To her advantage was the fact that the paranoid societies of Spyre rarely communicated. Sacrus wont want anyone to know they had you, Diamandis had pointed out one evening as they sat huddled in the tower, an ornate chair burning merrily in the fireplace. If they choose to unmask you, its at the expense of admitting they have connections with the outside worldand more importantly, they wont want to hint that they have the Key to Candesce. I dont think well hear a peep out of them, at least not overtly.
The workmen finished knocking down the last bricks and stepped aside just as Diamandis stuck his head around the corner of the archway. The door is there, maam. And the lock.
Ah, good. Venera stalked past the workers, trying to keep from nervously twisting the ring on her finger. This was the proverbial moment of truth. If the key didnt work
The brick wall had been built across an entryway that extended fifteen feet and ended in a large iron-bound door similar to the one at Buridan Tower. The ministers crowded in behind Venera, watching like hawks as she dusted off the lockbox with her glove. Gentlemen, she said acidly, there is only so much air in herethough I suppose you have some natural
skepticism about my authenticity. Put that out of your minds. She held up the signet ring. I am my own proofbut if you need crass symbols, perhaps this one will do. She jammed the key against the inset impression in the lockbox.
Nothing happened.
Pardon. Diamandis was looking alarmed and Venera quashed the urge to make some sort of joke. She must not lose her air of confidence, not even for a second. Bending to examine the lock, she saw that it had been overgrown with grit over the years. Brush, please, she said in a bored tone, holding out one hand. After a long minute someone placed a hairbrush in her palm. She scrubbed the lock industriously for a while, then blew on it and tried the ring again.
This time there was a deep click and then a set of ratcheting thumps from behind the wall. The door ground open slowly.
You are the council for infrastructure, was it not? she asked, fixing the ministers with a cold eye. Aday nodded. Hmm, she said. Well. She turned, preparing to sweep like the spoiled princess she had once been, through the opened door into blackness.
A loud bang and fall of dust from the ceiling made her stumble. There was sudden pandemonium in the gallery. The ministers were milling in confusion while screams and shouts followed the echoes of the explosion into the air. Past Adays shoulder Venera saw a curling pillar of smoke or dust that hadnt been there a second ago.
With her foot hovering over the threshold of the estate, Venera found herself momentarily forgotten. Sirens were sounding throughout the wheel and she heard the clatter of soldiers boots on the flagstones. In the courtyard, someone was crying; somebody else was screaming for help.
Expressionless, she walked back to the gallery and peered over Adays shoulder. Somebody bombed the crowd, she said.
Its terrible, terrible, moaned Aday, wringing his hands.
This cant have been planned, she said reasonably. So who would be walking around on a morning like this just carrying a bomb?
Its the rebels, said Aday furiously. Bombers, assassins This is terrible!
Someone burst into the courtyard below and ran toward the most injured people. With a start Venera realized it was Garth Diamandis. He shouted commands to some stunned but otherwise intact victims; slowly they moved to obey, fanning out to examine the fallen.
It hadnt occurred to Venera until this moment that she could also be helping. She felt a momentary stab of surprise, then was it anger? She must be angry at Diamandis, that was it. But she remembered the mayhem of battle aboard the Rook when the pirates attacked, and the aftermath. Such fear and anguish, and in those moments the smallest gesture meant so much to men who were in pain. The airmen had given of themselves without a moments thoughtgiven aid, bandages, and blood.
She turned to look for the stairs, but it was too late: the medics had arrived. Frowning, Venera watched their white uniforms fan out through the blackened rubble. Then she lit her lantern and stalked back to the archway.
When my manservant is done, send him to me, she said quietly. She strode alone into the long-sealed estate of Buridan.
They were the horse masters, he said. Theirs was the ultimate in impractical productsa being that required buckets of food and endless space to run, that couldnt live a day in freefall. But a creature so beautiful that visitors to Spyre routinely fell in love with them. To have a horse was the ultimate sign of power, because it meant you had gravity to waste.
But that must have been centuries ago, shed said. Venera was having trouble hearing Diamandis, even though the rooms door was tightly closed and there were no windows in this chamber. The tower was awash with sound, from the creaking of the beams and the roaring of the wind to the basso-profundo chorus of drones that reverberated through every surface. Even before her eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside the building, before she could take in the clean-stripped smell of chambers and corridors scoured by centuries of wind, the full-throated scream of Buridan had nearly driven her outside again.