Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6) by Christopher Mitchell (ebook reader for surface pro txt) 📕

She lifted it from the crate. In many ways, it was a different weapon from the one that Corthie had wielded in the City of Pella and the Falls of Iron, but the greenhide claws were the same as those he had taken on his first day beyond the Great Walls. She wept as she held it; the work had been in vain.

She set it back down, wiped her face and removed the lid from the taller crate. She pulled out the loose straw and frowned down at the contents. The artificer had made her a new set of armour, and the pieces were stacked inside. She withdrew a shining steel breastplate, and held it up to her chest. It was edged in burnished bronze, and looked like it would fit her perfectly. Why would the chief artificer send her such a gift? Was he trying to curry favour with an Ascendant? Perhaps he had seen or heard about the state of her old leather armour, with the hole through the cuirass that Sable’s sword had made outside Yoneath. That old armour had served her well for years, but had given her the appearance of a common soldier rather than the Third Ascendant. The steel armour would change that, if she ever decided to wear it. She doubted she would – what need would she have for armour once she had been enslaved as Edmond’s wife?

She shuddered at the thought, then her mind went back to Corthie and the horse. A new determination began to arise in her. What if she could get her hands on a Quadrant? She would only need a second to grab one, and then she could be gone. She could rescue Corthie and they could flee the destruction of Lostwell together; perhaps hide in the City of Pella, anywhere, as long as Edmond wasn’t there. She realised how much she hated the Second Ascendant. The devastation of Alea Tanton had so consumed her thoughts that she had almost overlooked his role in it. He had murdered a million mortals, and had set in motion a process that would kill everyone else.

She replaced the lids on the two crates and stood. Edmond had a Quadrant, and so did Lord Bastion. Arete also had one, while Leksandr’s would be located somewhere in the residence. Four Quadrants; surely she was capable of stealing one of them. She walked to the door of her quarters and went out onto the landing. Two guards were at their posts, while a small cluster of her servants were standing by the stairs, having been banished from her rooms when she had arrived back from the sea wall. They bowed to her, but she ignored them and ascended the steps to the top floor of the tower.

Two soldiers were standing outside the door to Leksandr’s old rooms, where Edmond and Bastion had taken up residence.

‘Is the blessed Second Ascendant in?’ she asked the soldiers.

They bowed.

‘His divine Grace has gone up onto the roof, your Majesty, along with Lord Bastion and the Seventh Ascendant,’ said one.

‘I think I shall join them. How do I get onto the roof?’

One of the soldiers walked to a small side door and opened it, revealing a set of stairs going upwards.

‘Thank you,’ said Belinda.

She went through the doorway and climbed the narrow stairs. At the top, she emerged onto a wide, flat roof with a low wall ringing the perimeter. Chairs had been carried up, and Edmond was sitting with his feet up on a stool, drinking red wine as he gazed down over Alea Tanton. Bastion was standing by his shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back, while Arete was sitting next to Edmond, a glass also in her hand. She was laughing, then stopped as she noticed Belinda.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said Edmond. ‘I didn’t think we’d see you again this evening. How are you feeling? Are you still upset? Would you like some wine? Bastion, pour her a glass.’

Belinda sat on an empty seat across from Edmond, and took the glass of wine that Bastion had prepared for her.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘We’ve been amusing ourselves by watching all the fun,’ said Edmond. ‘Mortals are so predictable; shrieking and wailing, and running around like frightened sheep.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction from her, but she kept her features impassive. ‘Many are probably praying to me,’ he went on; ‘can you imagine? I was thinking of saving one or two of them; maybe a couple of the green-skinned variety, to take back to Serene as specimens for the lore masters to dissect. What are they called again; those green people?’

‘Fordians, my lord,’ said Bastion.

‘Yes, that’s right; another of Nathaniel’s clever inventions. He was so inventive. Imagine coming up with salve, not to mention another world populated by mortals with powers. So very, very inventive.’ He glanced down at the city and frowned. ‘Those fires in the Shinstran district appear to be going out; we can’t have that.’ He raised a hand, and the flames around the Southern Pits grew in size, spreading from rooftop to rooftop in a roaring inferno. ‘There, that will keep them going for a while. Not that it matters; by this time tomorrow, there will be nothing left to burn. Isn’t that right, Bastion?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘I still haven’t decided what to do about our two prisoners,’ Edmond went on. ‘What do you advise, Belinda?’

‘Which prisoners? The cells under the residence are full.’

‘Our immortal prisoners – Leksandr, and the other one.’

‘Felice, my lord,’ said Bastion.

‘That’s right. Felice. My instinct is to save the Ascendant and let the other one perish in the destruction of Lostwell, as a little reminder to the loyal inhabitants of Serene that even gods can die if they cross me.’

‘I agree, your Grace,’ said Arete.

‘Do you?’ said Edmond. ‘I can sense from your thoughts that you secretly harbour a desire for Leksandr’s death, as this would mean one fewer Ascendant to compete with for my favour. Such thoughts are