Gadrith seemed amused by Darzin’s flattery. “This is more important than last time.”
Thurvishar looked at Kihrin. “We painted the glyphs at Shadrag Gor, in a room the same size as this, then used magic to transfer them. Thus, we could take as long as we needed to.”
Darzin raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t ask.”
Thurvishar ignored him, walking to the back of the room to stand behind the altar. “Don’t forget your lines, Darzin. Remember, he’s your family, so you have to be the one to do the ritual.”
“Oh, so that’s why they haven’t killed you yet. I’ve been wondering.” Kihrin looked back at Darzin. “Good news, Darzin, you’re about to outlive your usefulness.”
“Shut up,” Darzin snapped. He dragged Kihrin over to the altar and pushed him onto it. “Help me,” he said to Thurvishar.
They both wrestled Kihrin into position and clamped the manacles around his wrists and ankles. That was followed by a spell to silence him as Kihrin refused to stop cursing.
“I must remember that one about the morgage and the goat,” Darzin said. “Inventive.”
“Should I remind you time moves at the normal pace here?” Gadrith said. “This is not where I want Sandus to find me.”
“No, Master. I’m sorry.” Darzin bowed and looked rather uncomfortable. He took up position behind the altar and began to chant.*
At first, nothing happened. However, one archway leading to the various tombs, cells, and antechambers became darker than the mage-lit halls should have allowed. That darkness was less a lack of light than a palpable abyss, an absence so profound it took on a distinct character of its own.
Out of that darkness stepped Xaltorath.
He was smaller than when Kihrin had seen him four years earlier. He also wore an ornate set of curling armor that didn’t seem very protective. In fact, it only stressed how little he wore, and how alien he was.
“Xaltorath, I have called you as the old ways require,” Darzin told him.
***SO I SEE. AND YOU ARE HERE READY TO SACRIFICE YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER, WHOSE DEATH WILL NOT BE MUCH SACRIFICE.***
Thurvishar and Gadrith gave each other uneasy looks.
“Nothing in your call says it has to be someone I’ll miss,” Darzin protested. “The same blood runs through our veins. Isn’t that enough?”
***PERHAPS. WE SHALL SEE.***
Xaltorath’s form shifted then, flowed like water, and when it stopped, he was a mocking parody of Tya, Goddess of Magic. He resembled a beautiful woman with red skin that looked hard as bronze and smooth as glass. Her eyes glowed red and her arms and legs no longer looked dipped in red gore but dyed by black ink. Her hair looked like flame. The gold armor covered even less on her, more bedroom jewelry than clothing.
Kihrin struggled. He would have said something, but the spell gagged him.
Xaltorath ripped the magical silence away with a wave of her hand as she slinked to the altar and rested a hip against its edge. ***HEY HANDSOME. MISS ME?***
Kihrin tugged at his restraints. “Get away from me!”
Xaltorath walked her fingers across his stomach. ***MM-HMM. POOR LITTLE BIRD. YOU’VE BEEN IN BETTER SITUATIONS.*** She winked at Kihrin, sharing the joke with him, but ignored the other men in the room. ***WANT TO HAVE SOME FUN?***
“I don’t think it’ll be much fun,” Kihrin snapped.
Xaltorath shook her head. ***OH, BUT IT WILL. YOU AND I COULD SPEND ETERNITY ENJOYING OUR IDYLLS. WE’D HAVE SUCH FUN TOGETHER. I WOULD GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU DESIRE.***
Kihrin shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Xaltorath changed again, although not by a wide margin. Her skin shifted from bloodred to a cinnamon brown and her body lost some of its ripe curve. Her features shifted so she might not have changed them at all, but her hair went from being flame to a darker hue—a red so deep it was almost black, running in a single stripe across her head from front to back.
***TRULY?*** she asked again, this time her voice a throaty purr.
Kihrin made a noise that might have been a whimper. “No,” he said. “Not even for her.”
***A HERO. SO FULL OF SELF-SACRIFICE.*** Xaltorath straightened and looked at Darzin. ***YOU’RE RIGHT: HE’S PERFECT. GIVE ME ALL OF HIM, HEART AND SOUL, AND I WILL DO ALL YOU ASK OF ME.***
Darzin smiled. “With pleasure.”
He grabbed the knife, and without prelude brought it down hard on Kihrin’s chest.
* * *
Kame hated New Year’s. The money was good enough—and Kame was never at a loss for customers willing to slink into an alley or return to her crib at the joy house. Yet the whole city felt strung into thin streamers of twisted energy, ready to snap. She made more metal, but she sported more injuries. Some years it seemed like the price she paid to the Blue Houses was more than what she earned.
She loitered at the corner of a warehouse by the docks, watching the sailors load their ships while the good weather prevailed, before they cast off for foreign ports. Kame looked for the stragglers, the lost, the men who had a few hours of free time. Or really, a few minutes would do. Most of the sailors were already ashore, drinking in taverns, or rutting in some other crib. She turned as she heard the sound of water splashing.
A giant parody of a human waded to shore, three times the height of a tall man and no natural color. His skin was white, except for where it was purple or green, and his hands looked like they had been dipped in blood. The monster had a large tail that slapped the ground behind it like a crocodile. The demon grinned as the few people on the docks noticed it. They cried out in terror.
Kame was paralyzed. It was huge, giant, and horrible. It was …
The demon saw her, smiled an impossible obscene rictus, and reached for her. She screamed and screamed.
Blood splattered the cobblestones and splashed against the warehouse wall, but Xaltorath didn’t pause to enjoy his kill.
He had a schedule to keep.
80: THE BLUE PALACE
Teraeth moved to follow as soon as Darzin retreated into the Blue Palace.
He had to hand it to the Lord Heir; the man moved like he meant it. Darzin openly sprinted as soon as he was out of sight of the First Court, running as though he were being chased.
Well, he was being chased, but Teraeth was certain Darzin didn’t know that.
The run was, if anything, a reminder of just how large the royal palaces were. Darzin didn’t seem intent on the wings of the palace used primarily by royalty, but one of the smaller passages just off the servants’ quarters, used for storing food.
Teraeth came around the corner a second after Darzin and stopped.
The corridor was empty.
Teraeth paused. He heard no sound of footsteps, no shuddering whisper of lungs eager to catch their breath after a run. Nothing at all.
He slid his vision past the First Veil in case Darzin was using some sort of illusion or magical concealment. Nothing.
Teraeth focused his concentration on the intaglio ruby ring. “Your Majesty, we have a problem. I could use your—” There was a clapping sound and a rush of air. “—help.”