The Golden Bazaar gleamed beneath the midday sun, its stalls draped in silk and its fountains singing with blessed water. Merchants called their wares. Nobles browsed with the casual arrogance of those who had never wanted for anything. Servants moved along the edges, eyes downcast, invisible.
I positioned myself near the central fountain, a tome open in my lap as though I were merely a scholar taking advantage of the pleasant weather. Sarp had steered Ferit to the liquormerchant's stall an hour past, ensuring cup after cup found its way into the lordling's eager hands.
Now I watched.
Ferit swayed near the fountain, his face flushed, his voice growing louder with each passing minute. Sarp stood nearby with an expression of polite concern that hid vicious satisfaction.
"—and I am telling you, the ceremonies are a farce!" Ferit's words slurred together. "They purify servants and half-bloods, yes, but what of the real threat? What of the shadows that have crept into the highest halls of power?"
Passersby were beginning to stare. A few nobles paused their browsing, drawn by the spectacle.
"Ferit, perhaps you should—" one of his companions began.
"I should what? Stay silent while traitors compromise our security?" Ferit laughed bitterly. "High Lord Volkan walks these streets every day, pretending to care about the realm's protection. But where are the increased patrols he promised? Where are the stricter border controls? Why do shadow sympathizers still walk freely among us?"
More heads turned. The crowd was growing.
"Volkan is either incompetent or complicit!" Ferit's voice rose to a shout. "The Divine Council has failed us! They speak of light and protection while shadows spread through our court like rot through?—"
"Lord Ferit."
The drunk stumbled mid-sentence. He went gray. I followed his gaze and found Volkan already watching, silver robesimmaculate, expression empty of anything as generous as anger. He had chosen this moment perfectly—had been waiting, I realized, for precisely this opportunity.
Or perhaps Sarp had ensured he would be present.
"High Lord." Ferit went pale, wine-flush draining to gray. "I was merely?—"
"You were merely questioning my competence before half the market." Volkan's gaze swept over the gathered witnesses—the merchants, the nobles, the servants who had paused their work to watch. "You were suggesting the Divine Council itself has been compromised by shadow influence."
"I did not mean—I was not?—"
"You were speaking of treason." The words fell like stones. "In public. Before witnesses. While clearly intoxicated."
"Someone set me up!" Ferit's voice cracked with desperation. "Someone got me drunk, put words in my mouth—this is a conspiracy, I swear it?—"
"Take him." Volkan's voice was iron. "He will be questioned. Thoroughly."
Guards materialized from the crowd. They seized Ferit's arms, deaf to his protests, his pleas, his increasingly desperate screams that he had been betrayed, deceived, destroyed.
I watched them drag him away.
And felt the darkness in my blood sing with savage satisfaction.
Sarp appeared at my shoulder, his face carefully blank. "Well. That was rather more dramatic than anticipated."
"You planned it perfectly."
"I merely provided an opportunity. Ferit provided the rope." He glanced at me sideways.
"Ada was here. She saw the whole thing. And from the way she looked at you, I'd say she's already worked out who orchestrated it."
"Good."
"Good?" He stared at me. "She looked like she wanted to set you on fire."
"She already hates me." I closed my tome, rising from the fountain's edge. "What is one more reason added to the list?"
Sarp studied me with unusual seriousness. "You could tell her the truth. What Ferit said about her. Why did you do this."