City on Fire (Metropolitan 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

doors scroll open, revealing an interior of mirrors and velvet plush. Aiah and Sorya step inside. The elevator control handle is brass and wrought in the shape of an eagle’s claw closed about a glittering crystal egg. Sorya sets the handle to the desired floor and the elevator begins to move. Then she leans one shoulder against the mirrored wall as she regards Aiah from beneath the brim of her cap.
    “You have put yourself in a dangerous position,” she says.
    A cold river floods Aiah’s spine. The elevator, moving unevenly along its shaft, causes little flutters in Aiah’s inner ear.
    “ Are you a danger to me, madame?” she asks.
    Sorya’s mouth lights with a cold, cynical little smile. “Why should I concern myself with your destruction? I have repeatedly told you that I have never borne you any animosity— whether you care to believe this is scarcely my concern. Besides”— she gives a lazy shrug— “I reserve my power for dealings with the great and for enhancing my own scope of action— it would be a contemptibly small exercise to destroy you, and I have no inclination to think myself either small or contemptible. Give me credit for pride at least, Miss Aiah.”
    There is a delicate chiming chord that hangs in the air for a moment. The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. Sorya reaches out a hand, twists the brass knob that locks the doors open, and turns to Aiah again. Her brows are lightly furrowed, as if she were contemplating a minor problem.
    “I mean only that Constantine’s friends, speaking generally, do not live long. Those who do not have their own share of greatness do not survive for long in the company of the great.”
    Aiah steels herself, holds Sorya’s gaze. The elevator seems very small. “You have told me this before,” she says.
    “And you had the sense to follow my advice,” Sorya says. “You took our money and went your way. But now ...” She shrugs again. “You are in the line of fire. Do not claim you were not warned.”
    “Line of fire?” Aiah says. “The fighting is over.”
    Sorya slits her eyes. “The fighting is never over,” she says. “All truces are temporary. All wars are the same war, with occasional pauses for readjustment. War and politics are different facets of the same phenomenon, which is the conflict of human will , the will for power, for greatness, for enlarged scope. . . . The rest, the medium through which one will challenges another — war or peace, law or politics — that is mere mechanics.” Her green eyes glitter. “Learn that if you wish to survive.”
    Aiah takes a breath, clears her throat against the smell of cinders. “Do you think there will be a war?”
    “ There will be conflict. I cannot say what form it will take.” She cocks her head, her look going abstract with thought. “Consider: Constantine knows what he wants, but this new government does not— not surprising, with all the factions it represents— the triumvirate is divided and does not speak with one voice, or act with one will. There is a Keremath party still, though there are precious few Keremaths left to lead it. The Caraqui army is being supplemented by mercenaries long loyal to Constantine. That is opportunity. . . for someone .”
    “You think Constantine will take power himself?”
    “ Only if he must. Only if the triumvirate fails. Constantine is a foreigner and cannot hope to seize a metropolis that is not his own, not unless. . .” Sorya shows white teeth in a smile. “Unless the metropolis asks , from lack of any other palatable alternative.” Her eyes flicker to Aiah. “So build your department, find your plasm. It will increase Constantine’s power . . . and opportunity.”
    Thoughts scurry from place to place in Aiah’s mind, alarmed but with no place to run. Sorya seems amused. With an unconcerned roll of her shoulders, she pushes herself from her leaning posture against the elevator wall and steps into the hall outside. Aiah