The Wheel of Osheim

“I need to see—”

“Nobody can break the curfew.” The man’s voice was the kind of deep that sounds as though it must hurt. “By order of the king!”

I eyed him. Young, thick-thewed, a gleaming breastplate, his face the variety of handsome that declares an unabashed lack of imagination. “Your name, Guardsman?” I tried to sound in charge. Technically I was.

“Sub-captain Paraito.”

“Look, Sub-captain, I’m Prince Jalan.” I hadn’t the energy to put on my royal roar. “I need to check on my family, then I’m going to see Hertet so—”

“Put him in the cells with the other dissidents.” Paraito waved his men forward. Four of the chain-armoured wall guards came forward. I reached for my absent sword, something that was becoming both a habit and a liability.

“Look!” I found my roar as the four men reached for me. “I’m the marshal of this entire fucking city, appointed by the Red Queen herself, and in case you hadn’t noticed—Vermillion is under attack. Half of it’s burning and there are dead things stalking this very palace.” I slapped away the closest hand. “So if you plan on living to see the dawn I strongly advise you to bring me before my uncle. Right now!”

The sub-captain stared at me as two of his minions took my arms. The frown on his handsome brow suggested that I might perhaps have put a small dent in his surety. “We’ll take him to the court and let the king decide if he wants to see him.” He turned and led off.

“Wait!” I dug in my heels but started to walk as it became clear they would drag me. “Wait! Where are we going?” The palace man had set off back across the courtyard, directly away from the Inner Palace.

“The king has made court in Milano House.”

“But . . . that’s insane.” The palace was compromised and Hertet had set up as king in his old house? The Inner Palace had been the seat of kings for generations. Spells and wards layered the place thicker than any rugs or tapestries: it was a place of safety against dark magics. For all I knew any dead thing crossing its threshold would burn or turn to dust . . . or simply become the more traditional kind of corpse, cut free of the necromancer’s strings. I very much doubted Milano House enjoyed the same protections. Still, Uncle Hertet had been practising to be king beneath that roof for longer than I’d been alive. Perhaps he felt safest there. Perhaps the Red Queen’s throne scared him. It would me. Especially if my claim were premature . . .

Passing by Scribes’ Row I saw the wiry form of a mire-ghoul, stark against the moon, just for an instant as it crested the roof.

“There!” I twisted to free an arm and failed. “Up there, a ghoul!”

“Don’t see it.” Sub-captain Paraito glanced upward without breaking stride.

“Aren’t you at least going to send men to investigate?” I managed to shake off one of the guards. “Unhand me, you buffoon, my uncle is exactly who I want to see. I don’t have to be dragged there!”

“The king has ordered all men-at-arms to defend Milano House. Our patrols are to round up traitors and forewarn of any attack. We’re not to go chasing shadows.”

I shook my head and carried on walking. In all honesty the shadows would probably eat Paraito and his squad if they ventured into them.

I didn’t make another break for it until we passed within sight of Roma Hall. In one of the upper rooms a faint light escaped the shutters. I twisted free and took a stride. One more stride and I would have made it clear, but one of the wall guards, either by accident or design, got the haft of his spear tangled between my legs and I went down with two men piling on top of me.

They dragged me up, spitting grit from the flagstones.

“Bind the prisoner!” Sub-captain Paraito nodded to one of his squad.

“I wasn’t trying to escape, you idiot!” An echo of berserker rage rang through me and more guardsmen stepped in to help hold my arms. “Prince Darin’s wife and child are alone in Roma House with a necromancer.” I took a deep breath as they looped the rope about my hands. “I’ll remind you again. I’m a prince, and the marshal of this whole damn city! If you let my sister-in-law die . . . Wait! The necromancer! He’s a threat to Hertet—the king, I mean. It’s your duty to—”

“It’s my duty to enter the information in my report.” The sub-captain motioned his men on, and on they went, dragging me while I fought my bonds.

As we approached Milano House I saw a host of armoured men drawn up around its walls, torches burning in such profusion as to light the entire courtyard. I saw members of the palace guard, the throne-room elite, the wall guard, the grounds guard, the aristocratic remnants of the Red Lance, Long Spear, and Iron Hoof cavalries, prison guards from the Marsail keep, even house guards from the noble houses.