Two steps.
One.
I stand outside the door, placing my hand on it. I could bring reinforcements, go to the few allies I have: The Legal servant who transported food to the Nameless; the doctor who tended my wounds and cared for my friends; Devil, who gave me shelter even if it was for a price. Glenquartz. Hat. Esther, even. But I’m already here. The room beyond the door feels empty. It’s a gray blank spot on the map in my head. The door is wooden, rotted along the edges, heavy.
I can’t see the hinges, which means it opens inward. The doorknob is metal, rusted slightly, so I can assume the hinges are the same. I’ll have to open it carefully, pressing it tight to keep it quiet.
I take a deep breath: slow, steady, and calm. I use Kael’s key, turn the lock silently, twist the doorknob, and push.
My shoulders and knees ache as I crouch in the doorway. A bar of light sneaks into the hall, broadening as the door opens. It casts a cold glare onto the wet stones.
I peer inside. Five steps from the doorway is a railing, and the room opens up beyond that. There’s movement and the flicker of firelight, but I can’t tell how many people there are. Hundreds, at least. I stay close to the door, peering along the inside edge of the room.
A dark sea of movement shifts beyond the rail.
I slip through the door, keeping the doorknob turned until I close the door behind me. There’s no one on the walkway in either direction, so I move toward the railing, crouching. The center of the room is a pit.
Together, a group of nearly three hundred people moves in unison. They step forward and bring the guns up to aim. Pivot to the side, aim, lower their weapons, pivot again.
I’ve seen little of the military aside from the Royal guards who patrol Seriden. Yet I know without a doubt that this is organized training.
This is not a small group of rogue militants.
This is an army.
In the firelight, General Belrosa emerges from the sea of soldiers. They freeze and stand at attention. She walks up the far staircase.
Gaiza. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
“It took you long enough to find your way to my training grounds.” Her voice echoes, distorting off the walls. She turns at the top of the stairs and begins the long trek around the walkway, fixing her gaze on me.
“I knew you sensed something from me at the archery range,” Belrosa says. “But you caught me unprepared. That won’t happen again.”
She strides toward me, and I want to stay strong and brave, but I back away. I caught her by surprise at the archery range, but I’ve only practiced my abilities on injured patients at Med Ward. I doubt I’d stand strong against her.
She observes me, coming to a stop a few paces away. “It’s tough, isn’t it? Being connected to your subjects and seeing their fears and thoughts. People think that being sovereign is all about power and strength. But with that crown, you’re more a slave to them. To me.”
I remind myself of my power: to create illusions and to read memories and thoughts. What can I show her to make her afraid?
But I can barely focus on her movements as she approaches me, let alone focus well enough to make a hallucination.
“I’m here to make a deal with you,” I say.
She snarls. “A deal?” Her aura pulses, dark red with disgust.
“You have secrets. You are vulnerable.” I motion to the army of men and women. “You’ve seen what I can do. At the gallows. At the fires. I am not powerless.”
Belrosa laughs. It scrunches her eyes and shows her straight teeth. A second later, her laugh disappears and her eyes are a slow burn of ice. “I’ll spare you the details of how the Royal Council won’t believe you, and instead I’ll tell you how they’ll kill you.”
A shudder snakes down my arms.
Belrosa’s face flickers in the firelight. “The council will finally realize that you are unfit to continue as the heir. The riots, the execution, the fire! All under your watch, because you are Nameless. Seriden is on the brink of civil war! What the city needs is a firm, militaristic rule. No longer will a two-hundred-year-old, antiquated treaty dictate our actions. We need an army to control the madness of this city. The city needs a familiar face in power. And whose name will they force from your lips when they finally agree? Who, of all of the Royals, is fit to take your place?”
I grind my teeth.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Belrosa says coldly. “You won’t speak my name. Oh, but consider what happens if you don’t. I will track down your little Nameless friend who escaped the gallows. She will suffer in ways you never dreamed a person could suffer.”
The fire in my chest flares. I can’t feel the cold hatred of her aura, because my own anger crawls along my skin like beads of molten metal.
“Or,” she says, “in two weeks, at the Assassins’ Festival, you simply pass the tattoo to me peacefully. No need for violence. No need for suffering.”
“No.” I set my jaw.
“No?” Belrosa’s mouth twitches.
“No,” I say more firmly. “I’m not here to take your threats. I’m here to make a deal.”
“Are you?” Belrosa grins. “I was under the impression that you weren’t making any more deals.” Her gaze shifts to something behind me.
I take a cautious step, sure to keep the firelight between us. Another figure walks along the curving walkway.
“What’s this I hear about a deal to be made?” Marcher says.
I feel as if the blood’s been drained from my body. “This is why you keep coming in and out of the palace. But I don’t understand. Why work with her?”
Usually, I never admit when I don’t understand something. But I know Marcher. He’ll seize the opportunity to undermine me. As expected, a slimy smile appears on his face.
“Our lives,” Marcher says, “the lives of the Nameless, they aren’t so black and white, legal and illegal. Sure, we can’t hold a job or own a house. But since when has a system ever abided by its own rules? Why do you think I’m here?”
His taunting smirk rolls up his cheeks like spreading mold.
“To get me here,” I say. “To the palace. To the dungeon.”
Now I can see why Marcher is so pleased. To them, I am a dancing marionette: strings pulled, limbs flailing.
“To get you to the palace?” Marcher says. “No, that was inevitable once you found the tattoo.”
“So, what, then?” I demand. “You’re here to join a secret army?”