'Has Hood's secret revealed itself to you, then, lass?' the ex-priest asked.
'No.'
'What do you find so amusing?'
She shook her head. I had expected to find myself in good company, how's that for an upturned thought? There you have it, the very attitude the peasants hungered to tear down, the very same fuel the Empress has touched to flame—
'Child!'
The voice was that of an aged woman, still haughty but with an air of desperate yearning. Felisin closed her eyes briefly, then straightened and looked along the line to the gaunt old woman beyond the thug. The woman was wearing her night-clothes, torn and smeared. With noble blood, no less. 'Lady Gaesen.'
The old woman reached out a shaking hand. 'Yes! Wife to Lord Hilrac! I am Lady Gaesen ...' The words came as if she'd forgotten who she was, and now she frowned through the cracked make-up covering her wrinkles and her red-shot eyes fixed on Felisin. 'I know you,' she hissed. 'House of Paran. Youngest daughter. Felisin!'
Felisin went cold. She turned away and stared straight ahead, out into the compound where the guards stood leaning on pikes passing flasks of ale between them and waving away the last of the flies. A cart had arrived for the mule, four ash-smeared men clambering down from its bed with ropes and gaffs. Beyond the walls encircling the Round rose Unta's painted spires and domes. She longed for the shadowed streets between them, longed for the pampered life of a week ago, Sebry barking harsh commands at her as she led her favourite mare through her paces. And she would look up as she guided the mare in a delicate, precise turn, to see the row of green-leafed leadwoods separating the riding ground from the family vineyards.
Beside her the thug grunted. 'Hood's feet, the bitch has some sense of humour.'
Which bitch? Felisin wondered, but she managed to hold her expression even as she lost the comfort of her memories.
The ex-priest stirred. 'Sisterly spat, is it?' He paused, then dryly added, 'Seems a bit extreme.'
The thug grunted again and leaned forward, his shadow draping Felisin. 'Defrocked priest, are you? Not like the Empress to do any temples a favour.'
'She didn't. My loss of piety was long ago. I'm sure the Empress would rather I'd stayed in the cloister.'
'As if she'd care,' the thug said derisively as he settled back into his pose.
Lady Gaesen rattled, 'You must speak with her, Felisin! An appeal! I have rich friends—'
The thug's grunt turned into a bark. 'Farther up the line, hag, that's where you'll find your rich friends!'
Felisin just shook her head. Speak with her, it's been months. Not even when Father died.
A silence followed, dragging on, approaching the silence that had existed before this spate of babble, but then the ex-priest cleared his throat, spat and muttered, 'Not worth looking for salvation in a woman who's just following orders, Lady, never mind that one being this girl's sister—'
Felisin winced, then glared at the ex-priest. 'You presume—'
'He ain't presuming nothing,' growled the thug. 'Forget what's in the blood, what's supposed to be in it by your slant on things. This is the work of the Empress. Maybe you think it's personal, maybe you have to think that, being what you are ...'
'What I am?' Felisin laughed harshly. 'What House claims you as kin?'
The thug grinned. 'The House of Shame. What of it? Yours ain't looking any less shabby.'
'As I thought,' Felisin said, ignoring the truth of his last observation with difficulty. She glowered at the guards. 'What's happening? Why are we just sitting here?'
The ex-priest spat again. 'The Thirsting Hour's past. The mob outside needs organizing.' He glanced up at her from under the shelf of his brows. 'The peasants need to be roused. We're the first, girl, and the example's got to be established. What happens here in Unta is going to rattle every noble-born in the Empire.'
'Nonsense!' Lady Gaesen snapped. 'We shall be well treated. The Empress shall have to treat us well—'
The thug grunted a third time – what passed for laughter, Felisin realized – and said, 'If stupidity was a crime, lady, you would've been arrested years ago. The ogre's right. Not many of us are going to make it to the slave ships. This parade down Colonnade Avenue is going to be one long bloodbath. Mind you,' he added, eyes narrowing on the guards, 'old Baudin ain't going to be torn apart by any mob of peasants ...'
Felisin felt real fear stirring in her stomach. She fought off a shiver. 'Mind if I stay in your shadow, Baudin?'