Chapter One
The Quiet Before Matins
It was good weather for a riot.
Deacon Sorcha Faris breathed out the last smoke from her
cigar, twisted the remains against the stone parapet and
sighed. Perhaps that was only her wishful thinking; a riot
was almost as unlikely as an unliving attack. But it was her
duty to check, so she closed her eyes and let her Center
fall away.
Under the gray and altered veil of her geist-Sight, the
gathering of humans below her at the Vermillion Palace’s
gate smelled of nothing more than desperation and dull
resignation. However, there was certainly a good crowd of
them; perhaps five hundred dispossessed milled about in the
snow covered square.
Straining her preternatural senses as far as she could,
Sorcha still found no tang of the unliving amongst them.
Falling sleet was cooling their anger and they huddled
against the southern wall because they had nowhere else to
go. Their protest at her Emperor’s presence was subdued;
they knew full well he’d been invited by the princes to rule
Arkaym, their continent, but they needed someone to blame
for their own misery. The majority of the citizens of the
City of Vermillion loved the Emperor,
but these people had filtered in from the outlying towns for
one reason—they were hungry.
There was, however, nothing supernatural about them.
Pamphleteers had been spreading discontent since autumn, and
now their efforts were bearing fruit. Not all of the princes
agreed—they seldom ever did on much, and there were still a
couple that disapproved of her Emperor. This likely would
not come to much. Still, guarding against the signs of
uprising was her job; more than that, her calling.
When she reeled back her Center, the feeling of
disorientation passed quickly. For a novice it would have
been a strain, but Sorcha had been eighteen years a Deacon.
This minor use of her powers was now as simple as breathing.
Sorcha might not be a Sensitive, but she had enough rank to
sign this one off.
The recent spate of possessions in Brickmaker’s Lane on the
very edge of Vermillion had made everyone nervous, but
another team of Deacons had dealt with those last week. It
was as she suspected: there was nothing to Sergeant Gent’s
worries. The palace was built far out in a shallow lagoon.
Surrounded on all sides by water, the royal residence was
almost impossible for the unliving to enter; excellent
planning by the previous owners.
