“Kihrin—” Tyentso started to say.
“Before I was kidnapped,” I said, whirling back to them, “I never lived anywhere but the Capital. And I hated it. I hated everything about it. I wanted to leave more than I had ever wanted anything else in my life. I wanted to be free from my father Surdyeh, free from Ola, free from that life. I wanted to run away to somewhere else. Anywhere else. Except now that I am anywhere else—” My throat closed up. I thought of Miya and Galen, Tishar and Lorgrin, Star and Scandal. Maybe, on a good day, Therin. People I loved still lived in the City. People I loved who could still be put in harm’s way. “Does that prophecy mean what I think? Gadrith’s going to destroy the City?”
“He’ll probably start a Hellmarch,” Tyentso said. “The Capital has never seen one inside its walls. That ‘frees the demons’—and since he’s labeled himself the Thief of Souls, it all goes downhill from there. But—” She wagged a finger. “If you’re right, he’s not going to do any of that until he’s put his hands on the Stone of Shackles.”
“Nothing in what you just quoted says that he has to wait,” Teraeth pointed out.
“Except he does,” I said. “He’s been waiting. This all started, what, over eighteen years ago? For what has he been waiting if not the stone? He could have done whatever he was planning years ago. We know what he wants. Let’s use that.”
Teraeth leaned forward. “Are you suggesting making yourself bait?”
“Why not? I’m the one person Gadrith will be absolutely focused on and the one person Gadrith can’t just kill outright. The Stone of Shackles won’t let its wearer die if they’re killed by someone without a viable body, and Gadrith is a corpse. He can’t steal my soul, he can’t strip the flesh from my bones. He literally cannot kill me.”
“Oh Scamp, there’s a lot he can do to you that wouldn’t be fatal.” Tyentso made a face. “Believe me, nobody wants Gadrith to see justice more than I do, but you’re still in training—”
“Actually, his training’s nearly complete,” Doc said. “I wouldn’t say no to a few more centuries with him, but he’s made great progress.”
“And I’m just the distraction, anyway,” I said. “The point isn’t that I kill Gadrith, the point is that we lure Gadrith out in the open so Emperor Sandus can kill Gadrith. I’m sure he’d love to help us out just as soon as we explain the situation to him.”
“You’re all forgetting Kihrin’s still trapped on this island,” Teraeth said, “and none of the rest of it matters until we figure that part out.”
Doc snickered. “If you have any ideas, we’d love to hear them.”
I stretched, put my hands behind my head, and looked around. Ynisthana was beautiful. I couldn’t argue that the island wasn’t just eye-bleedingly beautiful. Thanks to Thriss farms, abundant fishing, and shipments from Zherias, food was never an issue. The women were gorgeous, and the sexual taboos absent. A lot of people would never want to leave a place like this, and I couldn’t blame them for that.
But I couldn’t stay.
I turned back to the others. “When does a prison guard stop looking for an escaped inmate?”
Doc gave the matter some consideration. “When the inmate’s been found?”
“Or when he’s dead,” Tyentso said. “That’s what Gadrith did.”
“Right. Guards don’t chase after a prisoner they’ve already killed.”
“What are you suggesting, Scamp?”
I grinned. “The Old Man won’t keep looking for me if he thinks he already knows why I’m not around. Especially if he thinks it was his fault.” I turned to Teraeth. “So how do you think your mother would feel about destroying the island?”
66: THE GAME
(Talon’s story)
“The full dark path,” Morvos D’Erinwa said as he laid down the Pale Lady, Black Gate, the Hunter, and the Blood Chalice. “Read them and weep for your children, now left destitute to beg on the streets.”
“Not so fast,” Kihrin said. He turned over his cards, revealing the Crown of Quur, the Scepter of Quur, the Arena, and the Emperor. “I do believe I’ve beaten that hand.” There were groans from around the table as the young man grinned.
Jarith Milligreest rubbed his forehead as he regarded Kihrin. It wasn’t so long ago that Jarith had known him as a minstrel’s son, and to see him here like this as a member of House D’Mon—as his own second cousin—was jarring. He was happy to see Kihrin, just shocked at how much the boy’s status had changed, and how quickly. He nearly hadn’t recognized him, and he was still bemused at the idea that Kihrin was Darzin’s son. “Is that the second imperial flush you’ve drawn tonight?”
Kihrin nodded as he pulled the money from the center of the table. “Something like that, yes.”
Thurvishar pushed his cards away in disgust. “No one is this lucky.” The Lord Heir of House D’Lorus nursed a glass of wine while Talea rubbed his shoulders.
He’d lost a lot of money.
“Now, nobody likes a sore loser,” Kihrin said. “You’ll win yours back later, I’m sure.”
Jarith shook his head. “It is a little uncanny, Kihrin. Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead.” He didn’t like the look on Thurvishar’s face, and he didn’t like the hungry glint in Kihrin’s eyes.
Jarith was not a fool. He’d recognized Talea when she entered the room, knew she could only be the very slave girl he had traced to Darzin D’Mon’s custody, now owned by Thurvishar. She didn’t want to have much to do with the younger D’Mon though. She avoided him the whole evening, as if she had developed a natural but unavoidable aversion to the color blue. She only had eyes for Thurvishar, and Kihrin only had eyes for her. And every risky winner-takes-all bet Kihrin made seemed aimed at one goal: putting Thurvishar in a position where he would be forced to bet her.
This, Jarith was certain, could only end in disaster.
The Captain sighed inwardly as Kihrin ignored his good advice. “And deny these kind lords the chance to win their money back? What kind of friend would I be?”*
“I have an idea,” Thurvishar said. His voice was a dangerous, unfriendly purr. He picked up the cards from the nobleman who was dealing and shuffled them. He offered the deck to Jarith. “Pick a card.”
Jarith shrugged and pulled Bertok, God of War. “Shall I show it?”
“Please.”
Jarith turned the card over.
Thurvishar then offered a card to Kihrin. “Now you.”
“What’s this supposed to prove?” Kihrin frowned.
“Humor me,” Thurvishar said.
Kihrin picked a card and turned it over. It was Khored, God of Destruction, a higher card than Bertok.
“Again,” Thurvishar said.