“Bring her,” the coachman said. Now everyone looked startled.
Trune crooked a finger at her and she put down the silverware and followed obediently, head bowed, fingers interlaced demurely at her waist. Once she got out of the dining room, she could make enough of a diversion that Yvienne could escape. The coachman grabbed her by the elbow as soon as she walked past him and held her with her arm behind her. Trune closed the doors behind him.
“The servants were trussed up in the kitchen. Marques said a masked man broke in and overpowered them,” the coachman said.
“Indeed,” Trune said, furious. “And where were you when this happened?”
“On patrol.” The coachman gave him a dark look. “You were the one who wanted to turn everyone off for the night.”
“So where is this intruder now?”
“Upstairs. He won’t be able to get far. Between the two of us we can run him down.” Trune’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Tesara. “Who is he?”
She lifted her shoulders. “No idea.”
He slapped her. The stinging blow was like a thud to her cheekbone, the signet ring he wore splitting the skin. The taste and scent of blood, the tears the slap brought, the very force of the blow, rocked her back on her heels against the coachman’s bulk and made her lose control. Behind them in the dining room she could hear the rattling chain of the chandelier as it swung off its moorings and crashed to the table. Men shouted and screamed.
Trune was just turning to see what had happened when the dining room doors were flung open.
“Trune, what the hell is going on?!” Lupiere shouted, his eyes wild with fear. He was covered with food and wine, and behind him she could see the chandelier shattered on top of the once beautifully laid table like a crystalline octopus washed up on shore.
“Nothing,” Trune snapped. “Stay in there.”
He yanked Tesara from the coachman’s grasp and dragged her toward the stairs behind him. They halted at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing?” the coachman snapped.
“He’s here because of her. He’ll surrender because of her.”
The coachman rolled his eyes and handed him a long-handled pistol. “Take this and follow me.”
The blood welled along her cheekbone and dripped into her mouth. She didn’t have a hand free to wipe her face, and she could tell it was getting into her hair. She stumbled just enough to keep Trune from going as fast as he meant to, and he cursed and pulled her. Then, when she went to her knees as if in a faint, he swung around over her and cocked the pistol, putting the nose of the gun against her temple.
Tesara went very still, the cold metal shocking her to her bones. Trune shouted up the stairs.
“Listen! I have her! I’ll shoot her unless you come out now!”
The shout rang through the house. She wondered if Yvienne heard it or if she were already on the way out, hiding in the dumbwaiter and pulling herself down hand over hand.
The charge expelled in the fall of the chandelier had only sharpened her power. Her hands felt thick again, increasing in energy. Tesara focused on the runner on the stairs, faded now, its pile worn by thousands of steps over decades, and saw for the first time that the pattern was of waves, alternating with suns, and dolphins bounding over all.
Waves. Waves of light, of water, of wind. It was very peculiar, what was going on in her head. That was why she had affinity for light and water. She had only to pull the waves where they needed to go.
She gathered the waves now, and with a strange zipping sensation the runner began moving beneath her, causing the woven waves to slide over the stairs. It was the most extraordinary thing, pulling at the runner. It slid down from beneath them starting at the top of the stairs, gathered speed, and knocked Trune off his feet like a fast-moving tide, tumbling them at the bottom of the stairs, knocking the air out of her lungs.
When she could stand, she saw the coachman was barely conscious and was groaning, his face pale. Trune, on his hands and knees, patted around for his pistol. It was just out of reach and she made a supreme effort and kicked it out of his way. It slid across the parquet floor to land by the front door.
She heard someone upstairs and looked up, just in time to see Yvienne dart across the landing at a dead run and then slide down the banister toward her, riding it sidesaddle. She jumped off just before she reached the newel post, and aimed her pistol at Trune.
Still on his knees, Trune went quite still.
“Damn you,” he grunted. He winced, his arm at a very strange angle.
“Yes,” Yvienne agreed. She glanced at Tesara and nodded at the pistol by the door. Tesara hurried over and picked it up.
The dining room doors, obediently drawn closed by Lupiere, opened up again and a timid man peeked out. It was Parr.
“Trune?”
His eyes widened when he saw the wreckage. Yvienne turned and pointed her pistol at him. Parr took the hint and closed the doors again. Tesara found a walking stick in the umbrella stand by the front door and put it through the door handles. It wouldn’t keep them for long, but it would have to do.
Together they trussed the coachman and Trune, using drapery cords and a few lace doilies as gags. With the two subdued, Yvienne knelt down in front of Trune. He looked wild-eyed at her over his gag, and Tesara knew he wanted to shriek and threaten them.
In a low, rasping voice, Yvienne said, “I have what I need. I have the proof. I know how you’ve swindled plenty of others out of their rightful trade. When you get free, and I know you
