Unexpected help always comes with strings.
—Caldienan proverb
As they followed the Prime Minister up the stairs, Gabe caught Malcolm’s eye, jerked his head toward the dais. Malcolm nodded, his mouth pressed tightly shut. He’d seen the statue, the stone. He knew what it was.
Maybe they could ask Eoin for the piece? Though the mass murder that had just taken place made Gabe wary of asking the man for anything.
Or maybe they could just steal it.
Assuming they made it out of this alive.
Eoin led them up to the top of the amphitheater. It wasn’t until they were in the foyer of the building that Gabe realized it was the Rotunda, where the governing body of Caldien was located. He’d seen the structure from the street—round, with a golden domed roof that had been a gift from one of Bastian’s ancestors.
The Prime Minister was the only delegate of the Rotunda who had an office in the building. The delegates were voted on every three years by the citizens of Caldien, and allegedly anyone couldrun. But it took money to finance a campaign, so those who made it in were generally from wealthy families who already boasted many politicians, and there was very little turnover. Eoin’s father had been Prime Minister before him. For all their talk of democracy, it seemed to operate very similarly to the monarchies Gabe had grown up with.
Eoin led them to a wooden door, opened it without knocking. A well-appointed room with a large oak desk and a few green houseplants crowding a glass-paned window.
“Tea?” Eoin asked as he took his seat behind the desk, gesturing to two other chairs for Gabe and Malcolm. “It’s the middle of the night, but politicians pull odd hours, and there’s still staff around.” He didn’t wait for an answer, ringing a small brass bell on the desk. A moment later, a servant with dark, tired bags beneath their eyes appeared and took his order.
Gabe twisted his wrists back and forth, still numb and red from the shackles. “So Finn set us up?”
Eoin didn’t even look away from the servant, holding up a single finger, telling him to wait. Gabe was too taken aback to argue.
When the servant left, Eoin turned back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Finn did you a great favor, actually. He told me his suspicions of who you really were, and that he thought it would serve Caldien better to work with you than with the Sainted King. He knew every Citadel guard in the city would come running if he said he found you.”
“So now every Citadel guard in the city is dead,” Malcolm said quietly. “Killed by the… you called them Brothers?”
“I did.” Eoin grinned. “The Brotherhood of the Waters. It’s a… a study group, I suppose you could say. I hesitate to call it a church, but our areas of interest certainly tend toward the spiritual.” His eyes went shrewd. “Toward the elemental gods.”
“We can’t help you with that.” Malcolm sounded exhausted. “Yes, we’re… we’ve become… we’re tangled with Them, somehow,but we don’t understand how Their power works. We can’t help you use it.”
“Oh, no, you misunderstand me.” The door opened, the servant bringing in tea; Eoin doused his in cream from a tiny saucer and took a sip. “We are purely motivated by study. We simply wish to speak with you about the power, perhaps see it demonstrated.”
“What do we get, then?” Gabe’s voice was dark. “For being your circus animals?”
Eoin’s grin sharpened. “Saving you from certain execution seems like quite the repayment. Though other things could be discussed.”
It was as good an opening as they were likely to get.
“The statue,” Gabe said, haltingly. “It holds a stone…”
“Oh,” Eoin said over the lip of his teacup. “You want the Fount piece.” He waved a hand. “Yes, perhaps we can come to an agreement on that.”
Across the table, Malcolm gaped. Gabe shut his own mouth with a snap of teeth.
Eoin cocked a brow through the steam off his tea. “Anything else?”
“The Queen.” No more halting words; Gabe spoke strong. “She’s on the Burnt Isles; we have to rescue her. And Alienor Bellegarde, in Dellaire—we need to bring her here, keep her safe from Jax Andronicus and… and the King.”
The Prime Minister’s expression went grim. “You want me to start a war for you.”
“A war is coming,” Malcolm said quietly. “Who starts it is irrelevant at this point. The Sainted King and the Kirythean Empire will come for Caldien, probably sooner rather than later.”
“I’m aware,” Eoin said, setting down his cup. He went to a sideboard and rummaged in a drawer, coming up with a bottle of whiskey and generously dosing his tea.
“You’re aware?” Gabe asked. “And doing nothing?”
“Finn has kept me abreast of the situation in Auverraine. At the moment, it’s more prudent to bide our time.” He sat back down. “We’re all spying on one another. You know that. And Finn is the best of the best. He’s been in and out of Auverraine for years, working the docks. More than one Citadel courtier sneaks down to rub shoulders with the rabble. They have loose lips when they do.”
