governments or their kings. Governments exist to serve the people, so the people should have a say in those governments.”
Nikslaus scoffed. “Impossible. Decisions should not be left to the rabble.”
“One people should not be ruled by another,” Tamas said.
Nikslaus steepled his fingers. The gesture was often one of significance when a Privileged was involved—especially when he wore his gloves. “You’re either playing me, or you’re a naïve fool. You served in Gurla, in Fatrasta, and half a dozen other savage countries where members of the Nine have claimed land. As did I. The peasants and savages need to be tamed. As Adro and the powder mages need to be tamed.”
“We learned two different things from our experiences, you and I,” Tamas said.
Nikslaus wore a look that said he wasn’t that interested in hearing what Tamas learned.
“Who betrayed me?” Tamas asked. He had answers of his own to find.
Nikslaus gave him a glance. “Do you think I’d risk telling you?” He shook his head. “No. Perhaps when the guillotine blade is about to fall, I’ll whisper it in your ear. Not a moment before that.”
Tamas opened his mouth, about to taunt Nikslaus with the knowledge that Brigadier Barat was a traitor. He stopped himself. Was Nikslaus really worried he’d escape? Did he really think Tamas had a chance? Tamas was bereft of his abilities, his leg unusable. How could he possibly escape?
Nikslaus shifted in his seat. He moved the curtain enough to look out, then sat back, an annoyed look on his face.
“Are we being followed?” Tamas asked, his voice as casual as he could make it.
“You know,” Nikslaus said, ignoring Tamas’s question and glancing out the window again, “many in the royal court are happy about your coup.”
“I’m sure,” Tamas said. “If you take Adro, you’ll split the land we confiscated from the nobility.”
“Confiscated?” Nikslaus said. “Stole. Land and possessions will return to any living relations of the nobility. Titles will be restored. There will be a tax, but a hand of brotherhood must be extended to the ravished nobility.”
“So Ipille is not as big a fool as I thought,” Tamas said. “Nor greedy.”
Nikslaus looked for a moment as if he’d strike Tamas. He seemed to think better of it, simply raising his nose. “What mistake of breeding gave you such disrespect for your betters? Such disdain for the God-chosen king?”
“A god didn’t choose Ipille,” Tamas snorted. “Or that god is a fool.”
“I draw the line at blasphemy,” Nikslaus said. “This conversation is over.”
The day drew on, morning giving way to afternoon and the carriage grew very warm. Tamas loosened the collar on his sweat-stained riding shirt. His riding coat had been discarded for an inconspicuous brown overcoat. It was hot and close in the tight quarters, and he wished Nikslaus would open the window. The Privileged and the Warden alike seemed unaffected.
He could tell when they crossed the canal. The bridge was stone on steel over a long, tall span, and the wagon wheels rolled over easily. They were getting close to the harbor. He could smell it.
Nikslaus kept glancing out the window. Tamas wondered what Nikslaus sensed with his sorcery. Was Sabon on their trail? Or was Nikslaus simply nervous about their proximity to the city garrison? Tamas took a deep breath and studied Nikslaus. Nervous? Yes. Near to panic? No, not even close. And panic he would, if he thought any of the powder cabal were getting close.
Tamas listened to the sounds outside the carriage, trying to place their location. Somewhere near the docks and the canal. If they had taken the Roan Bridge, they were very close indeed. They could take a smuggler boat out of any of the pier warehouses. Nikslaus wouldn’t wait for anything fancy. He’d want to be off with his prize as quickly as possible.
The carriage rolled to a stop. Nikslaus lifted the curtain and smiled at what he saw. Tamas’s heart fell. They were here.
Tamas didn’t know which startled him more: the explosion, or the screaming horses that followed it. The whole carriage rocked, slamming Tamas against his chains. He bit his tongue against a scream as his weight—and the weight of the Warden—threw his bad leg against the side of the carriage.
Nikslaus kicked open the door. “Kill him if they take me,” he told the Warden as he leapt from the carriage. The echo of sorcery clapped the side of the carriage, shaking it more than the explosion had.
Tamas shared a glance with the Warden. The Warden positioned himself in