Page 55 of When We Lost The Moon

Madame Brezing took a seat in a couch near a pair of tall windows, in a room flooded with yellow light. The table was crowded with dishes and teacups, and a few half-finished cigars. Either leftover from a recent party, or some early morning meetings I wasn’t a part of. Rivka perched by the door.

“Can we trust her?” I asked, glancing back at her.

“Can I trust you?” Madame Brezing responded, a little harsher than I’d expected. “You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep, uninvited and unannounced.”

“Nigel is crowning himself tonight. We have to stop it.”

“Do we, dear? Business is booming. Triple the street traffic.”

I glanced between her and Rivka, but their faces were stone, giving nothing away. I felt like none of us were willing to put our faith in the others. But it had been a while since we’d seen each other, and much had happened since then.

“Is it true,” Rivka asked, “that you revived the sun?”

“It’s not like that. But yes. And now you’re safe from them.”

“Half the time. Only when the sun is out. And living here, with them, like this. That’s still too much. And they are in foul moods.”

“Like a coin left in the street,” Madame Brezing said. “One side will grow dark and fester. They come out at night, angrier, more violent. King Richard had tamed them with a whistle, and you’ve taken their toys away.”

“You shouldn’t have to be afraid of them at all.”

“That would be stupid,” Madame Brezing said. “And I didn’t think you were the type for lofty rhetoric. Just tell me why you’re here. And speak plainly.”

“Things are going to get worse,” I said, leaning forward. “There will be a siege, and the food will run out quickly; there are too many people. Once they begin to starve, the elite will become desperate and cruel, preserving every last drop of sustenance.”

“Nigel has thousands of soldiers, a hundred elite and at least fifty chosen. The citadel walls are nearly five miles around. You’re going to siege a kingdom?”

“I’m not alone,” I said.

“Is the king really dead?” Rivka asked.

“He is,” I said.

“And Nigel killed him?”

“Is that what people are saying?”

“I’ve heard some speculation. That or Damien, but since Nigel is the one in power, it stood to reason that he’d orchestrated it all somehow.”

“I found out what was causing the ash. It wasn’t from the Culling or the race wars; what we’ve been told about massive weapons that destroyed the atmosphere. It was just another engine, like the ones that purify the compounds and the citadel. But, in reverse, kind of.”

“And he tried to stop you.”

“He did.”

“And he failed.”

“Damien was also there.”

“Aha, I see. Saved by your prince.” Madame Brezing said. “And now you want to kill another king. When will it stop?”

“You know Nigel. His cruelty.”

“You think Damien is better?” Rivka sniped.

“I’ll tell you something that took me years to learn,” Madame Brezing said, “nobody really knows whether they’re good or bad people, not until they have the power to take away other people’s choices. Then it gets messy.” There was a pained expression on her face for an instant, shadows of past regrets, but she put it away quickly and began piling up the plates and moving them to a cart in the corner.

“The only difference I see,” Rivka said, “is that with Nigel on the throne, I’ll be the one next to him, whispering in his ear. Why give that role away, that power—trusting you to use it more wisely?”

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