Promise of Blood

His wife lifted her head from the pillow and regarded him by the light of a low-burning lamp. The shadows moved across her face, darkened by a halo of black, curly hair. “What hour is it?” she asked.

“Sometime after five o’clock,” Adamat said. He turned the lamp up and threw the covers back. “Get up. You’re going to the house in Offendale.”

Faye clutched the covers to her chest. “What’s gotten into you? What house in Offendale?”

“The one we bought when I first entered the force. In case there was ever danger to you and the children.”

Faye sat up. “I thought we sold that house. I… Adamat. What has happened?” A note of worry entered her voice. “Is this about the Lourent family? Or a new case?”

The Lourent family had hired him to look into the checkered past of their youngest daughter’s suitor. The whole affair had ended badly when he was forced to expose the man as a fraud.

“No, not the Lourent case. Bigger than that.” Adamat turned at soft footfalls in the hall. “Astrit,” he said softly. His youngest daughter held a frayed, stuffed dog under one arm. She wore her nightgown and an old pair of Faye’s slippers that were several sizes too big, and in the dim light she looked like a miniature version of her mother. She tilted her head quizzically. Adamat said, “Go get your travel coat, darling. You’re going on a trip.”

“Do I have to wear a dress?” she asked.

Adamat forced a smile. “No, love, just a travel coat over your nightgown. You’re leaving very soon. Don’t forget your shoes.”

She smiled at him and turned, skipping down the hallway, the old stuffed dog dangling from one hand. Her older siblings gave her odd looks as they began to emerge from their rooms.

“Josep,” Adamat said to his oldest son. “Get your brothers and sisters ready to go. Quickly. Get them all to pack a bag for a few weeks.”

The boy was a serious youth, just past his sixteenth year and on holiday from school. He rubbed nervously at the ring on his finger; it had been a gift from Adamat’s father before the old man passed, and the boy was seldom without it. Josep waited a moment for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he nodded before herding his siblings back to their rooms.

Good lad. Adamat turned back to Faye, who was now sitting up in bed. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling at tangles.

“You’d better have a good explanation,” she said. “What has happened? Is there danger to the children? To you? Is this about some new job you’ve taken? I told you to stop snooping after noblemen’s wives and going on about other people’s business.”

Adamat closed his eyes. “I’m an investigator, my dear. Other people’s business is my business. There will be riots. I want you and the children out of the city within the hour. Just a precaution, of course.”

“Why will there be riots?”

Damned woman. What he’d give for an obedient wife. “There has been a coup. Manhouch will face the guillotine at noon.”

He had the brief satisfaction of watching her jaw drop. Then she was on her feet, headed toward the closet. Adamat watched her for a moment. Her body was more angular than it had once been; sharp elbows and wrinkled skin in place of soft curves and a gentle, lovely plumpness. The years since his retirement from the force had taken their toll on her, and she was not as beautiful as in her youth. Adamat pictured himself. He was no one to judge. Short, balding, his round face grown leaner over the years, his mustache and beard thinner. He wasn’t exactly as young as he used to be. Still… he bit his lower lip as he watched Faye, entertaining actions that would need to wait some time.

She turned, saw him watching her. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” she said.

“No.”

She paused. “Why not?”

He should lie. Tell her he had previous commitments. “I’ve become… involved.”

“Oh no. Adamat, what the pit did you do?”

He stifled a smile. He loved it when she swore. “Not like that. No. Tonight’s summons. Field Marshal Tamas has a task for me.”

She scowled. “Only he’d have the rocks to pull down a king. Well, stop grinning and summon a carriage and help the children with their shoes.” She made a brushing motion with her hand. “Go on!”

Twenty minutes later, Adamat watched as his family piled into a pair of carriages. He paid the drivers and stood for a moment with his wife. “If the riots seem to be moving toward you, don’t hesitate to take the children to Deliv. I’ll come find you when things have settled down.”

Faye’s face—usually harsh, firmly disapproving—was suddenly soft. She was young again in his eyes, a worried girl waiting for her lover to walk the midnight roads. She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips. “What should I tell the children?”

“Don’t lie to them,” Adamat said. “They’re old enough.”

“They’ll worry. Especially Astrit.”

“Of course,” Adamat said.

Faye sniffed. “I haven’t been to Offendale since we went on holiday after Astrit was born. Is the house there in good order?”