“I hadn’t heard about that myself, but it makes sense,” Amaya said. “You have to ask yourself how many failures the marshals would oversee.”
“Quote you?” Hemmit asked.
“I would prefer not,” she said. She pointed across the lawn. “It looks like the other members of the press are gathering over there, near Dayne. I imagine he’s going to make an official statement in a moment.”
“We should head over,” Lin said, eating another pastry. She started to walk over, and Hemmit made to follow her before Amaya put a hand on his arm.
“I’d like to get a word with you alone later,” she said.
“You found something?” he asked. About what did not need saying—the two of them had had many words alone in the past months, including several conversations about what they had been calling the Conspiracy of the Grand Ten. They still had no hard evidence that such a conspiracy truly existed, but despite that, they were both convinced it did.
“Maybe,” she said. She pointed across the crowd to a woman in a gray uniform. “You know who that is?”
“No,” Hemmit said.
“Possibly the most powerful woman in the country right now. Colonel Silla Altarn of Druth Intelligence. Mage on the Colonel’s Table.”
“All right,” he said. “What about her?”
“Not sure yet. But I’m watching her, and who she’s watching.” She shook her head. “Maybe nothing. Your apartment, this afternoon?”
He nodded, and she gave his arm a friendly squeeze before walking off. Hemmit ran to catch up with Lin, and the two of them reached the gathering around Dayne and a handful of marshals.
“Going forward, we will have the manpower to better provide both security for the members of Parliament and the facility itself, while also being able to oversee each other, and prevent further incidents.”
“What about the incident today?” Harns from Throne and Chairs asked. “Was that a failure of the marshals?”
“The incident today was not a failure, at least in terms of security,” one of the marshals said. “Isn’t that right, Heldrin?”
“An attempt was made on the king’s life, and it was prevented,” Dayne said. “While it would have been preferable to capture the man alive, it demonstrated how capable the marshals are at the task of protecting their charges. The Tarian Order is looking forward to the partnership with them.”
“Mister Heldrin, you took personal action at this incident,” a young woman stated. Hemmit knew her by reputation—Cairns, from the High Maradaine Gazette. “Just as you did with the incident with Tharek Pell, the rescue of the Scallic Ballots, the atrocity on the Parliament floor.”
“Is there a question?” Dayne asked.
“Do you feel a personal charge to take such action? Do you feel like you, Dayne Heldrin of the Tarian Order, are the one single hero in this city who can save us?”
“Of course not,” Dayne said. “This city—it’s full of so many good people. People who are fighting every day to make it better, make it safer. People who reach out to help their neighbors, people who extend a hand to whoever needs it. This city is full of heroes, both in the light and the shadows. Every part of this city, every alley and neighborhood, has a champion ready to rise up and do what’s right. I’m honored if you count me among them, but I would honor every one of them as well, wherever they’re found.”
Chapter 2
“TWO RASPERS, EXTRA MUSTARD.”
Veranix Calbert looked a little conspicuous ordering sausage sandwiches from a Dentonhill food stand in his University of Maradaine uniform, even if he was just a block from campus. He was the only student in the line, the rest were workers from the chicken house. He was amazed those folks could even eat, given how they stank of chicken filth and blood.
He wasn’t the only student in the square, even if he was the only one in uniform. While he paid for his sausages, he kept his eye on the two he came here to watch. Fourth-years, boy and girl together, both from the social houses. They were dressed like they were trying to fit in with the Dentonhill crowd, but they were too clean, clothes looking like the fashionable idea of working class. They stood out easily, not that anyone here really cared about the two of them.
Anyone except Veranix and his friends.
Veranix watched the pair as they approached a fellow leaning against a lamppost. He kept his attention on them while eating his raspers—dry and overcooked—as they had a brief conversation with the fellow. Things exchanged hands and they left, heading back to the campus gate. Veranix ate the last bit of sausage and started walking, so he’d go right past them. He charged up just a bare hint of magic, drawing the numinic energy around him and channeling it into his hands. As he passed the couple, he sent that energy out. No color, no flash, no sound, just a wash of numinic energy over them. He glanced back at the campus gates, where Delmin Sarren was chatting up one of the cadets on guard duty. Delmin looked up for a moment and nodded. Delmin wasn’t a very good practical mage, but he was an excellent magical tracker. This was a new trick the two of them had been practicing: Veranix “tagging” someone magically, and Delmin tracking them afterward. Delmin had these two in his sights, and he’d find where they went, where they lived, and then he’d use his authority as prefect to bust them for trafficking effitte onto campus.
Veranix often leaned toward using force to stop the effitte trade, but not against students on campus. Delmin insisted that they be dealt with through the proper system, until it proved corrupt.
Force was what he had in mind for the fellow who sold them the effitte. Now he had identified the dealer, the next step was Mila.
Mila Kendish, new first-year at U of M,
