and pulled back on the reins of his rage. “That’s ‘sir’ if you please, soldier,” he snapped. “And no, it’s not possible. This city needs to be cleaned up and I’ll have you with the seventy-fifth regiment.” He would not put Taniel through that. He was cold, not cruel.
Olem waved the communiqué. “Sir,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Problems.”
“Of what sort?”
“The boys have run into barricades.”
“And?”
“Big ones, sir, though hastily built. Very well organized. Not average looters.”
“Where?”
“Centestershire.”
“That’s less than a mile from here. Have they made contact with the barricade?”
“Yes,” Olem said. He didn’t look happy. “Royalists, sir.”
“They had to come out of the woodwork eventually,” Tamas said. “Damned king’s men without a king. Numbers?”
“Not a clue. They appear to have gone up overnight.”
“What’s the extent of their holdings?”
“I said, sir. Centestershire.”
“What, the whole center of the city?”
Olem nodded.
“Bloody pit.” Tamas leaned back in his chair. He let his eyes fall to Vlora, his anger at her betrayal warring with the stupidity of men who’d throw their lives away over a dead monarch. He felt his hands shaking. “Why?” The word wrenched out against his will. He scolded himself immediately. He had better control than that. He forced himself to meet Vlora’s eyes. Why did you betray my son?
He saw sorrow in those eyes. A lonely, sad girl. The eyes of a child who’d made a horrible mistake. It made him furious. He stood, his chair thrown to the ground behind him.
“Sir!” Olem barked.
“What?” Tamas practically yelled at the man.
“Not the time or place, sir!”
Tamas felt his jaw working soundlessly. I did tell him to stop me.
The door to the office burst open. Taniel stumbled in, breathing hard as if he’d run up all five flights of stairs. He stopped in the doorway, frozen in place at the sight of Vlora.
Vlora stood. “Taniel.”
“What is it?” Tamas said, the calm in his voice forced.
“General Westeven is in league with the Privileged.”
“Westeven is in Novi on holiday. I made sure of it before the coup.”
“He returned yesterday. I’ve just come from his home. It’s guarded by at least two dozen Hielmen. We tracked the Privileged there but couldn’t force our way inside. She is a guest of his.”
“He has to be out of the city. They may just be using his house as a base of operations.”
Taniel strode into the room, stopped beside Vlora, his eyes on his father. “If Westeven is in the city, he’ll move quickly. He could strike at any time.”
Tamas leaned back, taking in the information. General Westeven, the longtime retired captain of the Hielmen, was a legend. The man commanded respect from noble and commoner alike and had won battles across half the world. He was one of the few military men, foreign or domestic, that Tamas truly saw as an equal. And he was a king’s man through and through.
Tamas slid his dueling-pistols case across the desk to rest in front of him and began to load one. “Olem, eject anyone from this building that isn’t a member of the seventh brigade. Once the House of Nobles is secure, we’ll see about those barricades. General Westeven may be behind them.”
Olem left the room at a run.
The rest followed Tamas out into the hallway and down the stairs. Olem met them again on the second floor. The place was packed with people—city folk, peasants, poor merchants. It seemed like half the city filled the hallways. Olem had to push his way through to get to Tamas.
“Sir,” Olem said, “There are too many people in the building. It’ll take us hours to clear all the rooms.”
Tamas scowled. “Who are all these people?” A line had formed, and Tamas couldn’t see the front of it. He grabbed the closest man, an ironworker, by his thick overalls with the hammer stitched to one pocket. “What are you here for?”
The man trembled slightly. “Um, sorry, sir, I’m here to debate my new taxes.” He spread his hand toward the line. “We all are.”
“New taxes haven’t been issued,” Tamas said.
“For the king!”
A gunshot went off near Tamas’s ear and the man slumped to the ground before he’d been able to draw his dagger halfway. Vlora immediately began reloading her pistol. On Tamas’s other side, Taniel had drawn both of his.
The entire hall burst into motion. Cloaks and coats were discarded, and from beneath them weapons were drawn—swords, daggers, pistols—a few even had muskets. What had a moment before been an aimless line of city folk and commoners became an armed mob.