Promise of Blood by Brian McClellan

comrades, pulled down and gone. Tamas heard a gasp of disbelief. Lady Winceslav fainted. A head rose above the crowd. It still wore a Hielman’s tall, plumed hat, but it most definitely lacked a body. It trailed blood and tissue as it was passed from hand to hand. Other heads soon joined it.
    Tamas forced himself to watch. This was all his doing. For Adro. For the people.
    For Erika.
    “A bad way to go, sir,” Olem said. He took a drag of his cigarette, watching the crowd with Tamas when even Charlemund had turned away.
    “Aye,” Tamas said.
    The king and queen were led onto the guillotine platform. There were six guillotines, lined up and ready, operators waiting at attention. Manhouch and his wife stood before the crowd, pelted by rotten food. Tamas blinked as a chunk of bloody meat slapped the queen in the face, leaving red smeared on her alabaster skin and her cream nightgown. She fainted, falling to the floor of the platform. Manhouch didn’t seem to notice.
    Tamas glanced back toward the Hielmen’s heads. They were making their way through the crowd, closer to the guillotine.
    The king stared up at Tamas, then fumbled in his pocket, removing a soiled piece of paper. He cleared his throat and started to speak, though Tamas doubted anyone but the headsman could hear his words. The noise grew as Manhouch tried to yell his speech, until he finally fell silent, chin falling as he gave up. The headsman pulled on Manhouch’s chains. Frozen, the king did not move until the headsman cuffed him on the back of the neck and dragged him to the guillotine.
    It was a small blessing for them both, Tamas decided, that they were unconscious when the blade fell.
    Manhouch’s head dropped into a basket below the machine, and a fountain of blood sprayed the closest onlookers, even though an area of ten paces had been cleared for that purpose. The queen was loaded into the next machine as workers began to reset the first. Her head fell, a tumble of blond curls.
    “This will take all day,” Ricard murmured.
    “Yes,” Tamas said. “And tomorrow, too. I told you I’ll give the people enough blood for them to choke on.” He looked down on the crimson pool gathering underneath the guillotine, spreading out under the nervous feet of the nearest men and women. “It’ll soak the King’s Garden and stain the stones to rust.”
    Tamas scanned the crowd one more time and stepped away from the balcony. The Privileged hadn’t come. It left another enemy out there unaccounted for. No, he corrected himself. Not unaccounted for. Taniel would find her. “The riots will start when people begin to get hungry,” he announced to no one in particular. “We’ll impose curfew tomorrow. Until then, I suggest you all stay off the street.”

Chapter 6

     
    Adamat hired a carriage to take him to Adopest University. It should not have been a long trip, but it seemed that the entire population of Adopest was heading toward the middle of the city, while the university was located on the outskirts. By the time they reached Kirkamshire, the tide of humanity had turned to a trickle. The university town was eerily quiet.
    They’d all gone to see the execution. Tamas must have sent his fastest riders to the outskirts of the city to give everyone the chance to come see Manhouch’s death. A risky move. The people would welcome it. Adamat welcomed it. He only hoped that they hadn’t traded an idiot for a tyrant.
    A distant buzz caught his ear as he walked the deserted university grounds. Adamat imagined it to be the roar of a million voices as the people watched the king’s death. Looting would start soon, when people trickled away from the execution and realized everyone had left their doors unlocked, their shops untended. The riots would follow as brother turned against brother. Kresimir willing, he’d be back home before then.
    He passed between the solarium and the library, his footsteps echoing in the empty courtyard, and up the steps of the