“So he’s your spy,” Gabe said. “Not your lover.”
“Oh, he’s both. A man of many talents.” Eoin shrugged. “All those rumors a few months ago—a courtier dead in the King’s apartments, the puddle of water around her body, then, finally, the conviction of the freshly minted Queen—would have been too chaotic for anyone who hadn’t been paying attention to put together. Anyone who didn’t know the myths, and anyone who was too blinded by religion to believe.
“Now, Finn knows his subterfuge, and he knows his myths, so it was fairly easy for him to figure out. The King wanted that courtier—Demillier? Devaux? Something like that—dead, because she was the avatar of one of the elemental gods.” Eoin circled his wrist as if hurrying himself along. “And then, once you lot left Auverraine and came here, with wanted notices soon after, it wasn’t a stretch to think that you perhaps had the same affliction.”
“You’re incredibly nonchalant about it,” Gabe murmured.
Eoin shrugged. “Our gods were men who wanted more power. There’s not much to be awed by, really. Who among us wouldn’t do the same, given the opportunity?”
“Me,” Malcolm said quietly. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, your King is of a different mind, it seems. I’d long had my suspicions about that Tract, the one about the chosen Arceneaux. Seems Apollius finally found the one He wanted.”
They didn’t have to worry about telling Eoin what had happened to Bastian. It seemed he already knew.
“You know the kind of danger we’re in, then,” Gabe said. “All of us.”
“And that is why I prefer not to act rashly.” Eoin sat back in his chair, once again steepling his fingers. “You want my piece of the Fount, you want a rescue for the Queen of Auverraine and another one for an Arceneaux half sister currently betrothed to the Emperor. That’s quite a lot of favors to ask. It almost outweighs political asylum.”
“What more do you want?” There was a haunted look in Malcolm’s eye, one Gabe couldn’t quite pin on their current circumstances.
“Nothing much,” Eoin said. “Just what I mentioned before. For you to demonstrate your power for me, let the other Brothers witness the miracle of it with their own eyes.” His smile widened. “No scientific experiments, promise. The most we’ll ask is for you to talk us through the particulars.”
Gods dead and dying, they didn’t know the particulars. The Prime Minister was treating this like some grand illusion, a natural curiosity rather than evidence of the apocalypse.
“That’s all you want?” Gabe asked incredulously. “A demonstration of power?”
“It’s a good place to start,” Eoin replied.
In his head, Hestraon was silent. For that, Gabe was grateful.
The god was talking to him. He was seeing Hestraon’s memories. The last thing he should be doing, no pun intended, was playing with fire.
But if it could save Lore and Alie, he had to try.
And maybe, somehow, he could find a way to save Bastian, too.
Malcolm looked at him, gave a slight nod. They’d never fallen into the deference proper for the Priest Exalted and one of his Presque Mort, but here, for this, the decision was deferred to Gabe. Malcolm would follow his lead.
“Fine,” Gabe said. “We’ll do it.”
“Excellent.” Eoin stood. “I’ll begin working on saving your Queen and your friend, and you can have the Fount piece once I decide your debt is paid.” He snapped his fingers. “And before I forget, there’s a boardinghouse in the city that we allow guests of the Rotunda to use. Rooms could be ready for you tomorrow?”
“Please.” The Fount piece, asylum, and no longer being a punching bag for rent. The whole evening was a miracle.
But Gabe had grown very, very wary of miracles.
The Prime Minister led them from the room to the front of the atrium. “Our next meeting is tomorrow night, here at the Rotunda. We’ll be expecting you.”
He left them on the wide wrapped porch, aglow in gas lamplight.
“That…” Gabe shook his head. “Well. That was something.”
“It certainly was,” Malcolm agreed, eyes still distant.
Thunder rolled through the sky, and the heavens opened in a downpour.
CHAPTER EIGHT
