Page 90 of The Book That Held Her Heart

“What are the odds?” Evar muttered. “Someone else is invading the palace just when we break in?”

“Long,” Starval said. “Astronomical if the events are not connected.”

“It’s got to be the others, right? Mayland’s found an army somewhere?”

Starval shrugged. “We should keep to the mission. Play this to our advantage.” He turned another corner into another luxurious stretch of corridor, adorned with paintings, tapestries, and niches in which stood painted vases, marble busts, ornate clocks. “This room.” Starval pulled up short before a small, unimpressive door.

“Why that one?”

“It’s something functional. We need to get behind the scenes.” Starval knelt to pick the lock. The whole time he fiddled, Evar glanced nervously back and forth along the corridor with its many, grander, doors. With each passing moment the risk of interruption grew. Evar would fight, but he didn’t want to. His mind’s eye saw the walls sprayed with blood, the carpet darkened, and he shuddered.

“There.” Starval pushed through.

The chamber beyond was small, smelled musty, and contained only baskets of furniture sheets, and a chute to some level far below where less favoured servants would presumably launder whatever needed laundering.

“Well, that was a waste of time.” Evar turned to go.

“You’ll notice that someone left a lit lantern hanging in here.” Starval made no move to leave. “That lock was a work of art. And the carpet outside is more worn than any other place we’ve seen. A light, an expensive lock, and a stream of visitors to a laundry chute in this particular part of the palace. None of that makes a great deal of sense.”

He went to the wall and began to walk slowly around the perimeter, pushing baskets from his path with his feet while his fingers trailed the stonework.

“A secret door? Really?” Evar looked around. “Here?”

“Hereto be precise.” Starval thumped the wall and a panel swung noiselessly open. “Follow me. Be very quiet.”

Evar followed into the tight spaces within the walls. Starval chose not to take the lantern, and its light did not follow them far. Evar fought a newly discovered fear of confinement and squeezed through after his brother.

Quite how Starval navigated in the blackness, Evar had no idea. The space smelled dusty and sour. Things crawled in the dark and scurried there. Starval found a flight of stairs so narrow in places that Evar had to turn sideways to negotiate them, then banged his head, and lacking space to bend, had to lean painfully forward. It would have been uncomfortable even without a fresh knife wound in his side.

Eventually Starval stopped. Evar swallowed the need to ask why. He stood for a long moment with his hand to the assassin’s back, listening. The faint hints of a voice reached him.

Noiselessly a long vertical crack of light appeared. It grew no wider than a finger’s width. Starval crouched, allowing Evar to lean over him for a look. The sliver of vision revealed a small gallery. A soldier knelt by the balustrade, training his gun down into the space below. Through the shaped columns of the balustrade a throne could be seen, its high back adorned with golden turrets. The attention of the bewigged figure seated there lay upon two large cages, each big enough for a human on horseback. In one, several figures lay sprawled, dead or dying. In the other Oldo stood by himself, gripping the bars, and by the tone of his voice, giving the potentate a piece of his mind.

Behind Evar the sound of boots on stone steps rang out. Many boots. The size of a force that doesn’t care about stealth or surprise.

“They’ve found us.” Evar turned with a sinking heart and drew his knife. Better for the confined space, as long as he could avoid the first thrust of sword or spear. Of course, if the guards chose to open fire, then all his skill would count for little.

“I’ll take out the man on the throne.” Starval pushed the door to the balcony wider. “A good day to die, brother.”

“A good day to die.” Until Evar said the words, he had stood at the centre of a tug-of-war between faint chances and unlikely options. Now all of that went away. He wanted to live, of course he did, but perhaps it was easier this way, the unresolvable dispute resolved. The looming conflict with Mayland set aside. The library’s problems handed back to the library.

The light of a swinging lantern reached up the stairs, soldiers crowding behind it, rushing forward, their cries mixing with the shouts of alarm from the balcony as Starval did what Starval did best.

“Livira.” Evar spoke the name he wanted to be last on his tongue. And with that, he threw himself at the enemy.

The sewers of a great city are often feats of architecture that put to shame the homes of many of those living above them. This begs the lie of the claim that our rulers treat the poor like shit. The poor are treated much worse than shit is.

Environmental Agency Report into Unregulated Discharges of Sewage into English Coastal Waters, Vol. 14, 2023, by various authors

Chapter 39

Livira

“This is all of us?”

The sewer junction chosen might be the largest underground space that New Kraff had to offer, but it wasn’t large. The fact that the Saviour’s entire assault force was packed within it, or visible in the lantern light extending down the five adjoining tunnels, did not fill Livira with confidence.

“We’re talking about reaching the heart of a palace here,” Carlotte enlarged. “This lot wouldn’t get past the front door of my…” She trailed off, probably not wanting to confuse the issue with talk of her recent title and home.

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