5 FLAMERULE (NIGHT)

When he strode into her chamber—kicking one of her guards through the doors, in fact—Eden was hardly surprised. He must have bled from half a hundred wounds and borne twice as many bruises, but one would never know it from his implacable carriage. Her brother came before her as an invincible, conquering champion.

“Lord Shadowbane,” she said. “So kind of you to pay me the honor of a visit.”

She lay on her divan, toying with her platinum coin. She was a queen, after all, and it would not do to seem fearful—even if she did share the room with thirteen of her best bodyguards. Just in case.

Hardly seeming to notice the assembled toughs, Shadowbane raised his helm and fixed his pale eyes on her. “Two days,” he said, his voice tinged with weariness. “In two days, there will be—”

“A kingmaking,” she supplied. “So I’ve heard. How’s the shoulder, by the way?”

Kalen looked at his arm, which twisted oddly from his shoulder. He seemed not to have noticed. “Dislocated.”

“Shall I tend that for you? The Lady pro—”

Kalen crossed to the wall and slammed his body against the stone. His arm popped back into place. He turned back to her, his face blank.

“—vides,” Eden finished. “Well, I hear you’ve been quite busy today, making your wishes known in ‘your’ city. My fellow servants of the Lady—”

“Hired trash,” Kalen spoke in anger. “Moldering refuse too pitiful to matter.”

Her men grumbled and reached for their steel, but she waved them to silence. “My brothers in Luck,” she said, “tell me you’ll protect the city until this kingmaking of yours, and that any violence done will be returned tenfold. Is this so?”

Kalen nodded.

“Impressive, Shadowbane,” she said, careful not to name him brother. “Have you been fighting every single rogue who disobeys your edict? Killing a few, I imagine.”

Kalen said nothing, only smiled slightly and laid his hand on the hilt of a dagger. Inspired by just that small threat, the shudder that passed through the room touched even Eden.

She started to believe he could truly do it.

“Me lady,” said one of her men—picked by the toss of her coin to replace one of her advisors. “Let’s kill this pissant now. Let’s—”

“No.” Eden raised her hand to stay her men. “I haven’t and won’t cross your reign, King Shadowbane, and then we’ll have our kingmaking. Luskan has been too long divided.” She sat back and flipped her platinum coin from one hand to the other. “But after a new king is chosen, you will no longer be welcome in Luskan. Your reign will end with blood.”

Kalen shrugged. “Two more days,” he said. Then he turned and walked away.

Eden’s men drew steel, but she waved again, stopping them.

The day would come—very soon—where steel would be the answer. Steel … and the scroll she kept rolled up and tucked into her bodice near her heart.

She could feel the plague’s hunger. It was so much more than a disease—so much more than a mere weapon. It held the keys to power in the city, perhaps in all Faerûn. Keeping it restrained was like balancing a coin on edge: it took constant vigilance. But Eden was born for such a struggle. She wondered when misfortune would strike and her control would slip. The risk thrilled her.

“We wait,” she said to the faithful. “We follow Shadowbane’s edict of nonviolence and on the seventh day of Flamerule, the goddess will grant us a great blessing.”

The men looked dubious, but they knew better than to contradict her. They feared Eden more than any goddess.

Let him have his days of hard-fought peace—let him think his plan working. She controlled the plague and she would keep it quiet. Then, when it came time for the kingmaking, she would use it to destroy him and put herself on the throne of Luskan.