Power & Majesty (24 page)

M
acready held steady, two paces behind Ashiol. Kelpie was at his side, looking grim. Since Garnet had stripped them of their weapons, the sentinels had been everyone’s meat, easy prey, relying on Garnet to protect them rather than the other way around—and he only protected them when it suited him. They were now used to hiding in corners, staying out of the way during gatherings of the Creature Court. They had learned to fade into the background. It felt alien for them to be standing at their King’s back, blades out, ready to take on all comers. For the sentinels to be part of a King’s show of strength rather than his weakness.

Ashiol stood in the centre of the Shambles square, every inch a Creature King. He had tossed aside Poet’s coat to stand in the ripped remains of the black clothes from Velody’s shop. On anyone else it would have looked ridiculous, but his lean muscles gleamed where not covered by shredded shirt and breeches. His eyes glowed with power.

Dangerous
, thought Macready.
I hope they’re all paying attention. That’s not the wreck of a King who left us.

Obviously, Dhynar had an ear close to the ground. He
and his entourage were already lounging in the square when Ashiol and the sentinels arrived. The Ferax Lord wore red, his favourite formal colour. His leathers shone like blood. His four courtesi—Shade and Lennoc the hounds, Grago and Farrier the cats—were dressed identically, each glaring and flexing his muscles.

In the old days, when there were more sentinels than any single Lord’s pack of courtesi, it might have been funny. Now, Macready felt his shoulderblades itch. Even with the blades, even with Kelpie at his side, he was damned vulnerable.

There was no sign of Poet yet. They were within spitting distance of his territory, so he must be deliberately biding his time. Perhaps he didn’t want to signal his alliance with Dhynar to the others? Assuming that alliance was still alive and well.

Priest was the next to arrive. His courtesi came first, all female, garbed in versions of the outfits he himself preferred—finely tailored seigneur’s suits, bright in peacock colours. Each courtesa carried a basket laden with wine, fruit and honey cakes, which they laid at Ashiol’s feet with solemn precision. Above and beyond fighting skills, Priest demanded that his courtesi be able to cook and serve food with lavish skill.

Priest himself, fat and self-satisfied as ever, wandered in a few minutes later, his belly swathed in a waistcoat embroidered in purple, green and gold. He ambled up to Ashiol as if this were some innocuous social occasion, and nodded his head to him. ‘Good to see you back, dear boy. You’ve done well for yourself.’

‘I know,’ said Ashiol. ‘I’d make you kneel to me, old man, but I’d hate to hear the grinding of tired cartilage as you hauled yourself up again.’

Macready watched the exchange with interest. These two had never been enemies, though neither would lift a finger to help the other unless it was strictly in his own best interest.

‘I hope you enjoy my gifts,’ said Priest, making it sound like a challenge.

‘I trust that I will,’ said Ashiol, making it sound like an insult.

Priest backed away, joining his women at the edge of the square.

Warlord limped in next, doing his best at a show of strength—anything less would be an insult. He wore Zafiran silks. His torso, usually bared to display his bulky muscle, was sheathed in a dark tunic to hide the wounds of his recent battle with Ashiol.

Clara, the greymoon courtesa, walked at Warlord’s side, playing the love slave in veil and harem pants. It was obvious to Macready that she watched her Lord warily, prepared to catch him if he fell. Warlord’s male courtesi walked behind them, also garbed in Zafiran finery.

Warlord passed Ashiol and bowed his head to him before taking up border territory in the square, equally spaced between Dhynar’s leather-clad thugs and Priest’s elegant women.

They were all being cautious. Even Dhynar was playing it straight. This didn’t surprise Macready in the least. Their choice for Power and Majesty was between a known King and an untried lass (assuming they all knew about Velody by now), so it was no wonder they were rolling over to accept Ash’s rule. Poet and Dhynar had only rebelled because they suspected Ashiol would try to leave; now they had what they wanted, why shouldn’t they kneel and obey him?

But Macready’s mammy had raised a suspicious son, not a stupid one. He glanced around the square, wondering when the trouble would start and who would start it.

If the Lords banded together, they could take Ashiol down between them, each hoping to quench enough animor to make it to the next stage of evolution. Poet and Dhynar in alliance had been a worrying enough turn of
events, but the possibility of the Creature Lords uniting was bloody terrifying.

It had never happened before in the history of the Creature Court.
First time for everything? I bloody hope not.

Livilla came next, on a litter carried by her two boys, Seonard and Janvier. The miracle was that young Seonard could take his share of the weight, with the beating evident on his face and body. Livilla must have shared blood with him to repair the worst of the damage—and that would have weakened her further.

She couldn’t know about Velody, Macready decided. None of the other Lords would be fool enough to tell her. The story of Samara had succeeded in keeping female Lords repressed for generations, self-limiting their power. When Livilla found out that women could safely become Kings, all seven hells might very well break loose.

They should all be very, very grateful that Tasha was not alive to make use of this new and disturbing information.

Livilla’s boys lowered her litter to the ground, and she rose to her feet without assistance from either of them. Her face was tight from suppressed pain, but she managed to bow gracefully to Ashiol and retreat to a place of safety without physical support.

It wasn’t a shock that Livilla and her courtesi went straight to Warlord’s side. When a Lord became King, he lost his courtesi. Ashiol’s Kingmaking had set his courteso Mars free, and Livilla had snatched him up with glee. When Mars in turn became a Lord—the Warlord—they had retained the bond between them, and had been allies and lovers even throughout her tortured relationship with Garnet.

Warlord glared at Livilla as she approached, perhaps holding a grudge for the easy way she had capitulated to Ashiol when he himself had dared to attack. He did not move away from her though. Alliances in the Court were rare, and not lightly discarded.

‘And where is our Poet?’ Ashiol asked aloud. His eyes went to Priest, who shrugged, and then to Dhynar, who scowled at the ground.

Macready had been trying to work out which of these bloodsucking bastards was the greatest threat to Ashiol’s safety, and to Velody’s. Even with the attack made on Velody and Delphine at the theatre, it had not occurred to him until right now that Poet might be the wild card. Dhynar was the Lord whom Ashiol knew least, but no one had ever quite got inside Poet’s head.

Where the saints and devils is he, now?

Macready risked a glance at Kelpie, who looked uncomfortable. This little gathering could seal Ashiol’s position as Power and Majesty, or it could turn into an almighty cacking bloodbath.

Finally, there were footsteps. Poet strolled into the square and rocked back on his heels as he saw them all, pretending surprise. ‘Sorry, did I miss an announcement?’

Priest rumbled a laugh.

Macready was too far back to see Ashiol’s eyes, but he had no doubt what would be in them. Garnet had never tolerated Poet’s easy lack of respect, and if the last few days had reminded Macready of anything, it was the similarity between Ashiol and Garnet.

‘Glad you could join us,’ Ashiol said in the mildest of voices. ‘Where are your courtesi, Poet?’

Poet glanced behind him, as if he almost expected Halberk and Zero to be there. ‘Sorry, I seem to have mislaid them. Halberk’s feeling a little under the weather, you know.’ He ran his eye around the square. ‘But then, I see you’ve left your mark on a few of us, kitten.’

It was a test, Macready realised. Poet was testing Ashiol to see how traditional a Power and Majesty he was going to be. Garnet would have made Poet bleed by now. Ortheus would have sent the sentinels to take a blood price out on Poet’s courtesi. What would Ashiol do?

‘Where are your boys, Poet?’ growled the Creature King.

‘Oh, somewhere safe, I imagine,’ said the Creature Lord. ‘They’re not anywhere near Via Silviana, tormenting those favourite demmes of yours, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘And I should take your word for that?’

‘Why not?’ replied Poet. ‘My word’s never steered you wrong before.’

‘Take my word, if you prefer,’ said a silvery female voice.

Macready’s head jerked around in surprise as the seer walked into the square, urchin-like in a white petticoat and shawl, her hair cropped close to her scalp. Macready hardly recognised her.

They had been sentinels together, he and Heliora, before she was called to her higher purpose. Growing up in the Creature Court was a hard ride, and she had started earlier than most. Was it really fifteen years ago? She still looked like a teenager, while Macready was more than feeling his years.

‘Interesting,’ said Ashiol. ‘An unexpected alliance.’

Heliora gave him a withering look. ‘You know better than that, Ash. The seer has no loyalties, no allies. That’s why her word is worth so much.’ She moved towards him, drawing his gaze away from Poet.

This was certainly interesting. Macready had never been aware of any link between Poet and the seer before.

‘So what words of wisdom do you have for your new Power and Majesty?’ asked Ashiol, anger evident in his tone.

Heliora looked him up and down. ‘Is that what you are? You keep saying that you want things to be different. That you don’t want to repeat the mistakes of Garnet or Orpheus. Would either of them have failed to notice that the sky started falling two minutes ago?’

There was a long, heavy pause. Macready’s senses in these matters were limited, but if he strained he could just catch the metallic hint in the air. From the look of them, the Lords and Court (who should have tasted it coming
ten leagues away, every damned one of them) were all realising that the Seer spoke the truth.

‘Slow rain,’ said Heliora in the silence. ‘Followed by scratchlight, and if that isn’t dealt with fast enough you’ll have a full-blown skybattle on your hands.’

No one of the Court moved, waiting for Ashiol’s command.

‘Go,’ he snarled in the deepest part of his throat. ‘Get out there and save the city. It’s what we do.’

‘We haven’t sworn allegiance,’ said Dhynar.

‘I will take your allegiance at the appropriate time,’ said Ashiol. ‘Right now, I want your obedience. Assuming you have that capacity?’

Dhynar fell apart, shaping himself into his gang of feraxes. His hounds and cats followed suit, and they tore off into the side streets of the Shambles.

Priest and his retinue shaped at the same time, their tailored suits falling empty to the ground as dozens of birds took flight out of their bodies. Pigeons, gulls, plovers and sparrows flocked together in the air before taking off up the tunnels.

Livilla went wolf and vanished into another side street, her courtesi following close behind in wolf and raven form. Warlord went with her in panther form, followed by a motley assortment of brocks, greymoon cats and flying bats.

The sentinels had not moved from where they stood at Ashiol’s back.

Ashiol looked at Poet. ‘Waiting for something?’

‘I like to watch them go,’ said Poet with a smile. ‘Such a pretty sight, don’t you think?’ He exploded into white rats and scattered, scampering in various directions until the last of him vanished into cracks and holes that led to the world outside and above.

Heliora glared at Ashiol. ‘You made yourself look like a
fool
.’

Ashiol took two steps and seized her throat in his hand.

Macready steeled himself not to move in her defence. Ashiol was his King. He owed no allegiance to Heliora. His blade twitched involuntarily, not liking this. Glancing aside, he saw that Kelpie’s face was calm, not bothered. She had never liked Hel that much.

‘So,’ snarled Ashiol, squeezing the seer’s throat until she gasped. ‘All those times you die between now and Saturnalia, my Hel. Who gets to kill you?’

Heliora gazed at him, eyes wide and calm in her childlike face. ‘Sometimes it’s you, lover.’

Once Ashiol had joined the rest of the Court in the sky, Heliora turned her back on the Sentinels and returned to Poet’s grocer shop. It didn’t feel right to keep the clothes she had borrowed—it felt too much like owing him a favour.

In the attic, she stared at the glowing cage of skysilver and iron. Poet’s two courtesi were imprisoned inside it, looking furious.

‘What does he think he’s doing?’ she asked.

‘Don’t ask us,’ grunted Halberk.

‘He thinks the new Power and Majesty will make an example of someone this nox,’ said Zero with an angry flicker in his eyes. ‘Reckons it might be one of us.’

Halberk thumped the bars furiously, then leaped back as the skysilver sizzled against his hand. ‘We should be protecting him! This is just stupid!’

‘I can’t let you out,’ Heliora said, and not only because her throat still hurt from Ashiol’s hand. Skysilver was nothing much to her, but she couldn’t bend iron, and there was no sign of the key. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think Poet put you in here to protect you.’

That, at least, got through Halberk’s humiliation. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘She’s the seer,’ said Zero. ‘She knows all sorts of stuff. What have you Seen, demme?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Not a thing,’ Heliora admitted. ‘This isn’t based on any vision of the futures. But from what I know about Poet and Ashiol…this is about provocation, not protection.’

Halberk blew out his lips, making a noise of disgust. ‘Stupid skinny bastard’s going to get himself killed.’

‘Yes,’ said Heliora, not liking this at all. Losing Poet now would unbalance all the futures she had seen. ‘I rather think he might.’