scare the king, but the other part was proof. Gabriel’s body was rotting in the earth, the process accelerated and contained to prevent anyone from noticing. Somewhere, the metallic sun that bore his name was resting amongst his rotting uniform and degraded body. We had to find it.
Partly for Laurel. Partly for his sister. Annette had said her name was Isabelle, and I couldn’t comprehend that grief. I couldn’t comprehend how she could paint the posters.
“Here,” I said, pointing. Two guards were circling the perimeter of the tent, avoiding the stretch of grass and ill-looking white growths between us. “I’ll take care of them, but we won’t have long.”
“I’ll get the name tag.” Madeline sniffed. “Let’s go.”
I settled against the tree, back to the rough bark, and focused on the two walking soldiers. No magic flowed through them or any of the other three guarding the tent. It was easier to alter a person’s alchemistry when touching them, but Laurence’s lessons had been about necessity and not ease. I would not always be able to spare a hand.
The first guard was easy enough; his body was already upset with him. I channeled my power through me and flicked it to him like a whip. The lifeline between us burst to life, and I tightened my fingers into a fist against my stomach and twisted. His stomach gurgled.
“Well,” Madeline said, “he’s running. I don’t know what you did, but he’s running real fast.”
“Good.” I licked my lips, mouth dry, and focused on the second one. His laughter echoed in my head as if I were actually standing close enough to hear it. I had never met these guards, didn’t know anything about them, and figuring out the right amount of nudging for his bodily alchemistry was difficult. He wasn’t already ill. My own stomach ached. My ribs burned.
“Here.” Madeline took my hands in hers and channeled more magic, so I could focus on the alchemistry while she controlled the power. “Let me help.”
Madeline’s channeling was a blessing. It was perfectly controlled and calculated, letting me slip back into the guard’s body. My own nausea lessened. The guard heaved.
Madeline tugged me toward the tent, tearing through the grass in a rustle of skirts and fly wings, and I followed. I felt the tug of her magic lead her away, and I looked into the tent through the mesh vent. There was no one. I ripped up the spikes keeping the tent wall in the ground. She searched the field for Gabriel.
On the inside, the tent was even nicer. A thick flooring of reed mats had been laid down. The cot was wider and had a proper mattress, even if it was straw, and the sleep area was separated from the rest of the tent by a thick curtain of sunrise-red velvet. I pulled the poster from my pocket, folding and unfolding without looking at it, and walked around the tent. There was the table where Gabriel had been paralyzed. Here was the cot where His Majesty had sat while having a hack killed to save his arts.
It was like hiring a hack normally, except death had been faster and the exchange clear.
I felt sick for ever thinking it was fair.
“I want to scare you,” I said softly, trailing my fingers along the wooden top of a desk. “You deserve to know Gabriel’s fear.”
He couldn’t know it, not really. He would only be scared for a moment whereas Gabriel had had a whole life of living in the shadow of noble whims.
I unfolded the poster, crawled onto the king’s bed, and broke down the roof of the tent above. It was easy; canvas was simpler than flesh and bone. They wouldn’t be able to remove the poster bearing Gabriel’s death. It was part of the fabric now.
An appropriate gilding.
The words were in the scarlet red of a physician’s coat, and I could not bear to read the description of what had been done to him. Whoever had written this account had left nothing out. Every cut, every hurt, every horror was written out in exquisite detail. There was even a drawing of Gabriel with Physician du Guay leaning over him. Then at the bottom with Laurel’s crown around the words: