“These men claim that they were officers in your army, Captain,” the empress said, gesturing toward them. “Experienced at command of troops in the field. If you can persuade them to serve me without joining my bloodsworn, I will let them live.”
Lyss gave the candidates a look-over. Of the six, three were unknown to her. From the looks on their faces, however, she was not unknown to them. The question was, did they know her as Captain Gray or as the heir to the Gray Wolf throne?
The other three, she recognized. Demeter Farrow, a Waterwalker and lieutenant in her salvo; Munroe Graves—son of Lydia Byrne Graves—an artist turned artilleryman; and, finally, like a recurrent bad dream, Quill Bosley.
Bosley. He was definitely the sort to survive when so many other, more worthy soldiers had died. Lyss took a deep breath, then released it. Just when you think things can’t get any worse.
They’d all seen hard use, from the looks of them, Farrow in particular.
Celestine disentangled herself from Tarek and levered to her feet, “Wetlanders!” she said. “Welcome to Celesgarde. Your lives have been spared because you have been selected to join my army, under the command of General Gray. Do well, and you will be richly rewarded. Disappoint me, and you’ll find that there are other ways to serve.”
The others stood silently, their eyes shifting from Celestine to Lyss, but swiving Bosley instantly fell to one knee. “Empress,” he said, head bowed. “We will not disappoint you.”
40MASQUERADE
“King’s Guard black might be your color,” Robert said, looking Hal up and down. “You would give any citizen of the empire the shivers.”
“If so, it’s more the uniform than the man,” Hal said, hoping he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. He buckled his belt, with its empty scabbard, hoping he’d be given a weapon to fill that scabbard before long. He attached the braid that said he was a private. Privates are a copper a pound—not worthy of notice. At least that was the hope.
That was about as much as he knew of the plan. Hal was the sort that wanted to know from the start what he was getting into and how he was going to get out.
You should’ve given up on that a long time ago, he thought.
The door banged open, startling the both of them. Hal expected Destin Karn, but instead it was Lila Barrowhill, this time clad in scribner blues. She shut the door behind her, strode over to them, and looked them up and down. “This,” she said, stabbing her forefinger into Robert’s lapel, “goes on the left side, not the right.” He stood there, speechless, while she unpinned a badge and repinned it on the other side.
“Who are you?” Robert managed.
“My name’s not important.” She turned to look at Hal. “Yours is correct,” she said. “Quit gaping.”
“Is it just my imagination, or do you work for everyone?” Hal said.
“That’s me—everybody’s girl. Do you have your masks? Good. If there’s anything you want to bring with you, get it now, because you won’t be back.”
That, at least, is good news, Hal thought.
Lila tossed Hal a large cloth sack. “Put all your clothes in here and give them to me. You’ll want them later, when you stop being a blackbird. And hurry. It’s important that I get you two into position before we get this party started. We can’t risk your running into people who might recognize you without your masks.”
Hal began stuffing his and Robert’s clothes into the bag.
She opened the door and stood aside. “After you,” she said.
When they walked out into the corridor, the guards that were usually there were gone.
“Now,” their escort said, “glower at everyone and walk like a blackbird until I get you under cover.”
“How does a blackbird walk?” Robert whispered.
“Like he’s got a burr up his ass,” she said.
Hal did his best to comply as they descended to the ground floor of Newgate Prison and out into a light rain. Robert took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hal knew that they might be going from the pot into the fire, but he felt the same relief to be out of Newgate.
Even though it was a short walk from Newgate to the palace, they were accosted along the way by multiple people—at least their escort was. Everybody seemed to know Lila, from a farrier at the stables to a pantry maid taking a break outside the kitchens to another clerk who called, “Hey, Lila, will you be at the Cold Crow tonight? I’ve got to win some of my money back.”
“No,” she said, without missing a step. “I’m working tonight. Maybe at the turn of the week.”
They did stop and wait when a velvet-clad merchant drew her aside for a hurried conversation. When she returned, she growled, “Everybody’s job is the most important.” She put on speed, as if to make up for lost time.
“Is that your name? Lila?” Robert said, hurrying to keep up as they circled around to the back of the palace.
She shot him a look. “Damn,” she said. “I was beginning to like you. Now I have to kill you.” She pushed open a door that was hidden behind a clump of shrubbery. “In here.”
She led them through what seemed to be a servants’ entrance to a pantry and staging area that was no longer in use. Hal could hear the clamor of musicians trying out their tuning in the next room.
“Is that the ballroom?” he said, tipping his head toward the sound. He’d been in there before, for parties during the holidays.
“Yes,” Lila said. Opening a cabinet, she pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside were two standard-issue blackbird swords and two daggers.
She handed out the weapons. Hal slid the blade home with a satisfactory hiss.
Lila opened another cabinet. It was stuffed with what appeared to be black oilskin cloaks. Again, standard issue for the King’s
