Garth Diamandis staggered and reached out to steady himself against the wall of a building. He had to keep up; Venera Fanning was striding in great steps along the avenue, her pistol held unwaveringly to Jacoby Sarto’s head. But Garth was confused; people were running and shouting while overhead even lines of smoke divided the sky. This was Lesser Spyre, he was sure of that. The granite voice of his interrogator still echoed in Garth’s mind, though, and his arms and legs bellowed pain from the many burns and cuts that ribbed them.

He had insisted on coming today and now he regretted it. Once upon a time he’d been a young man and able to bounce back from anything. Not so anymore. The gravity here weighed heavily on him and for the first time he wished he was back on Greater Spyre where he could still climb trees like a boy. Alone all those years, he had reached an accommodation with himself and his past; there’d been days when he enjoyed himself as if he really were a youth again. And then the woman who now stalked down the center of the avenue ahead of him had appeared, like a burning cross in the sky, and proceeded to turn his solitary life upside down.

He’d thought about abandoning Venera dozens of times. She was self-reliance personified, after all. She wouldn’t miss him. Once or twice he had gotten as far as stepping out the door of the Buridan estate. Looking down those half-familiar, secretive streets, he had realized that he had nowhere to go—nowhere, that is, unless he could find Selene, the daughter of the woman whose love had caused Garth’s exile.

Logic told him that now was the time. Venera was bound to lose this foolish war she’d started with Sacrus. The prudent course for Garth would be to run and hide, lick his wounds in secret and then…

Ah. It was this and then that was the problem. He had found Selene, and she had turned him over to Sacrus. She was theirs—a recruit, like the ones Moss claimed had left many of Spyre’s sovereign lands. Sacrus had promised Selene something, had lied to her; they must have. But Garth was too old to fight them and too old to think of all the clever and true words that might win his daughter’s heart.

Selene, his kin, had betrayed him. And Venera Fanning, who owed him nothing, had risked her life to save his.

He pushed himself off from the wall and struggled to catch up to her.

A man ran down the broad steps of the Justice ministry. He waved his arms over his head. “Don’t go that way! Not safe!”

Venera paused and glanced at him. “You’re one of Bryce’s.”

“That I am, Miss Thrace-Guiles.” Garth half smiled at the man’s bravado; these democrats refused to address people by their titles. Venera didn’t seem to notice, and they had a hurried conversation that Garth couldn’t hear.

“There you are.” He turned to find the preservationist, Thinblood, sauntering up behind him. He grinned at Garth. “You ran off like a startled hare when she came out of the council chamber.”

Garth grunted. Thinblood seemed to have decided he was an old man who needed coddling. It was annoying. He had to admit to himself that it was a relief to have him here, though. The rest of this motley party consisted mostly of Venera’s other freed prisoners and they made for bad company, for much the same reasons as Garth supposed he did. They all looked apprehensive and tired. It didn’t help that their presence at council didn’t seem to have made a dent in Sacrus’s support.

Garth and Thinblood had been talking under an awning across the street when Venera Fanning appeared at the official’s entrance to the council chamber. She backed out slowly, her posture strange. As she emerged further it became clear that she was holding a gun and aiming it at someone. That someone had turned out to be Jacoby Sarto.

Before he knew it Garth was by her side. “What are you doing?” he heard himself shouting. She’d merely grimaced and kept backing up.

“Things didn’t go our way,” she’d said. Past Sarto, the council guards were lining up with their rifles aimed at her. At the same time, the commoners’ doors around the long curve of the building were thrown open. A hoard of people spilled out, some of them fighting openly. Venera’s supporters ran to her side as Bryce’s agents appeared from nowhere to act as crowd control. And then a gasp went up from the watching crowd as Principe Guinevera and Pamela Anseratte pushed the council guards aside and came to stand at Venera’s side.

“The lines have been drawn,” Anseratte said to the council guards. “Sacrus is not on the council’s side. Stand down.”

Reluctantly, the guards lowered their rifles.

Garth leaned close to Venera. “Did he tell them your… secret?” But she shook her head.

Maybe it was having Thinblood’s reassuring hand on his shoulder, but as Venera argued now with Bryce’s spy, the fog of fatigue and pain lifted enough for Garth to begin to wonder about that. Jacoby Sarto had not told the council who Venera really was? That made no sense. Right now Amandera Thrace-Guiles was the darling of the old countries. She was the resurrected victim of Sacrus’s historical arrogance; she was a champion. If Sarto wanted to deflate Sacrus’s opposition all he had to do was reveal that she was a fake.

“Why did she do it?” he wondered aloud. Thinblood laughed.

“You’re trying to second-guess our Amandera?” He shook his head. “She’s got too much fire in her blood, that’s clear enough. Obviously, she saw a chance to take Sarto and she went with it.”

Garth shook his head. “The woman I know wouldn’t see Sarto as a prize to be taken. She’d think him a burden and be happy to be rid of him. And if he’s a prisoner why doesn’t he seem more concerned?” Sarto was standing with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for Venera to finish her conversation. He seemed more to be with her than taken by her. Garth seemed to be the only one who had noticed this.

“Attention!” Venera raised her pistol and for a moment he thought she was about to fire off a round. She already had the attention of everyone in sight, though, and seemed to realize it. “Buridan is under siege!” she cried. “Our ancient house is surrounded by Sacrus’s people. We can’t go back there.”

Garth hurried over. “What are we going to do? They’ve moved faster than we anticipated.”

She nodded grimly. “Apparently, their ground forces are moving to surround the elevator cables—the ones they can get to, that is.”

“Most of our allies are on Greater Spyre,” he said. If Sacrus isolated them up here in the city, they would have to rely on the preservationists, and a few clearheaded leaders such as Moss, to organize the forces down there.

For a moment that thought filled Garth with hope. If Venera was sidelined at this stage, she might be able to avoid being drawn into the heart of the coming conflagration. A checkmated Buridan might survive with honor, no matter who won.

Clearly Venera had no intention of going down that road. “We need to get down there,” she was saying. “Sacrus doesn’t control all the elevators. Pamela, your country’s line, where is it?”

Anseratte shook her head. “It’s two wheels away from here. We might make it, but if Sacrus already has men in the streets they’ve probably taken the axis cable cars as well.”

Guinevera shook his head as well. “Our line comes down about a mile from Carrangate. They’re an old ally of Sacrus. They could use us for target practice on our way down.”

“What about Liris?” It was one of Moss’s men, standing alertly with a proud look in his eye. “Lady, we are the only nation in Spyre that has recently fought a war. There may not be many of us, but…”

She turned a dazzling smile on the man. “Thank you. Yes—but your elevator is above the Fair, isn’t it?”

“And the Fair, m’lady, is six blocks up the wheel, that way.” He pointed off to the left.