those. But I never ripped the pages out. She did.”
“Who?”
The Privileged did not answer.
“What are you doing with the ones you took?”
“The same as you, it seems,” she said. “Looking for answers.”
“Kresimir’s Promise,” Adamat breathed.
Rozalia scoffed. “Simple things,” she said. “There are more questions than you know.”
“All I care about is Kresimir’s Promise,” Adamat said. “What is it?”
She tilted her head to one side and regarded Adamat as a cat would a mouse. The sharp crack of rifles filled the silence, and a canon roared outside.
“I need a message delivered,” she said.
“What?”
“A message. One that needs to be delivered in person.”
“I’ll deliver your damned message. Tell me what the Promise is. Give me evidence.”
“I don’t trust you,” Rozalia said. “If you deliver my message, then I will tell you.” Her eyes darted suddenly as the thump of rifle butts on a door reached them. The Privileged made a hissing sound in the back of her throat. “Field Marshal Tamas is here. I must go. You won’t find the answer in any of these books. Only from me.”
Adamat calculated the chance he’d have of catching her unawares. A signal to SouSmith, a blow to the back of the head. They could hand her over to Tamas and let him get the answer out of her. Adamat saw that path ending with his death by Privileged sorcery.
“Who’s the message for?”
“Privileged Borbador,” Rozalia said. “The last remaining member of Manhouch’s royal cabal. He’s at Shouldercrown Fortress. Tell him that she will try to summon Kresimir.”
“That’s it?” Adamat said.
Rozalia gave a curt nod.
“And Kresimir’s Promise?”
She laughed. It was a sharp noise. “Ask Borbador. He’ll know.”
There were boots on the marble in the Archives’ main foyer. Rozalia turned and ran, vaulting a table like a woman half her age. She had just disappeared down a far aisle when soldiers appeared from the shelving aisles on the opposite side. They wore the colors of the Wings mercenaries and they pointed their rifles at Adamat and SouSmith.
Adamat raised his hands and sighed. “Tell Field Marshal Tamas that Inspector Adamat is here to see him.”
The mercenaries glanced at one another.
“Well?” Adamat said. “He’s nearby, isn’t he?”
One of the mercenaries headed back down an aisle. SouSmith glowered at Adamat.
“Not a word,” Adamat whispered. “If I’d known Tamas was going to take the Archives today, we wouldn’t have spent the last two days mucking through storm drains.”
“Bastard,” SouSmith said, glancing down at his sodden shoes.
“Inspector?” Field Marshal Tamas emerged from one of the shelving aisles. He carried a saw-handled dueling pistol, the powder on the barrel suggesting it had been used recently. “What the pit are you doing here?”
“Inspecting, sir,” Adamat said.
“Of course,” Tamas said distractedly, looking Adamat and SouSmith up and down, and sniffed. “Have you been in the sewer?”
“The storm drains.”
“Very resourceful.” Tamas glanced at the mercenaries behind him. “Stand down. Inspector Adamat is under my employ. Check the rest of the library.” The mercenaries headed off, and Tamas turned back to Adamat. “Have you solved my riddle, Inspector?”
“I have a lead, sir. Nothing definite yet. The books I’m looking for have come up defaced or entirely missing.”
“I expect you to do more than spend your days leafing through books.”
“That’s often exactly what investigating entails, sir,” Adamat huffed. “One follows any lead one can.”
“Very well. Carry on. Wait.”
Adamat paused.
“What do you know about the Black Street Barbers?”
Adamat summoned up his knowledge of them, thinking it over for a moment. “Their leader is a man named Teef. Among Adro’s underworld they’re considered the top assassins. They’ll take any job, is the rumor, as long as it pays well. At least a dozen Barbers have tried killing Adran kings over the last few hundred years, when the price has been right. None have succeeded, not with the royal cabal there to protect them. I’ve met Teef. He’s the… least mentally unbalanced of the crew. Frankly, the entire gang belongs in an insane asylum. I hope you’re not thinking of…”
Tamas nodded briskly. “Thank you.” He strode away.
“… employing them,” Adamat finished quietly.
Adamat retrieved his cane from where he’d dropped it when the mercenaries arrived. He glanced the way Rozalia had gone and pondered her cryptic message. “Time to go to Shouldercrown,” he said to SouSmith.
“Jakob!” Nila pushed past a royalist soldier and tripped over brick rubble that had spilled out into the street from the latest artillery blast. She lifted her skirt and was back on her feet, stumbling along as she shouted the boy’s name.