Tower & Knife 03 - The Tower Broken Read Online Free PDF

walked towards the dais. She had defeated the Pattern Master– these men were nothing to her. Admiration rose up inside of him, warm and powerful. Before Mesema lowered herself into an obeisance she met Sarmin’s gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair in disarray. He would swear that every time he saw her she was more beautiful than before, her brightness sharp enough to cut him. He took the time she faced the floor to gather himself.
    ‘Rise,’ Sarmin said. ‘Does all go well in the women’s wing, my wife?’ Some of the men glanced at one another, smirking at the absurdity that he should ask, and he marked each face. Mesema blushed and looked aside as if guilty. ‘Yes, Magnificence. The builders have made a beautiful home for us. I am grateful.’ As he puzzled over the space between her words and her expression, the God Doors reached their full extension.
    Sarmin waved to the right side of the throne, and Mesema took her place there. His brother Beyon had never put his mother behind a screen, as much as he had hated her, and even if Sarmin had wished to keep Mesema from the court’s view to protect her, he did not know where such a screen might be kept. Nor did he know how to keep Mesema away from the centre of things. Let the men of the council sneer; Mesema would stay. He motioned for the new arrivals to move forwards.
    Blue-hatted soldiers approached over the long silken path, each looking more dour than the last. They came to the end of the runner and prostrated themselves.
    Sarmin heard Mesema draw a long breath beside him. ‘Rise and report,’ he said into the silence.
    ‘Your Majesty,’ said the man in front, a greying man with wide shoulders who held his plumed hat under an elbow. ‘Your Majesty, there has been an attack.’
    The rebels often started fires or threw rocks at Blue Shields in the Maze. Never had his soldiers reported about them with such ceremony. Had Austere Adam and his missing slave rebels made a move, done something more serious? Sarmin knew the attacks must stop, but at the same time each one brought hope, for violence left clues that could be traced, perhaps all the way to his brother Daveed.
    Sarmin did not shift in his seat, careful to show calm. ‘Give me the details.’
    ‘An hour ago, we were called to the eastern fruit market, Magnificence. But we were too late: everyone there was dead.’ The soldier swallowed. ‘I don’t know how many. We couldn’t make out the men from the women, or the dogs from the children. They were … they were destroyed.’
    Icy fingers ran along Sarmin’s spine. ‘Destroyed how?’
    The soldier’s skin paled and he glanced towards Mesema. ‘Bits of flesh everywhere, bones lying in the sun … just cooking there.’ He swallowed. ‘It was like they were turned the wrong way out. Your Majesty.’
    … a wet fall of pulverised flesh, as if in one sharp moment the pattern shrank to a point and each line of it became a razor, slicing through skin and flesh to the bone …
Sarmin pushed away the memory that was not his. It was of Fryth, of a young boy named Gallar who had lived and died in those high and unforgiving places. Not here.
    One of the soldiers swayed and held a hand to his mouth. Sarmin hoped he would not vomit on the dais; his men would take payment for such an infraction before he could raise a hand to stop them.
    Sarmin’s right hand wrapped around the carved roses of the throne, ridges and thorns pressing against his skin. He watchedGovnan leave through the side door. The old man might move slowly, but he wasted no time.
    ‘Keep the marketplace undisturbed until the Tower has completed its investigation.’
    ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
    ‘Good work.’ Sarmin’s looked beyond the soldiers to where Grada leaned against the far wall. He had not seen her arrive, but he had felt her presence, like a cooling fountain at the height of the day. She shook her head at him, her way of telling him she had not found Daveed – not yet. Then