into it immediately, and Tamas realized it was what he’d expected all along.
“We have a cousin of the king’s within our barricades,” Maxil said.
“His name?” Tamas interrupted.
“Jakob the Just.”
Tamas blinked, trying to remember the royal line. “More like Jakob the Child, he’s a fourth cousin, at best, and he’s barely five.”
“He’s the closest living relative to Manhouch.” Maxil went on. “We propose that we put him on the throne as Manhouch the Thirteenth. You and General Westeven will remain in control of the army, and we along with your council will combine to form the core of the king’s new advisory board. Your powder mages will be the new royal cabal.”
“And the king?” Tamas asked.
“We will advise him until he comes of age.”
Tamas looked to Westeven. There was a levelheadedness to this proposal that spoke of his influence. The nobility would leave most of the control in his hands. Yet it could not stand.
“I will never allow a king to have power over Adro again,” Tamas said. “I simply won’t have it. If you want a king, he will be that in name only.”
Maxil scowled. “A puppet monarchy?”
“At the very best, and I’m stretching my patience to offer that.”
“No,” Maxil said. “Adro must have a proper king.”
“Never again,” Tamas said.
“You’re refusing us? That’s it? No negotiation? We’ve left the army in your hands. We’ve made you the next royal cabal head. You’d be the second most powerful man in Adro. Are you that greedy that you must keep it all to yourself?”
Tamas chuckled. “You poor sods. I didn’t do this for power. I did it to destroy the monarchy. I did it to free the people. I’m not going to turn around and put a boy king on the throne so that you can go back to your country villas and continue to bleed the country dry.” He looked at Westeven. “I’m sorry, my friend. No king, no foreign country must ever have power in Adro again.”
“I will fight you to the end,” Westeven said.
Tamas bowed to his old friend. “I know.” Tamas felt someone touch his shoulder. Julene was there, her face serious.
“There’s something wrong,” she said.
“What?” Tamas said. He exchanged a frown with General Westeven.
The familiar popping sound of fired air rifles erupted from the barricades. Julene leapt between Tamas and General Westeven, shoving Tamas back. Bullets crackled against an invisible barricade. Julene fell back, throwing fireballs as quickly as she could summon them. They smashed into the barricade, causing blooms of fire.
The other Privileged launched herself into action just a moment after Julene. Hardened shields of air stopped the crack of bullets from Tamas’s quickest soldiers, covering the sudden retreat of the royalist delegation. The ground rumbled, the air seemed to shake, and the cannon closest to Tamas suddenly cracked, the wheels falling off, the broken metal hitting the ground with a thud.
Tamas leapt to his feet. They’d attacked him. They’d attacked him under a flag of truce! Westeven knew better than that. Westeven… Tamas’s eyes found his old friend. Westeven’s body was being dragged toward the barricades. He was missing an arm, his whole chest blackened. Was he already dead? He’d been hit by one of Julene’s fireballs. Tamas felt sick.
“Senseless,” he spat. “Brigadier Ryze! Prime the artillery. We attack at once!”
Chapter 11
The Public Archives are just above us,” Adamat said. Somewhere behind him, SouSmith’s lantern wobbled to a stop, and the sound of sloshing stilled.
“You sure this time?”
Adamat held his own lantern up to the rusted iron ladder rungs in front of him. There was a plaque on the bricks between the rungs, supposedly to say which building this accessed, but the letters had been worn away long ago. The storm drains beneath Adro were not kept in the best of shape. It was a miracle most of them had survived the earthquake—and a testament to Adran engineering.
“I may have a perfect memory,” Adamat said, his voice echoing in the long, shoulder-height tunnel, “but all these damned drains look alike.”
“Heh. I liked the women’s bathhouse.”
“I bet you did,” Adamat said. “Wonder anyone’s using it, what with Tamas lobbing shells all over this section of town.” He rubbed his finger over the plaque, trying to make out any kind of letters. “This has got to be it.”
SouSmith sloshed up beside him. The big boxer was bent almost double. Adamat’s knees and thighs ached from trying to move around in the storm drains, but SouSmith had to be hurting far worse.