Giles Durenne’s famous nose had been broken rather badly, and was now turning a ripe red color and swelling to twice its original side. Maurisk watched the Radical leader as two Patriot Guards forced him to his knees in front of the desk, and decided he liked the way it looked. He’s practically a clown already.

He’d wondered, over the past few weeks, what Durenne would say when it all finally played out. Even made little bets with himself, in fact. Now he waited, savoring the moment, as the Minister of War coughed and spit blood on the floor.

“Have you,” Durenne said, voice made stuffy by his broken nose, “have you gone mad?”

Dreadfully unoriginal. That was Durenne, though. Unimaginative to the last.

“No,” Maurisk said. “Merely had my eyes opened.”

“This is absurd. Release me at once.”

“So you can continue your treasons with your Radical friends? I think not.”

“I am an elected deputy and Minister of War! I demand—”

“You are in a position to demand nothing.” Maurisk felt suddenly tired. It was nearly five in the morning, and the nervous tension that had kept him going all night seemed to go out of him in a rush, leaving him barely able to keep his head up. “You will have a trial, eventually. We both know what will happen when the truth comes out.”

He fixed Durenne with a very slight smile, which said, I win. You lose. That’s all there is to it.

“If there’s a traitor here, it’s you,” Durenne snarled. “But you won’t get away with it. The army won’t sit still for this.”

“We’ll see.” Maurisk sat back and waved at the guards. “Take him away.”

Kellerman appeared again, a paper in his hand, as the frantic Radical was dragged off.

“Matters are proceeding on schedule, I trust?” Maurisk said.

“Yes, sir,” his assistant said, consulting the page. “Two-thirds of the arrests have already been carried out. No real resistance thus far.”

“I want every one of those men under guard before dawn.”

“They will be, sir.”

“Has d’Ivoire been taken?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“You gave the commander my instructions?”

“Yes, sir. D’Ivoire is to be taken alive, no matter the cost.”

Maurisk grunted. With the queen in hand, and arrangements already made to draw Vhalnich’s fangs, that left the Thousand Names. What Ionkovo wanted with a Khandarai relic, he had no idea, but d’Ivoire was their best chance of finding the blasted thing. The last thing I need is for him to be killed in the cross fire.

Speaking of Vhalnich.

“Send a messenger to General de Ferre. Tell him the new Minister of War directs him to begin his mission at once.”

Chapter Fourteen

WINTER

“Magic,” Jane said.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Winter said. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been there.”