She would be prepared for both of them. It was time for action.
She strode into the Veracity offices. The lamps were burning low, but both Hemmit and Lin were inside. They had clearly already gone through several bottles of wine.
“Stop wallowing,” she told them as she came in.
“Wallowing?” Lin asked as she struggled to stand. “Do you have any idea—”
“I do, yes,” Mirianne said. “We have lost gravely today, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do.”
“Work?” Hemmit asked.
“Indeed,” Mirianne said. “Though we will also take time to mourn. I am making arrangements for a proper service for Maresh. I will handle the details and expenses. The least I could do.”
“Thank you,” Lin said.
“But that doesn’t mean the truth isn’t under assault,” Mirianne said. She pointed to the folder that Altarn had so cleverly arranged to be delivered to all the newssheets. “I noticed you didn’t print that story like the other sheets.”
“Because it’s sewage,” Hemmit said. “The sort of sewage that is spiced with just enough truth to smell right, but—” He shook his head. “There’s no way Amaya was a part of that. No way.”
Perfect.
“I agree,” Mirianne said. “Which means we need to get to the real truth, clear her name. That needs to be a long-term priority.”
“How?” Lin asked.
“That’s on you to figure out, my friends,” Mirianne said. “And I’ll sign off the expenses you need. But I think that’s only part of it.”
“What else?” Hemmit asked.
“Right now, the story of this ‘Grand Ten’ is what everyone is talking about. So we need to change the conversation.”
“Given what happened in Saint Bridget’s Square, it’s astounding this is the big story,” Hemmit said.
“Right,” Mirianne said. “Because no one is talking about Saint Bridget’s Square. You need to tell them about it.”
Hemmit stood up and stumbled to Maresh’s desk, sorting through some pages. “We don’t have an artist right now.”
“We’ll work on that,” Mirianne said. “But what can we do?”
Hemmit pulled out pages and thumbed through them. Miri had seen them before—saintly sketches a mysterious reader had sent them.
“I think I know,” he said. “Can I get a pot of tea? I need to start writing.”
“I’ll do better,” Mirianne said. “I’ll send over a few assistants to handle tea and whatever else you need. You just do what you do best.”
If she knew Hemmit, she knew exactly what that would be. He was already sitting down, writing furiously.
Mirianne nodded to Lin and went out. She would have to work hard over the next months, use all of her skills and knowledge, to coax things where she needed this nation, this city to be. For it to be what it could be, what it needed to be.
She knew that was the difference between herself and Altarn. Mirianne was not doing this for any personal glory or aggrandizement. She wanted to make Druthal the best thing it could be. Altarn had her own agendas, and more and more, Mirianne was growing certain those agendas served no master who wished the best for Druthal. So she needed to position herself to stop her, in case that was necessary.
“You’ve alienated your allies, Colonel.”
Silla Altarn didn’t need to justify herself to Torla Rassin, but she saw this as a teaching moment. The young dark-haired woman might be a skilled telepath and useful asset for the Brotherhood, but she had a certain naiveté that Altarn needed to squash out of her. While they descended into the catacombs beneath the Central Office was a good enough time to instruct her.
“They were never my allies,” Altarn said. “The Grand Ten was a means to an end with foolish goals. I mean, honestly, we nearly achieved their goals in a few minutes by you rewriting a few minds. They want to wrap themselves around convoluted plans when all they need is a well-shot crossbow.”
The assassination attempt, of course, didn’t matter, beyond being a good field test for Torla’s value as a blunt instrument, though she had clearly shattered that servant so he barely understood anything other than a driving need to kill the king and restore the True Line.
The True Line. Like it even mattered who was on the throne. Once the Brotherhood was truly ready, they would be the only rulers of the nation.
Torla was clearly thinking about her performance on that task. “Amaya was easier to influence. She barely needed a nudge to go off on a reckless mission alone.” She sighed. “Do you still need me to pretend to be a servant at the Tarian Chapterhouse?”
She had considered it, but Torla was too valuable to waste on that. Grandmaster Orren was now completely under her thumb, thanks to Torla’s telepathic talents. She had managed to guide him to act against his principles, believing his loyalty had earned him the things he so desperately wanted for the Order. It truly was a testament to her gifts.
“No, I have a different assignment for you.”
They reached the meeting chamber, where Liora Rand was waiting impatiently.
“How is this not a disaster?” Liora asked.
“Should I spell it out for you?” Altarn asked.
“Please,” Liora said. “The machine has been destroyed, the statues and spikes lost, Senek arrested.”
“You well know that was only the first phase of the Hierarch’s plan, a field test of the theories. He’s very big on testing theories, after all.”
“Asti Rynax found the mothers,” Liora said. “Thank the Nine the code phrases to blank his memory still worked.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t just kill him,” Altarn said.
“She harbors affection for him,” Torla said.
“He’s still useful,” Liora said. “We don’t have all the names on the list, so he might be the only key to getting them.”
That was true. Especially now that Grieson had gone into hiding. The bastard. She needed to hunt him down. Soon enough.
“The point is, he doesn’t know anything about the mothers, and you had them moved away from there. All is well.”
“We were exposed! We lost most of the followers.”
“The followers were expendable, by their nature.
