Page 162 of Paladin's Faith

She glanced up at him and felt an involuntary smile curve her lips. Look at me, mooning around like a teenager. It must be positively disgusting to watch. “Oh, a few people do, I’m sure. It’s not as if it’s a secret. But I don’t know anyone who would need to be announced, instead of just showing up.”

“She did not give her name,” the acolyte said. Marguerite and Shane followed him through the bustling halls of the temple, dodging law clerks and supplicants.

Marguerite would not have expected to enjoy spending time in a temple, but the last few weeks had been surprisingly peaceful. They had escorted Ashes to Archenhold, accompanied by multiple paladins, and then the Bishop had extended the Rat’s hospitality until, as she said, “the Sail realizes just how much trouble it’s in.” Marguerite had been touched, and more than a little grateful. She could have stayed with Grace, of course, but she did not want to put her friend in any danger—and the Rat’s temple, as she knew well, was surprisingly difficult to infiltrate.

I would probably feel different if it was a temple of the Dreaming God. I’m still a little miffed at them. Although I swear to their god, I’m going to fix that spy network if it kills me.

…oh, who am I kidding? I could probably be happy in a temple of the Hanged Mother, if Shane was there with me.

He reached out and took her hand as they walked, and she felt a by-now familiar rush of affection. She kept waiting for the feeling to wear off. It kept not doing so.

The acolyte halted at the entrance to the small courtyard and bowed them through. Marguerite took two steps inside and stopped as if she’d run into a brick wall. Her fingers closed tightly on Shane’s.

“Peace,” said Fenella, raising one hand. “I’m only here to talk.” The older woman sat at a little table, sipping a cup of tea, her embroidered shawl loose around her shoulders, exactly like the fabric-buyer from Baiir that she had pretended to be in the Court of Smoke. Perfectly relaxed and perfectly harmless: Marguerite doubted either one was true.

She dropped Shane’s hand and sat down across the table, already cursing herself for having let her alarm show. “I admit that I am surprised to see you here,” she said.

“I was in the area,” Fenella said, taking a sip of tea. “I thought perhaps we might speak.”

“Mmm.” Marguerite wished that she had a teacup to sip from, but would not have trusted anything served to her. She sensed Shane taking up his accustomed guard position and took comfort from it. “What shall we speak of, madam?”

“Salt.” Fenella set her cup down and steepled her fingers. “It would seem that there is soon to be a great deal more of it about.”

“I’ve heard rumors to that effect, yes.”

One corner of Fenella’s mouth crooked up. “I think there’s little point in either of us being coy. You won, we lost. That’s all there is to it.”

Marguerite inclined her head, accepting this tribute. “It was a near thing,” she said, “and hinged entirely on luck.”

“Luck is what you make it. No, I think you played the game better than I did.” Fenella pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “It would not have occurred to me to hide an artificer among demonslayers. I daresay that was inspired. We could not move against them, or risk every man’s hand turned against us.”

“Also luck,” Marguerite repeated. “It did not occur to me either, until there was an actual demon.”

“Ah. Not good luck, then.”

“Not precisely, no.” Marguerite glanced toward the entrance to the courtyard. The acolyte was still standing there, just out of earshot. He looked bored. Good, someone to run for help if she suddenly whips out a dagger and stabs me.

“Mmm.” Fenella took another sip of tea. “At the end of all this, I find that the only question I have is ‘Why?’”

“Why?”

“Why put yourself in such mortal danger for such a risky proposition? Why oppose us so fiercely at all?” Her eyes were hooded, but not hostile. “I have dug through everything we know of you, Marguerite Florian, which is a good deal. Yet I can find no secret backers, no master who you might serve. Except perhaps the Rat—” she gestured toward the walls of the courtyard, “—and they would not have masterminded something like this. So I decided that I would ask you. Why?”

“Because I wanted the Sail to leave me alone. That’s all.”

Fenella’s lips twitched. “One is reminded of stories of using a siege engine to swat a fly.”

“I tried other ways to swat that fly,” Marguerite said. “I assure you, this was not my first plan. But after several years of trying, it became clear that your organization was simply unable to grant me amnesty. No matter how many of the Sail’s people were grateful for my aid, no matter how much amnesty I was promised, there would always be another faction who thought of me as only a loose end.”

“Ah.” Fenella’s look of disgust was clearly unfeigned. “The right hand does not know what the left is doing. And the right hand, I fear, is often an idiot.”

Marguerite snorted, though not without sympathy.

“I have long thought that we were far too large to manage ourselves effectively.” Fenella shook her head. “Being proven right is somewhat gratifying, I admit, for all the good it does. You have destabilized us quite effectively, Mistress Florian. The Red Sail will not survive this as we are. What remains in a few years’ time will look very, very different.”

“What if the machine doesn’t work?” Shane asked.

If she was surprised at being addressed by a bodyguard, Fenella gave no sign. “It will work. If not this machine, then the next one, or the one after that. Magnus’s blueprints are in the hands of the Artificer’s Guild now, and they love nothing more than tweaking machines and making them more efficient.” She shrugged. “Had we stopped Magnus completely, it might have been another hundred years before someone thought to create such a machine. But once the idea is out, we shall have a dozen copycats before year’s end. More than that, we shall have governments investing in such machines rather than in the Sail’s ships. Investors who have backed us because we were quite literally the only option are already pulling out, now that another possibility presents itself. No—Shane, was it?—if your client stays out of sight for another year, I suspect she will find that neither the right or left hand will have the resources to swat at her. We shall be too busy scrambling to find a foothold in this new world.”

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