left her, flushed and grinning, with a wall to keep her balanced.
Sometimes it felt to Taya like she was a bit player in some grand epic being put on by a traveling show; she would be ninth or tenth in the billing. There was so much happening around her, so many threads she felt like she was grasping only at their very edge. So much had gone into creating this night, and she was awed by the intelligence and grace with which the coup had been planned.
Elise, the lover of the woman Taya had met at the cottage, greeted the rebel army at a small side gate reserved for laundresses. Behind her were a score of women with fierce expressions and nervous hands. Taya could only imagine the terror they had been through these months (or years?), plotting treason in the heart of the usurper’s palace.
The plan was not simple, but Taya was privy to only a part of it. The bulk of the fighters would be slipping through the palace quietly. They would eliminate and replace the bulk of the royal guard—those whose loyalty they did not believe could be bought or bargained for. With the goddess’s grace they would control the palace before anyone knew a revolution was happening. There would be fighting at the gates, as they convinced the city guard that the battle was lost before it began, but once it became clear that they controlled the palace, and that the king was dead, the battle would hopefully be short lived.
Jeremy and Darren were moving directly to the throne room to confront the king—Taya would be with them. David was commanding another troop, so they said their farewells, and Elise led their small band into the back tunnels that the servants used. There had already been an insurrection of the lower class and those still loyal to the king were restrained in the kitchen. There had been only five casualties on the opposing side, and two on that of the rebels. Leanne would be proud of her beautiful lover, and beautiful she was. Taya could not help but think what a lovely queen she would make, and wondered if Darren would ask for her hand, if she would agree to the match for politics, though her heart lay elsewhere.
Finally they found their way to the passage that opened into the throne room. Darren looked over them once, as if to speak, but he only nodded and opened the door. They poured through with battle cries, and roared down upon the startled guards with the fury of a thousand slights. With the pain of exile in their hearts they trampled the first few before anyone could draw a sword in defense, but the surge of their advantage didn’t last. The guards quickly rallied, and there was a rain of arrows from the balcony above. Taya hoisted a large shield up, protecting herself and the men to either side, as the battle was joined in earnest.
David snuck down the passageway, his heart pounding thickly. To his right and slightly behind him, Ryan slunk with daggers raised. They were almost at the gate. He felt the moments sliding by, each step nearer to the confrontation. It would surely be a massacre, and some gentle part still left from his younger days quivered at the thought. Revolutions by necessity were violent, blood paid by blood, but still he somehow wished that it was only the guilty who would suffer. These men of the city guard were no murderers, no usurpers. Still they stood between victory and defeat, and there was nothing for it. For a brief moment he thought of Taya, and her constant prayers to her goddess. He wondered if a prayer to Yariel would have some effect on the coming battle, but chided his foolishness. They had been blessed by Marce this morning. Yariel, if he was watching, knew already that their thoughts were with Him.
He saw the gate rise in front of him and switched his sword briefly from one hand to the other, wiping his palm against the leg of his pants. Sweat could be deadly in a fight. Any slip, any tiny distraction, could end it all. He glanced sideways, giving Ryan a brief nod, and then focused his attention on the battle ahead. He gave the signal, his hand slicing savagely downward, and then there were screams in the air, and blood, as swords bit into unsuspecting flesh.
There were no battle cries from the