The months were spent running errands and drop-offs to local sects of loyalists and Nuhavian gangs of humans. Turned out I was quite helpful because I could get a lot done duringthe day when they slept—business they trusted only me with, especially if it concerned breaking into Nuhav for a job. The missions also gave me opportunities to converse with the Grimsons again.
As I already knew, the rebellion would be a two-pronged approach. The Nuhav bands like the Grimsons, Diplomats, and others I was less familiar with, would deter the lawmen of Nuhav with explosives and riots, distracting the ruling class of Olhav—the Five Ministries—with the need for them to quell the uprising.
At the same time, we would break into the Tanmount, steal the Relic, and eventually usurp the overlords and overladies.
Through the months, I spent more time with these three men than I ever had with anyone else. We kept the fornicating to a minimum, knowing every waking hour at night was important to the cause. Still, we managed to sneak away from dalliances every once in a while—never all of us together, always under the cover of shadow, and only when I asked for someone to satiate my urges.
Urges? Seems I’m turning into Vallan, too.These heathen bastards were rubbing off on me in all the worst ways.
One evening, I explained it to Garroway, as a jest. “We need a name,” I said. “Every proper rebellion has a name.”
As we ferried from one side of Olhav to another on our cart, liaising with spies in different wards of the city, Garroway smiled at me from the other side of the riding bench. “What name do you have in mind, lass?”
I thought for a moment, pouting and folding my lips together as I stared up at the starry sky. “The Heathen Bastards has a nice ring to it.”
Garroway laughed. When he brought it up to Skartovius later that night, our illustrious leader did not laugh. He simply said, “Names are how rebellions materialize and become discovered. We will do no such thing.”
I shouldered him, bobbing my eyebrows. “It was said in sport, Lord Ashfen. Lighten up.”
He flared his nostrils and spun on his heels, leaving the safehouse to go on one of his own errands, evidently needing a break from me and Garroway’s antics.
“He grows more crotchety by the day,” I mused.
“Can you blame him?” Garro said. “His bond with me is on a knife’s edge. He’s nearly lost the bloodthrall he’s had for decades.”
Guiltily, I said, “Shit.” I glanced at Garro’s twinkling eyes. “You don’t seem to be handling it poorly.”
“I have you. The bond I share with your Loreblood is stronger than any I’ve ever felt. It’s exhilarating. Master is going through a death and a rebirth—losing me but gaining you. He’s likely conflicted.”
I let out a harrumph. I’d never thought of it like that.
Also during our months of busying ourselves, Skartovius filled me in on our enemies and the history of the Five Ministries, making sure I was accustomed to Olhavian society. Specifically, he named the lead characters in our tragic play—the ones we would eventually be fighting against if all went well.
One such night, during a stroll through the glittering Commerce Ward where we were ostensibly staking out the Tanmount—our heist destination—he had me recite the overlords and overladies.
“Alacine Mortis, Mistress of Webs, Minister of Intelligence. Stationed somewhere in the northeastern gray district, the Intelligence Ward.”
“She’s an easy one, given your history with the Spymistress’ son,” Skar drawled. “Continue.”
“Barnabac Craxon, the Red Butcher, the Blood Baron, Minister of Military. Stationed in the northwestern fortess and garrison of the yellow Military Ward.”
“Vallan’s master, yes.” Skar nodded, and I thought I noticed a tinge of sadness in the set of his jaw.
“Liolen Sesk, the Gilded Liege, interfolk Minister of Commerce, located in the rainbow Commerce Ward, southwestern district of Olhav.”
“A flamboyant one, they are. Ostentatious, filthy, and filthy rich.”
“Valenthia Yurlyth, the Sacred Slave, Sister of the Damned, Minister of Faith, located in the green Faith Ward in the southeastern district.”
“Good. Though zealous and mad, her cunning is matched, in my opinion, only by Mistress Mortis and our final target . . .”
“Aramastun Wyvox,” I said. “The Night Judge. Minister of Judgment, located in the central Judgment Ward, tinted red.”
“Ominous, is it not?” Skartovius walked with his arms clasped behind his back, like an aged tutor. He nodded severely, gaze downcast. “Of all the Five Ministries, it is the Judgment Ward which holds the most power. Though Overlord Aramastun’s vote only holds a single tally, as all the others’ votes do, he is the de facto leader of Olhav’s government. Good work, little temptress. Commit these names to memory. When we are ready, these are the five whomustfall.”
Months into our business, another attack came.
I had been complacent after so long between ambushes. The last one came in Nuhav with Garroway. Nothing untoward had transpired in Olhav since then. I had been kept away from scrying eyes.
