“Please be alive,” he panted under his breath as he skewered a revenant and kicked it off his sword.
The sound of gunfire from the train carriage made his head jerk around in surprise, instinctively ducking. He brought his sword up, cutting through a revenant’s rib cage. Bullets didn’t pepper the air above his head, so he kept moving, aware now, though, of the threat that waited for him inside the wreckage.
He put down what remained of the revenants, needing to recoat his sword with poison only once. Coughing against the smoke billowing in the air, Soren walked over bodies on his way to the train carriage entrance, the metal stairs there crumpled from a near decoupling. He sheathed his sword and drew the pistol holstered on his right hip, chambering a round. The click of gears was comforting, and he blew out a breath before stepping into the charred space where the train carriage door had been.
Soren let his pistol lead the way into chaos and hoped to survive it.
Two
VANYA
Vanya Sa’Liandel, crown prince and heir to the Imperial throne held by the House of Sa’Liandel, recognized betrayal when he tasted it on his tongue.
He finished the sip of spiced red chai anyway, knowing that to spit it out would be meaningless and draw attention to his predicament too early. The poison had already crossed his lips. He had perhaps ten minutes, no more, before the toxin worked its way through his veins, stealing the ability to move and breathe.
The quiet killer, he thought, setting the glass cup on the table.
Usually odorless and tasteless in small quantities when ground into powder, it was most often placed in a drink taken before bed, to incapacitate slowly during sleep. The victims never knew they died after they closed their eyes. There was a fine line, though, when too much of it meantflavorin a drink, and the tartness that bloomed in the back of his throat tasted the same way the mourning berries smelled on the vine.
Vanya blinked, continuing to stare at the documents spread out on the table as if nothing were amiss. The rumble of the train as it moved over the tracks was a noise easily tuned out, as was the bustle of servants andpraetoriaattending him in the private royal train carriage. They had all been sworn to his House, but it seemed that loyalty was no more. None of them could be trusted.
Vanya smoothed his fingers over the words of the marriage contract he’d been reviewing. The barrister who represented his House in such negotiations had sworn there was nothing out of place in his betrothal to the granddaughter and heir to thevezirof the House of Kimathi. The contract was in his House’s favor. The attack on him today was a strong indicator someone did not want this marriage to happen. Someone with enough money and clout to infiltrate his closest circles of servants and guards.
So, perhaps no Blade contracted out of Daijal’s Star Order kept him two-faced company in the train carriage. They knew their poisons better than anyone but the wardens. No Blade, then, only a House.
That left, oh, every major and minor House in existence.
Vanya closed his eyes, wishing briefly that he could have traveled by airship to Bellingham, but his mother had claimed that transport. Queen and heir did not travel together. In case of an attack, one would hopefully be alive in the aftermath to ensure their House remained on the Imperial throne.
Apparently, his House’s enemies had found their mark this time. It only took them twenty-three years.
Vanya’s personal store of antidotes was in one of his smaller luggage, the set brought with him into the carriage—which was stored in the wooden cabinet at the other end. He could not be sure it hadn’t been tainted, but not taking it would be foolhardy. Standing between him and possible life was everyone he couldn’t trust.
All five train carriages and the engine of the royal train were manned by people whose loyalty was now in doubt. Vanya needed to find a way to stop the train, but that was a task better done after he’d swallowed the antidote.
He stood, trying not to move as if he were desperate, despite the tingle he could feel starting in his fingertips. One of his servants rose to their feet from the bench on the opposite side of where he’d been working. The interior of the train carriage was done up in dark wood, deep reds, and the shine of accented gold. The gas lamps were cold in their sconces, and Vanya eyed the discreet bases that contained the gas needed for light.
A possibility of distraction, if he played things right.
And he was very good at playing this assassination game ever since becoming the Imperial crown prince.
“Your Imperial Highness,” the servant said with a deep bow. “How may I serve you?”
Vanya thought about dissembling, but he was down to nine minutes according to the clock ticking away on the wall. He smiled at her, knowing she hadn’t been the one to prepare the chai, but proximity bred guilt in a situation like this.
“You can start by telling me who poisoned my drink,” Vanya said, keeping his voice calm, attention on everyone else.
They all froze, but denial wasn’t forthcoming. The sentence for betrayal against a House was death. The gold ranking medallion that hung around Vanya’s neck over his white robes was a negligible weight he refused to let them take from him. But he wanted answers and was down to eight and a half minutes.
The click of a pistol’s safety being undone was loud in his ears. He had no guns of his own nearby, though he could shoot them well enough. Only Vanya didn’t need a pistol when he could command starfire.
The genealogies had recorded the ebb and flow of starfire in the Houses since the founding of Solaria. Vanya had studied those records enough to know where the Houses stood when it came to magicians in the family. But starfire existed in the House of Sa’Liandel like no other, and Vanya reminded the traitors on the train carriage of just how terribly it burned.
Starfire exploded from his hand without need for a clarion crystal–tipped wand to direct its power. Vanya’s stubborn will was enough, and he set the servants nearest him aflame before they could go for a weapon. Their cracking screams were choked off in seconds as starfire consumed their flesh down to bone. The smell of burning bodies was suffocating, but Vanya kept moving. If he could make it to his personal effects, to the antidote there, then he stood a chance of surviving this latest attempt on his life so long as it wasn’t contaminated.
Poison made him slow, though, and Vanya was forced to duck behind a silk-draped chaise as one of thepraetorialegionnaires opened fire where he’d stood. He drew on the aether to power the starfire in his hand, the heat something that had never bothered him.
He aimed the starfire at the gas lamps, shattering the casings and igniting the gas. A ball of red fire, lacking the gold tint of starfire, exploded outward. It caught the soldiers by surprise, forcing them back, buying Vanya time for a more direct attack.
