“You… threaten us?!” The words were halting but recognizable. A ghoul on the third tier was on her feet, hands on the rail as she glared down at Gyre. “Here… in our own domain… you speak of destroying… usss?” She gestured emphatically with one hand. “We… destroy… you. Tyraves!”
“I’m not here to threaten!” Gyre shouted before the Minister of the Exterior could move. “I’m here to make an offer I think will help both ghouls and humans. My people don’t want to be slaves to the Order any longer. If we could, we would throw off the legacy of the Chosen and all their prejudices with it. I’ve seen what your arcana can do, your dhaka. If humans knew how much you could help them, they would line up to be your allies.”
A big, barrel-chested ghoul in the lowest tier boomed an answer that got applause. Gyre glanced at Elariel, who translated, “He says that the humans would line up to plunder our living city like they plunder our dead ones.”
“Some might,” Gyre admitted in answer. “You need to remain hidden for now, of course. But I think you’re selling humanity short. So here is my offer, which carries no risk to Refuge. I will go back into the human world. I have connections among those who want to overthrow the Order. Give me supplies—weapons, medicine, money—and I can gain influence among them.”
He turned in a slow circle. “The Order’s control is based on fear. Everyone knows that the centarchs are unstoppable. But with your help, I fought them and won.” This was the key, the point that had burned itself into Gyre’s mind. “The Order has a vast reach, but in reality they are spread thin. Only the knowledge that no one can oppose them keeps them in power. Break that—break it even once—and the whole edifice will crumble like a rotten stump and take the Republic with it. And then we can build something in the wreckage. A new human society, in partnership with the ghouls.
“And if I fail, what of it? Give me nothing that can’t be explained as scavenged, and even in the worst case, nothing will lead back here. The Order will never suspect anything until it is too late. What, in the end, do you have to lose?”
The hall was getting quieter, he thought, as he approached the peroration, while Elariel’s voice rang louder. As he finished, there was a moment of silence. Then the deep-voiced ghoul spoke, and it was not Elariel but Tyraves who translated.
“What,” she said, walking over to their table, “would you actually do? Where would you go?”
“To Khirkhaz,” Gyre said immediately. It was another thing he’d gone through, over and over, since leaving Leviathan’s Womb. “In the far south. They’ll be looking for me in Deepfire. Khirkhaz is on the other side of the Republic, and I have contacts there. There’s a group called the Commune who have been fighting the Republic and the Order for years. If I can bring them something that can fight centarchs, they’ll embrace us with open arms.”
Tyraves turned to Elariel and barked something in the ghoul tongue. Elariel straightened up, ears vibrating angrily.
“No, he did not tell me his plan,” she said. “But I think he is right.”
“Elariel should come with me,” Gyre said. “As a liaison.”
Her eyes widened as she translated this. Tyraves looked between them, then up at the ranks of the Geraia. Murmurs were once again running between boxes, and Gyre hoped he wasn’t fooling himself that it didn’t sound entirely unfriendly.
“We cannot… ally… with humans.” The old ghoul woman’s face was a rictus, her eyes fixed on Gyre. “The Corruptor… would not allow it. We would all… be destroyed.”
Gyre glanced at Elariel, hoping for some clarification, but she just shook her head frantically, listening to the chatter. For long minutes, Gyre stood with his arms crossed, feeling absurdly helpless. Finally the deep-voiced man spoke alone, and Elariel froze, her ears flattening. That can’t be good.
“Gyre Silvereye,” Tyraves said. Her tone was acid. “The Geraia is displeased at your presumption in coming here today. However.” Her lips twisted unhappily. “There is a certain amount of curiosity as well. We tentatively accept your proposal.”
Gyre let out a long breath. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
“We will not, whatever happens. Be assured we will make certain of that.” Tyraves turned to Elariel. “As you requested, Elariel will accompany you as a… liaison.”
“Perfect,” Gyre said. But Elariel was still staring down at the table, her knuckles white.
“In order to be certain the security of Refuge is not compromised, precautions will be taken. She will be altered, so as to better carry out her mission.” Tyraves gave a nasty smile. “By our laws, Elariel, this cannot be done without your consent. Do you give it?”
“What do you mean altered?” Gyre said. “And what happens if she won’t consent?”
“If she refuses this assignment, then she will face her punishment for endangering the city, and die in the manner the Geraia feels most appropriate.”
“That’s stretching ‘consent’ a little far, don’t you think?” Gyre said, feeling a sudden knot in his stomach. Definitely not good. “Elariel, I don’t know what they want to do, but—”
“Your opinion is not required, human,” Tyraves said. “The Geraia has spoken.”
“I—”
“It’s all right,” Elariel cut him off. “I’ll do it.” She looked up at him, wide eyes liquid and ears drooping, with a forced smile. “It’s got to be better than dying, right?”
From the ugly grin on Tyraves’ face, Gyre wasn’t certain he agreed.
Chapter 2
Basel wants to see me,” Maya said. “He hasn’t said why, but I’m sure it’s an assignment.”
Maya held Jaedia’s hand, feeling the rough patches on her fingers, calluses that matched Maya’s own. Her master’s hand was warm, and her breath was gentle and steady. But her bright blue eyes remained closed.
She lay on a bed in the Forge hospital. Like the rest of the Twilight Order’s fortress, it was built on a massive scale, with halls big enough for hundreds. At the moment, Jaedia was the only long-term patient, tucked in a corner behind hanging curtains. Maya sat by her bedside, as she had every day.
They’d all been wounded after the fight at Leviathan’s Womb, but Jaedia’s injuries weren’t the kind quickheal could mend. Maya had saved her life by burning the black spider’s threads from her body, but she’d been unconscious ever since, and the Forge’s doctors seemed helpless.
Maybe we need a dhakim. Whatever had been done to Jaedia was certainly a product of dhaka, though the Order’s records contained nothing like it.
Maya touched the Thing, the nameless arcana embedded in the flesh above her sternum, then frowned. It had always been a sort of good-luck charm, but over the last few months, it had reacted when she drew on deiat, first when she’d fought Gyre in Deepfire and then again when she’d saved Jaedia’s life. The Thing had grown hot enough to blister the flesh around it, and Maya had felt feverish and ill afterward. The doctors of the Forge had nothing to say about that, either.