then lifted the knife to the bald man’s throat. “Apologies.”
“Nw wpwujzz mwssussuwuh,” the eunuch replied.
Sidonius lifted his palm away. “What did you say?”
“No apologies necessary,” the man whispered.
“I presume you want your insides to stay inside you?” Sid asked.
“O, most assuredly,” the eunuch nodded.
“Then you can tell us where the young master of the house sleeps.”
One detailed explanation, one sharp blow to the head, and one slumbering eunuch stuffed into a washroom later, and the comrades were making their way upstairs. Mercurio could hear a multitude of voices from the ballroom below now, the beautiful notes of a string orchestra. Another Luminatii patrol was swiftly dealt with by Adonai’s blood magiks, and finally, all too miraculously, the bishop of Godsgrave found himself outside Jonnen’s bedchambers with the alarm as yet unraised. A quick peek inside showed a large empty bed with crisp white sheets, rich tapestries on the walls, toy soldiers, long shadows cast by a single arkemical globe. Mercurio stole inside, the others following, Adonai closing the door with a soft click.
Fear sat on the old man’s shoulder, ice roiling in the pit of his belly.
Far too easy …
“Right, it’s after tenbells,” he said. “The boy will be abed soon enough. We hide in here, snatch the little bastard when he hits the sheets, then get the fuck out, aye?”
“First we seek Marielle,” the speaker said, unbuckling his gravebone greaves.
“That eunuch said she’s down in the basement cells.” Sidonius watched Adonai slough off his breastplate. “You might need armor in quarters that tight.”
“Love be my armor.” Adonai tossed white hair from blood-red eyes, flung his vambraces onto the bed. “Devotion my blade.”
“… Touching…,” came a whisper.
Mercurio wished he could have at least felt surprised. But as he turned and saw the dark shape of Scaeva’s daemon slithering out of the long shadows, all he felt was a sinking inevitability. The serpent licked the air with its translucent tongue, peering at Adonai and hissing soft.
“… Most touching, Speaker. Your sister sang much the same when we put the hot irons to her…”
Adonai stepped forward, dagger raised. “If