Tollan yanked his arm away from Wince. “Like the Void I’ll leave Yigris.” He couldn’t believe that Wince had suggested it. “But I see your point. We need to find Gemma. We’re going to go find her, and we’re going to get on our knees and beg because she’s the only one who can help us now.”
The horse went down onto the cracked and broken cobblestone street with a throaty scream an instant after Tollan heard the snap of its leg. Wince leaped from the seat of the cart as the animal writhed in agony. Tollan climbed down from the cart and drew his sword, heart pounding in his chest.
“Aw, prick,” Wince groaned. “He stepped in a hole.” He glanced up at Tollan, then drew his own sword and swung at the horse’s thick neck. A geyser of blood blew back in his face, and he wiped it off on his sleeve. The horse twitched and kicked, then went still.
Tollan scanned the street. How could the people inside have slept through that clamor?
Wince put his back to Tollan’s, both of them circling, eyes alert for danger that did not come. “It’s prickling eerie,” Wince whispered after a moment, then sheathed his sword. “It’s got to be the marks, but I …”
“Shhh …” Tollan warned, his ears picking up the sound of approaching footsteps.
Wince dragged his bloody cutlass back out of its sheath. A hundred yards ahead, a figure turned in their direction. He could make out a frown on the man’s face in the lamplight.
“Odd night for a walk, Your Grace,” the man said, bowing formally.
Tollan felt his breath rush out of him in relief as he saw the familiar spectacles and close-cropped hair of Brother Elam.
“Where’s Gemma?” the prayer keeper asked.
“Run off with her lover,” Wince replied, taking a step toward the priest. “We didn’t much feel like accompanying her as she went about murdering folks.” Elam gave Wince a sideways glance and Wince continued, “She wouldn’t wait to find Devery and we thought that the fate of the city and Prince Iven were more important.”
“Though, in the long run, that may have been our mistake,” Tollan said.
Brother Elam chuckled, “With Gemma, you can never be sure, but getting between her and Devery is never a good idea. You’re going the wrong way if you’re heading home, though. If you want, I can lead you as far as Brighthold.”
Tollan and Wince shared a glance. At this point, they were going to stumble into a sewer pit and drown in Shadowtown’s shit if they weren’t careful. They might as well take what assistance they could get.
“What are you doing here?” Tollan asked.
“The temple’s surrounded by burning brambles,” Elam said, eyes downcast. “And so is your lovely palace. The Guild is falling, and … my place is with Gemma and …” He trailed off.
For a moment, Tollan couldn’t breathe. The palace is burning?
Wince grunted. “We appear to have come to a similar conclusion. We were actually hoping we could find Gemma and take advantage of her hospitality.”
Elam eyed them, his smile growing broader. “So, you gentleman are pissing yourselves, then, eh?”
Wince laughed. “I believe that is a fairly accurate description of our current state, yes.”
“Well, then,” Elam said, turning his back on them and pointing into the distance, “You are in luck. I happen to know exactly where Gemma will go once she’s found Devery.”
Something in his tone brought to mind the ancient pain that Tollan had so recently heard in Wince’s words—“I have to find it.”
But then the prayer keeper smiled over his shoulder at them. “So what do you make of what’s going on in Yigris, tonight?”
As they walked, Wince told Elam about the mage marks on the buildings and the mark on Tollan’s back. They stopped at a corner house, located the mark, and showed Elam what they meant.
He stared at the mark, brow furrowed in concentration. Then he turned to Tollan. “Your Grace,” he said, “I’m afraid that you are well and truly pricked. If I were you, I might consider a fast ship to Far Coast and a new name.”
“That’s what I said!” Wince laughed, but no one joined him.
“Can you take me to Gemma?” Tollan asked. Wince didn’t like the tone of his voice. Something about it brought Tollan’s father to mind.
The prayer keeper nodded. “I believe so, Your Grace.”
Tollan stood straighter, and despite his stained rags, he thrust a measure of confidence into his words that surprised Wince. “And she, as Queen of Under, can command the Ain? Is that correct?”
Elam inhaled sharply through his nostrils. He nodded slowly. “She can, yes, but …”
“There is no ‘but’,” Tollan snapped. “She has to do what’s best for Yigris! What if I commanded her?”
Jovial laughter erupted from the slender prayer keeper. “You don’t know Gemma very well, Your Grace, if you think that line of reasoning is going to work. Your Yigris is a different Yigris than hers, and you’re going to have to make her see the benefit of ordering her people to help you. You’re going to have to approach this with some humility, if you don’t mind me saying so, Your Grace. Commanding her might be a good way to get your throat slit, but that’s probably not the outcome you’re looking for.”
Wince watched all the steel go out of his friend’s spine as Tollan said, “Do you think she would—is she really capable of that?”
It was difficult for Wince to watch his best friend, the prickling king, shrivel under the gaze of a trumped-up whore, no matter how genial Brother Elam seemed to be.
“Oh, she’s capable,” Elam said, patting Tollan on the arm. “But I’m more worried about Devery. He’s got to be on edge, with Fin and Melnora, and—” he gestured back toward the fires. “He is not a man that I recommend trifling with. He has a good heart, and he’s saved my life on more than one occasion, but he’s a killer, and a prickling good one at that.”
Wince said wistfully, “Maybe he’s already dead, and we won’t have to worry about it.”
In one instant Brother Elam had his arm pressed against Tollan’s back, and in the next, his knife was pressed to Wince’s throat.
“I will thank you kindly not to speak such things about my friends, again, Master Quintella,” he hissed into Wince’s ear. “There are few things that we in the Guild take as seriously as death threats. And by that, I mean in all seriousness … if you say such a thing to me again, I will slit you from ear to ear.”
Their eyes met for an instant, and Wince glanced away. His heart pounded an uneven beat in his chest.
The three of them stood in silence until Elam sighed. “We’ve got a long walk, gentlemen. Might as well make the best of it.” He let go of Wince and began to whistle, the sound echoing and eerie in a night that seemed to never end.
An hour later, Tollan was wavering on his feet.
Wince watched him, mouth pursed and eyes dark. Finally, when Tollan stumbled and nearly collapsed, Wince said, “We’re going to have to stop so the king can rest.”
Elam assessed Tollan for a moment before he said, “You have two choices then. You either sleep on someone’s grass, or we’re going to do a little thieving.”
Tollan glanced at his surroundings. They’d moved into a more prosperous area of Yigris—he assumed that they were on the edge of Brighthold—and the homes here were spaced out, with large lawns surrounding them. Street lamps lit the way, and the paving stones were smooth and well packed. He eyed the small manor in front of them, and his body yearned for a warm bed, a soft pillow. He shook his head. He would not break into one of his city’s homes. He was better than that.
He thrust his chin at a small grassy patch beside the house. “We sleep there,” he said.
Wince shuffled forward, head hung low. Elam moved toward the knoll with lithe muscles. The thought of the prayer keeper’s body—nimble and warm—sleeping beside him, made Tollan’s breath catch in his throat. He could not deny the surge of energy that raced through him when the man had touched his arm. And though Tollan knew these thoughts would bring him nothing but pain, he moved forward like a man sleepwalking. To be nearer to that beautiful man, he would gladly sleep in a gutter.
Elam began to hum softly as they settled on the lawn. “It’s a lovely night for it, Your Grace,” he said, and Tollan had the distinct impression that the man was mocking him.
CHAPTER TWELVE