Free Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) by Ben Galley

magick in the gates, and melted them shut with her will.
    The palace itself looked dead to the core. Every window was closed and curtained. The flags had been ripped from the soaring turrets. Not even the ravens cawed from their nests in the pines. All that could be heard was the rumblings of the gawpers, and the squeak of carriage wheels coming to a rest.
    If he was honest with himself, Dizali found it all rather disconcerting. But honesty was never his flavour of choice, and so he affected a charismatic yet determined expression and stepped out of the carriage. The crowds had already spied his coat of arms on the doors, but only now was the silence broken. The muted whispers gradually grew into cheers and cries, boos and yells. It seemed the crowd was split down the centre. Dizali ignored what he could and lapped up the rest.
    He waved as he strode through the lines of soldiers and lordsguards, escorted by grim-faced generals and captains. Hanister walked at his shoulder. Dizali didn’t even have to give orders. They knew the time to act had come. The ranks split for him, falling back to let the Lord Protector pass. It was though a hole had been punched in a dam. Men and women surged forwards, chasing Dizali’s wake. They formed into thick ranks, toting guns and spears, drawing swords.
    They thickened into a wall that left a clear bubble around the main gates. A huge, black-mouthed cannon emerged from the ranks, much like a shark breaking from angry water. It was a formidable-looking thing; all cogs and sharp angles, a burnt bronze on the outside. Its black mouth had a jagged edge, poised to belch fire. Parts of it ticked. Others steamed.
    ‘A Chimera Cannon, my Lord,’ a man was saying into Dizali’s ear, as if he cared. ‘Built by the world-famous Starford gunsmiths. Designed to sink a small ship in one hit.’
    An intricately pitted cannonball was brought forth and loaded into the claws of the mechanism. Men went to work pulling cranks and winding the aiming wheels. It was the musical clatter of expert training. Britannia gun-crews were the fastest in the world.
    In mere moments, the Chimera was poised and ready. The crowd took a collective breath. Dizali raised his hands and plugged his ears. He did not want to be deaf when the Queen was pleading for her life like a factory whelp with a broken back.
    By his side, a general raised his hand, held it, and let it fall. The blast was thunderous; the sort of explosion of sound that punched straight to the inner organs. Dizali found himself momentarily breathless.
    The gates flew open with a screech and a shower of sparks. One was partially torn from its hinges. The cannonball tore across the grounds and dismantled part of the palace’s grand steps. A few of the queensguards tottered about in the haze of stone-dust, half-stunned.
    The bubble collapsed and the eager ranks poured forth like a tidal surge. Dizali and his entourage marched at its head. The roar of boots on gravel meshed with the cries and cheers of the crowd. Dizali grinned inwardly. Public opinion was the currency of power. He was winning hearts today. Karrigan the Bulldog had never been so bold, so righteous.
    As the Lord Protector climbed the cracked steps up to the mighty doorway, the soldiers and lordsguards fanned out to surround the palace, blades and guns low and ready. The queensguards immediately buried their faces in the dust, lying spreadeagled. They were mercilessly hauled aside. Dizali would decide their fates when he was done with Victorious.
    ‘The door!’ He waved a hand, and several lordsguards broke the golden handles from the wood. A few kicks gave them access, and they swarmed through the opulent halls of the huge palace, where gargoyles lingered in every corner, and where purple carpets traced a maze through the endless corridors and rooms. It was one of London’s most ancient buildings, and it never failed to bring a chill to the nape of Dizali’s neck.
    With a snarl fixed on his