Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,189

scrived effect and control or kill it within any given space—and while she’d managed to kill the scrivings in that assassin’s lorica, acting as a breaker against a full-scale gravity-rig collapse was something else entirely.

And yet, as she cracked an eye and saw the wall beyond her had been totally obliterated, and saw that she and her gasping father and all these brutalized corpses were now situated upon a tiny blot of building floating in almost nothing, she realized her gambit had been phenomenally successful.

She stared around in disbelief. Dusty winds battered her face, and she could see straight across into one of the Candiano towers beyond—there were even people standing on the balconies, staring at her openmouthed.

She took a breath. “I-I knew I could do it,” she said coolly. She looked at her father. “I always told you—I could do anything. Anything. If you only gave me the chance.”

She could see the pink face of the Michiel clock tower. Four minutes left.

She stooped, picked up the golden dagger from the bloody office floor, and surveyed Tevanne before her.

“Broken,” she pronounced. “Smoking. Unintended. Corrupt!” she said to the city. “I will not forgive what you’ve done to me. I shall wash you all away with a dash of my hand. And though you’ll drown in pain and agony, on the whole, really, the world will thank m—”

There was a sharp tap sound. Estelle jumped as if someone had bustled into her. Then she staggered slightly to the side, and looked down.

The side of her stomach was a ragged hole, just above her left hip. Blood poured out of her belly and down her leg.

Bewildered, she tottered around, and saw the armored man lying on the floor, aiming his bolt caster at her.

Her face twisted in outrage. “You…you stupid son of a bitch!” She fell to her knees, grimacing in pain, and fruitlessly pressed a hand to the wound. “You…you stupid, stupid man!”

* * *

said the Mountain dolefully.

said Sancia as she ran through the Mountain’s halls.

said the Mountain.

She leapt into a lift.

The lift lurched to life, and suddenly she was speeding up, up, up. Then the doors sprang open, and the Mountain said,

She ran down the hallway—which, she noted, was covered with ravaged corpses—and sprinted into Tribuno’s office, completely unsure what she’d find.

She skidded to a halt, and saw.

Gregor Dandolo lay on the ground, bleeding from one arm and trying to sit up, but his armor seemed too heavy for him. Estelle knelt a few feet beyond him, next to her father, a golden dagger in her hand. She had an enormous wound on her side, and blood was pouring out of her stomach to pool on the floor.

Sancia walked in slowly. Neither Gregor nor Estelle moved, and she stared at Gregor in disbelief. “God,” she said. “Gregor…How the hell are you alive? I heard you wer—”

At the sound of her voice, Gregor snapped up like a spring trap, and pointed the half-shield, half-bolt caster on his arm at her.

Sancia held her arms up. “Whoa! God, man, what are you doing?”

Gregor’s eyes were cold and distant. She saw he had Clef clutched in his other hand.

“Gregor?” she said. “What’s going on? What are you doing with Clef?”

He said nothing. He kept the bolt caster trained on her.

Sancia flexed the muscle inside her mind, and looked at him. It looked like the imperiat had done something to his suit—the arms and legs didn’t appear to be calibrated right anymore. But far more startling, she saw a bright, gruesome red star glowing inside Gregor’s head—the same dusky, red glow as Clef and the imperiat.

“Oh my God,” she said, horrified. “What is that? Did they do that to you?”

He said nothing to her.

She realized it must not be new—when they’d implanted a plate in her head, it had been major surgery. “Gregor—has…has that always been there? All this time?”

Blood dripped down Gregor’s arm, but the bolt caster didn’t waver.

“Then I-I wasn’t the first scrived human at all, was I?” she asked.

He said nothing. His face was inhumanly still.

She swallowed. “Who sent you