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CHAPTER SEVEN

GABE

Unexpected help always comes with strings.

—Caldienan proverb

A s they followed the Prime Minister up the stairs, Gabe caught Malcolm’s eye, jerked his head toward the dais. Malcolm nodded, his mouth pressed tightly shut. He’d seen the statue, the stone. He knew what it was.

Maybe they could ask Eoin for the piece? Though the mass murder that had just taken place made Gabe wary of asking the man for anything.

Or maybe they could just steal it.

Assuming they made it out of this alive.

Eoin led them up to the top of the amphitheater.

It wasn’t until they were in the foyer of the building that Gabe realized it was the Rotunda, where the governing body of Caldien was located.

He’d seen the structure from the street—round, with a golden domed roof that had been a gift from one of Bastian’s ancestors.

The Prime Minister was the only delegate of the Rotunda who had an office in the building.

The delegates were voted on every three years by the citizens of Caldien, and allegedly anyone could run.

But it took money to finance a campaign, so those who made it in were generally from wealthy families who already boasted many politicians, and there was very little turnover.

Eoin’s father had been Prime Minister before him.

For all their talk of democracy, it seemed to operate very similarly to the monarchies Gabe had grown up with.

Eoin led them to a wooden door, opened it without knocking. A well-appointed room with a large oak desk and a few green houseplants crowding a glass-paned window.

“Tea?” Eoin asked as he took his seat behind the desk, gesturing to two other chairs for Gabe and Malcolm.

“It’s the middle of the night, but politicians pull odd hours, and there’s still staff around.

” He didn’t wait for an answer, ringing a small brass bell on the desk.

A moment later, a servant with dark, tired bags beneath their eyes appeared and took his order.

Gabe twisted his wrists back and forth, still numb and red from the shackles. “So Finn set us up?”

Eoin didn’t even look away from the servant, holding up a single finger, telling him to wait. Gabe was too taken aback to argue.

When the servant left, Eoin turned back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

“Finn did you a great favor, actually. He told me his suspicions of who you really were, and that he thought it would serve Caldien better to work with you than with the Sainted King. He knew every Citadel guard in the city would come running if he said he found you.”

“So now every Citadel guard in the city is dead,” Malcolm said quietly. “Killed by the… you called them Brothers?”

“I did.” Eoin grinned. “The Brotherhood of the Waters. It’s a… a study group, I suppose you could say. I hesitate to call it a church, but our areas of interest certainly tend toward the spiritual.” His eyes went shrewd. “Toward the elemental gods.”

“We can’t help you with that.” Malcolm sounded exhausted. “Yes, we’re… we’ve become… we’re tangled with Them, somehow, but we don’t understand how Their power works. We can’t help you use it.”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand me.” The door opened, the servant bringing in tea; Eoin doused his in cream from a tiny saucer and took a sip. “We are purely motivated by study. We simply wish to speak with you about the power, perhaps see it demonstrated.”

“What do we get, then?” Gabe’s voice was dark. “For being your circus animals?”

Eoin’s grin sharpened. “Saving you from certain execution seems like quite the repayment. Though other things could be discussed.”

It was as good an opening as they were likely to get.

“The statue,” Gabe said, haltingly. “It holds a stone…”

“Oh,” Eoin said over the lip of his teacup. “You want the Fount piece.” He waved a hand. “Yes, perhaps we can come to an agreement on that.”

Across the table, Malcolm gaped. Gabe shut his own mouth with a snap of teeth.

Eoin cocked a brow through the steam off his tea. “Anything else?”

“The Queen.” No more halting words; Gabe spoke strong. “She’s on the Burnt Isles; we have to rescue her. And Alienor Bellegarde, in Dellaire—we need to bring her here, keep her safe from Jax Andronicus and… and the King.”

The Prime Minister’s expression went grim. “You want me to start a war for you.”

“A war is coming,” Malcolm said quietly. “Who starts it is irrelevant at this point. The Sainted King and the Kirythean Empire will come for Caldien, probably sooner rather than later.”

“I’m aware,” Eoin said, setting down his cup. He went to a sideboard and rummaged in a drawer, coming up with a bottle of whiskey and generously dosing his tea.

“You’re aware?” Gabe asked. “And doing nothing?”

“Finn has kept me abreast of the situation in Auverraine. At the moment, it’s more prudent to bide our time.

” He sat back down. “We’re all spying on one another.

You know that. And Finn is the best of the best. He’s been in and out of Auverraine for years, working the docks.

More than one Citadel courtier sneaks down to rub shoulders with the rabble. They have loose lips when they do.”

“So he’s your spy,” Gabe said. “Not your lover.”

“Oh, he’s both. A man of many talents.” Eoin shrugged.

“All those rumors a few months ago—a courtier dead in the King’s apartments, the puddle of water around her body, then, finally, the conviction of the freshly minted Queen—would have been too chaotic for anyone who hadn’t been paying attention to put together.

Anyone who didn’t know the myths, and anyone who was too blinded by religion to believe.

“Now, Finn knows his subterfuge, and he knows his myths, so it was fairly easy for him to figure out. The King wanted that courtier—Demillier? Devaux? Something like that—dead, because she was the avatar of one of the elemental gods.” Eoin circled his wrist as if hurrying himself along.

“And then, once you lot left Auverraine and came here, with wanted notices soon after, it wasn’t a stretch to think that you perhaps had the same affliction. ”

“You’re incredibly nonchalant about it,” Gabe murmured.

Eoin shrugged. “Our gods were men who wanted more power. There’s not much to be awed by, really. Who among us wouldn’t do the same, given the opportunity?”

“Me,” Malcolm said quietly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Well, your King is of a different mind, it seems. I’d long had my suspicions about that Tract, the one about the chosen Arceneaux. Seems Apollius finally found the one He wanted.”

They didn’t have to worry about telling Eoin what had happened to Bastian. It seemed he already knew.

“You know the kind of danger we’re in, then,” Gabe said. “All of us.”

“And that is why I prefer not to act rashly.” Eoin sat back in his chair, once again steepling his fingers.

“You want my piece of the Fount, you want a rescue for the Queen of Auverraine and another one for an Arceneaux half sister currently betrothed to the Emperor. That’s quite a lot of favors to ask. It almost outweighs political asylum.”

“What more do you want?” There was a haunted look in Malcolm’s eye, one Gabe couldn’t quite pin on their current circumstances.

“Nothing much,” Eoin said. “Just what I mentioned before. For you to demonstrate your power for me, let the other Brothers witness the miracle of it with their own eyes.” His smile widened. “No scientific experiments, promise. The most we’ll ask is for you to talk us through the particulars.”

Gods dead and dying, they didn’t know the particulars. The Prime Minister was treating this like some grand illusion, a natural curiosity rather than evidence of the apocalypse.

“That’s all you want?” Gabe asked incredulously. “A demonstration of power?”

“It’s a good place to start,” Eoin replied.

In his head, Hestraon was silent. For that, Gabe was grateful.

The god was talking to him. He was seeing Hestraon’s memories. The last thing he should be doing, no pun intended, was playing with fire.

But if it could save Lore and Alie, he had to try.

And maybe, somehow, he could find a way to save Bastian, too.

Malcolm looked at him, gave a slight nod. They’d never fallen into the deference proper for the Priest Exalted and one of his Presque Mort, but here, for this, the decision was deferred to Gabe. Malcolm would follow his lead.

“Fine,” Gabe said. “We’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Eoin stood. “I’ll begin working on saving your Queen and your friend, and you can have the Fount piece once I decide your debt is paid.

” He snapped his fingers. “And before I forget, there’s a boardinghouse in the city that we allow guests of the Rotunda to use. Rooms could be ready for you tomorrow?”

“Please.” The Fount piece, asylum, and no longer being a punching bag for rent. The whole evening was a miracle.

But Gabe had grown very, very wary of miracles.

The Prime Minister led them from the room to the front of the atrium. “Our next meeting is tomorrow night, here at the Rotunda. We’ll be expecting you.”

He left them on the wide wrapped porch, aglow in gas lamplight.

“That…” Gabe shook his head. “Well. That was something.”

“It certainly was,” Malcolm agreed, eyes still distant.

Thunder rolled through the sky, and the heavens opened in a downpour.