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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

GABE

G abe wasn’t one for passing out, blows to the head notwithstanding. He’d been in plenty of situations where such a reaction was warranted: Seeing unlikely survivors of horrible accidents arriving to the Presque Mort. Having his eye pulled out.

But Gabe had always retained his consciousness.

Until now, anyway.

He came to in an underground room. At first, he thought they were still under the Rotunda, still in the room with the false Fount. But no; he’d burned that room. Burned the Brotherhood.

Maybe that was why he’d passed out. Using so much power. Allowing his control to slip so dramatically.

You did what you had to.

He supposed that after such a show of power, he should be thankful that Hestraon was still only a voice in his head.

Slowly, his vision adjusted to the low light. A tiny room, four stone walls with a few empty shelves near the ceiling and nothing else. Malcolm lay next to one of the walls; a kick of panic in Gabe’s chest made him reach over, hover his finger beneath his friend’s nose. Still breathing.

Gods dead and dying, his head hurt. Gabe pulled himself to a sitting position against the wall and cradled it in his hands.

He remembered Lore, the first time he’d ever met her, fierce and beautiful and cornered in that alley.

He’d used chloroform to knock her out, bring her to the belly of the Church.

Bring her to Anton. She’d complained of a headache then.

He didn’t think he’d been chloroformed, but if it felt anything like this, he needed to beg her forgiveness.

He needed to do that, anyway. Should have when he saw her just now. But there’d been other things to do.

Despite his dire circumstances, Gabe smiled into the dark.

“You’re chipper.”

Malcolm was awake. He pushed himself up, wincing, as if he felt the same headache Gabe did. “I hope that you’re smiling because you already have an escape plan. I got up while you were sleeping; there’s no way out of here.”

He assumed Malcolm would not be amused by an account of what he’d done while he appeared to be asleep. “Unfortunately not.”

“Fantastic.” Malcolm slowly levered himself into a position that mimicked Gabe’s. The room was small enough that their knees knocked together. “Do you know where we are?”

“No idea,” Gabe said. “Though I can hazard a guess that wherever it is, Finn put us here.”

Finn, who knew their power, who’d trapped them into telling the Prime Minister about it. Who’d killed Eoin.

“And we don’t know what Finn wants.” Malcolm nodded, mouth a grim line. “This tracks, really. This is exactly the kind of luck we’ve had.”

Gabe snorted.

“One good thing,” Malcolm said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Fount piece.

He must have taken it from Gabe, at some point, thinking the steward of the piece should be someone conscious.

“We were right. This is it. Gives me pins and needles.” As if to illustrate his point, he dropped it on the packed earth between them, not wanting to touch it for too long.

“Finn undeniably knows what it is and why we have it, but he at least hasn’t taken it from us. ”

The piece shone in the dark, seamed with gold. The smallest chip at the corner, where Hestraon had hacked off the flame carving, trying to be more like the gods He loved. “Yet.”

“Yet,” Malcolm agreed. “And there is still the question of how in every hell we’re supposed to get it to the Mount. I doubt Finn is going to give us a ship.”

Gabe gave him a level look, one that said everything he didn’t have words for.

Malcolm gave a shuddering sigh. “I can’t, Gabe.”

“What if we don’t have a choice?”

Malcolm shook his head. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Gabriel, please.”

Gabe’s head fell back against the wall.

One small door was the only entrance or exit to their tiny cell, solid wood without even a barred window. It looked more like they were being kept in someone’s cellar than a prison.

He rubbed at his temple again; something was odd about the feel of his skin there. It took him a moment to realize his eye patch was gone. He’d worn the thing for so long, he never even felt it anymore.

“You burned it,” Malcolm said.

“What?”

“When you burned the Brotherhood,” Malcolm said, “you went up in flames, too. But they didn’t touch you. They burned off the patch, but the rest of your clothes were fine.”

When he’d first lost his eye—first joined the Presque Mort—Gabe had been ashamed of it.

Of all the wounds borne by the other monks, his well-healed missing eye was fairly tame, and only the infection that had set in made it a close enough brush with death to give him Mortem.

But it was a reminder of his father’s betrayal, a reminder of his own weakness, and he hated it.

Long after it was healed, his empty socket sealed cleanly shut, he’d still worn the patch as if the scar was something to hide.

Still ashamed, though he logically knew there was nothing for him to be ashamed of.

It made sense to him that he’d let the patch burn. He’d gotten rid of the thing that mitigated his fierceness, made him easier to look at.

Lore hadn’t said a thing about it, as if she didn’t even notice. Just like he’d barely noticed the scarring on her temple. Both of them marked, neither caring.

The door creaked open.

There wasn’t enough room for Finn to stride in, but he still looked regal as he stepped over the threshold. “Good. You’re awake.”

Neither Gabe nor Malcolm spoke, both staring him down.

Finn sighed. “We aren’t enemies. Just so you know.”

“Locking us in a cellar sends a different message,” Malcolm said.

“That’s merely for convenience.” Finn leaned his back against the door, kicked a boot up against the wood. “We’re on the same side. We both want to stop the Sainted King from joining with the Kirythean Empire. Really, everything I’ve done has been for your benefit.”

“Then why the prison?” Malcolm asked.

“You’re gods,” Finn said flatly. “One of you just burned alive half the ruling body of Caldien. Forgive me for taking precautions.”

Here was where Gabe should feel some remorse, some horror at what he’d done. He didn’t.

“You killed one yourself,” Gabe said. “How does murdering the Prime Minister help prevent Auverraine from joining with the Empire? Seems more like that might speed things along.”

His name made Finn’s lip curl. “Eoin was useless,” Finn spat. “He would have played cult leader up until the Empire was knocking down our door. I suppose I should have expected Eoin would try to take your power for himself, instead of doing anything to benefit Caldien. Idiot man.”

There was no tenderness in his voice when he spoke of his former lover. Whatever care Finn had for Eoin had been gone long before he cut the other man’s throat.

“So you decided to beat him to it?” Malcolm asked. He’d hidden the piece of the Fount, putting it in his pocket again, and now he was flexing his fingers back and forth, as if trying to get rid of the pins and needles.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Finn said, “don’t you think you’d be dead already?”

And that, at least, was one stroke of luck.

“And don’t bother trying to hide that Fount piece,” Finn continued.

“The way Gabe took it wasn’t exactly subtle.

” He leaned against the door, his nonchalant stance belied by the shrewd way he watched them, by the pistol glittering in his belt.

“I could have taken it back. But that can be worked into our negotiations.”

A look slid between Malcolm and Gabriel. Malcolm kept the shard in his pocket.

“So what do you want?” Gabe didn’t mean to snarl, but his lip lifted with one anyway. Here they were, back at making bargains. “ Negotiations makes me think you have a list.”

His snarl didn’t seem to faze Finn. “Exactly what you want. To stop the Empire, save the Queen.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

“Remains to be seen.” Finn shrugged. “A damn good story, for one.”

There was no way in any hell that was the whole of it, but if he was offering help, Gabe didn’t really care.

“A pretender to the seat of the Prime Minister and his handful of rebels may have trouble ordering an army. This is a democracy, isn’t it?

You can’t just take over his position because you killed him. ”

“It is a democracy, and had we time to wait until the people of Caldien could vote, they would have kicked Eoin out on his ass.” Finn scoffed.

“You think our operation is small? More than half of the Rotunda was tired of Eoin, and the rest of them are too craven to do anything but what a pistol tells them to. Most of the Brotherhood supported me.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t have burned them, then,” Gabe said.

“No, you certainly should have. Even the ones who supported us only did so in secret. Cowards deserve to burn.” Finn shrugged. “Your rampage helped my cause, really. The ones that are left now know we have a fighting chance of winning Auverraine.”

Oh. There it was. Gabe’s eye narrowed. “You’re after the crown, then.”

Finn smiled, a feral gleam of teeth, and didn’t answer.

Malcolm sighed and tipped his head back against the wall. “It seems coups are catching.”

“Do you want the Empire to go with it?” Gabe asked. “Or is the rule of two countries enough for you?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Finn kicked off the wall. “I don’t think I could do a worse job.”

Brow arched, Malcolm rolled his head to look at him. “You know, I can’t argue there.”

“Thank you, Malcolm.” Finn seemed sincere. “I’m after the greater good, really.”

“And you managed to convince a sizable part of a governing body that risk for the greater good was better than complacency?” Gabe was honestly impressed, despite himself.