KNITE:
As expected, the breastpin had changed, altered beyond what I had intended, my soul mark erased, the drop of blood stored within lost. Elonai would not let a drop of his blood fall into another’s hands. Throw it away, I told myself. Why keep what is useless? If it were anything else, I’d have listened to my own council. But not this. Not his gift.
Someone knocked on the door to the office. My office for now. I placed the breastpin inside my inner pocket, leaned back in my chair, and called my visitor in.
Lugel entered and bowed. “Greetings, Father. There is a messenger here to see you. Elur’s, I believe.”
“Who?”
Lugel straightened. “A Seculor. One of her younger daughters. I am unsure of her name.”
“Interesting. Has anything of note occurred that might explain the girl’s presence?” Sending a Named was standard practice; sending a godling, a Fiora, was a show of respect.
“No, Father, but this gesture was likely at the behest of Lorail. She means to test you.”
“Maybe.”
“Also…”
I kissed my teeth and waved him on. “Hesitation, Lugel? You disappoint me.”
Lugel stepped back and went to one knee. “Thank you for the praise, Father.” He did not apologize. Yabiskus—like Bainan—abhorred apologies. Besides, my disappointment implied a lack of indifference. “Klisa has not called in. It has been nearly a fortnight.”
“She is where I want her to be,” I said, and she was. Roche had visited ten days ago. By now, Klisa lay in a skeleton cage deep in Polerma’s dungeon, suffering as she ought to. “No other news?”
“None, Father.”
“Then bring me this messenger. I shall return Elur’s gesture and grant her daughter a personal audience.”
Soon, a girl strode in with all the confidence of a young girl who believed her mother’s strength and reputation extended an unbreakable defense. I knew her. Well, ‘knew’ might be too strong a word; I’d seen her before. Once. She had been there the night I’d infiltrated Elur’s home, sleeping on a lice-ridden cot tucked into the corner of a windowless room. A slip of a girl, she stood across my desk, back straight and head ever so slightly bowed. She was tall for her fifteen years and wore leathers of a blue so dark as to rival black. A warrior's attire. On a belt worn high on her waist hung a rapier, thin and sharp and near half her height.
“Greeting, Sir Laf’le,” she said, using Yabiskus’ Title—Laf’le meant bone-clad in the ancient language.
“Your name, child?” I asked.
“Millence, Sir.”
“Well, Millence, tell me why your mother has sent you to me.”
The girl’s grey-blue eyes took me in, her cold gaze as unyielding as her mother had trained her to be. “As you wish, Sir Laf’le. Lady Elur bade me to invite you to a meeting in the great hall of the royal palace.”
“When?”
“At your leisure, Sir.”
“She’s there now?”
“As we speak.”
“And Lorail?”
“Forgive me, but I cannot say.”
“Because you do not know?”
“Even if I knew, it would not be for me to say.”
I smiled despite myself. “You may leave, Millence.”
The girl left without an escort, a gesture of good faith.
“Father,” Lugel said as soon as the girl had left earshot. “Is meeting with her wise—” My hard stare fell on him. Lugel held a fist over his mouth and cleared his throat. “Uhm, would you like me to accompany you?”
“To the great hall? You overestimate yourself.”
He bowed. “Very well, Father. Then I shall take my leave?”
I waved him off. Thinking is easier in private, and I had to decide my course of action before meeting Elur—and possibly Lorail.
It didn’t take long for me to figure out that attending was the better choice. I stood from my seat and grabbed my cloak from where it hung on a hook. It was the color of aged bone. Yabiskus had preferred to keep the armor spread beneath his skin, just above his Telum armor—likely because it gave him an intimidating bulk without the effort of an active matrix. I’d fashioned the extraneous collection of bone and sinew into a stiff cloak to hang about my shoulders.
The stairs ended. A golden door stood before me, an image of Yabiskus riding an evolved lion molded on the surface. I had not been past this point yet, knowing The Leaves lay beyond. My hand gripped and turned the handle. Matrixes recognized the soul I wore and let me. I pushed. Light stabbed my eyes and washed over me. Yabiskus’ bedroom had a window spanning an entire wall, the side facing the royal palace—seven spires made of pale, opaque crystal. Six surrounded the central seventh, a tall, spike-shaped building that soared into the sky, so tall as to have its peak hidden behind clouds. Not its light, though. Nothing could block its light. It shone like a second sun, bathing all it touched with a green sheen. The glow seemed a physical layer, hovering over everything as if to suffocate. The six towers surrounding what used to be Merkusian’s home were smaller by half, six moons to the green sun. I faced Bainan’s. To the right was Grono’s. The spire to the left, facing the sea, was dark. Dead. Mine. Once.
Squinting, I made my way out of the room and through Yabiskus’ empty manor. None but Leaves or candidates were allowed to enter the central region of Evergreen. No slaves, no servants, no merchants. None but the most skilled and powerful survived being so close to the light.
Outside was a picture of wealth. Like everything here, the roads were needlessly wide. An army could march through without complaint. The homes were large, too, even in the outskirts—Yabiskus was the only Leave who lived so far from the spires, the rest of the residents being candidates. Many of the buildings were the color you’d get when mixing water and milk. Long ago, in pursuit of replicating the crystal Merkusian had fashioned the spires from, Grono had conjured a marble resembling mist given solid form.
I walked on, traversing near-empty streets, past scenery plucked from dreams—perfect gardens curated to every leaf and blade of grass, gilded gates and fences surrounding homes of preternatural grandeur, and statues of giants imitating life, all of it shone on by a light that weighed on the soul. Those who crossed my path recognized me. Leaves in the capital—not candidates or the sons and daughters of Leaves, but Leaves—were few and never fewer than now, with many having joined The Old Queen’s war, fighting and competing over the new lands Evergreen sought to conquer.
A tall wall of the same crystal spread outwards on either side of Bainan’s spire. No door blocked entry, for none but the most puissant of godlings could withstand the aura within.
I walked under the large archway and into the depths of my enemies’ domain. My first step faltered, the husk of Yabiskus’ soul shuddering under the more concentrated aura of power. My second step came easier. As did my third. I crossed the empty circular base of Bainan’s tower and walked under another archway. My first step into the grand hall redoubled the pressure. I stood still, eyes closed, trying to acclimate, but the tension refused to abate.
“Proof, if proof was ever needed.” Elur sat at the table in her mother’s chair. Her features were identical to Lira’s, yet they looked nothing alike. Where Lira’s features were rigid, a custome, a pretension, Elur’s was easy, genuine, a picture of her confidence. She wore a scanty dress, the cleavage running down to her navel, thin shoulder straps leaving much of her back and sides bare, displaying more of her pale skin. A fashioned cut in her dress started mid-thigh, parting the blue silk to expose long, athletic legs.
“Of what?” I asked.
“Why, of our divinity, of course.”
“Is that why you requested we meet here?” I asked as I walked over to the table. “To remind me of our relation? An odd tactic, given our family.”
Elur waited for me to take Bainan’s seat before she answered. “Neither of us can work our matrixes here. People find it easier to trust me when I can’t bend the world to my will.”
“So this meeting wasn’t Lorail’s doing?”
Elur’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, fleeting though it may have been, she appeared uncertain. “What has my mother to do with this?”
“She came to see me not long ago.”
Elur ran two fingers along Merkusian’s ancient table, her feigned calmness worn like armor. “Why?”
“If she saw fit not to tell you, I don’t see why I should.” Telling an enemy someone had dulled your claws made little sense. Not unless you did so to hide the sharpness of your fangs, in which case, the trick is to tell them without seeming to want to. “But I’m not averse to trading secrets.”
“I’ll give you Ilinai.”
“The priestess?”
“You know capturing her will elevate your House’s prestige. The masses tend to put a great amount of stock in the game of church representatives.”
“They do,” I agreed. A church’s power is often proportional to its popularity, and when one church foils another, it is afforded both.
“So?”
“So I already have her. Offering me what I already have is a bad start to our negotiations. As are lies.”
Elur’s lips twitched into a momentary frown. “Who was he?”
“Who was who?”
“The man you sent in to break her and The Firewitch out of The Bridge?”
I shrugged. “A man whose skill and discretion I trust implicitly.”
“Enough to leave him with me for a time?”
I shook my head. “I’m not one to reward competence with something as horrid as your company. Now, why have you called me here?”
“Five years of no interference for Ilinai and the man who killed my daughter.”
I smiled. “Do you think me a fool?”
“Name your price?”
“Is Lorail here?”
“I’ll tell you… for a price.” Elur drew circles on the table with her finger as absentmindedly as she could pretend. “How about this—tell me why you want to know, and I’ll tell you if she’s here or not.”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Unrestrict your aura,” she commanded. All Leaves had sensight. All Leaves of House Lorail had some skill in reading auras, most reaching a proficiency equal to that of a Truthseeker.
I did as she asked. “I agree to the terms of the exchange.”
Elur unleashed her aura. “I agree to the terms of the exchange.”
“You’ve grown,” I said.
Elur raised an eyebrow.
“When did you become strong enough to use your Art here?”
A twitch. A half blink. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You just lied to me. Twice.”
“My aura says otherwise.”
“Your aura is one of your two lies.”
Elur smiled how I imagined a predatory feline might smile, all sharp and wide and hungry. “Saw that, did you? Seems you’ve not stagnated either. I mean, my Paintings aren’t nearly as effective here as they would be outside, but seeing through one is still more than a little impressive.”
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“So, is she here?”
“In the city, you mean?”
“If she is in the city, she is here.” Only the spires were powerful enough to block my souleyes. A few powers might hide themselves from me, but only he had the means to block me entirely.
Elur frowned. “How would you know?”
I sighed. “I’m growing tired of this game of questions, Elur. You brought me here to trick me. You’re ploy has failed. Shall we bargain, or has your failure exhausted our efforts?”
Slender arms folded under her ample bosom. “Very well. What do you suggest?”
“Let us start small. Our first bargain?”
Elur’s aura shifted, her Painting fading away. “Consider it struck.”
“I do not want to come across your mother. Not now. Not here.”
Elur stuck out her bottom lip, sulking. “I was expecting a less predictable answer.”
“So?” I waved her on.
“She’s gone back to Halor. It seems she’s done giving me more brothers and sisters for now.”
I nodded and stood. “Alright. That’s all I needed to know.”
“Wait!” Elur sprang to her feet. “What of my mother’s priestess, Ilinai, and your mysterious assassin? And what of the peace treaty?”
My smile was feral, the grin of a hunter who’s found his moment to strike. “I did not come here to negotiate. I will keep what I have and take your life for free.”
I unhooked the cloak from the two clasps on my chestpiece. It fell to the ground. More followed—vambraces, shoulder guards, reinforced gloves, and clothes—until finally, I stood before her naked. The cloak by my feet turned liquid, flowing up my legs, torso, and arms until the armor had covered all but my head.
Elur observed the archways, expecting an ambush. Her breathing grew quicker. Just a little, but enough for me to notice. “Explain yourself.”
“You know,” I said, “if it weren’t for Aminy, you’d already be dead.”
“You?” Elur growled. “You came for me that night?”
“I did.”
“And deemed her life more valuable than mine?” She crept back and away from the table as she talked, creating distance between us.
“She’s a friend. You’re not even an enemy. Well, not directly, anyhow.”
“A friend?”
“Now, shall we begin.”
I dashed forward and leaped over the table. Elur let go of any semblance of calmness, turned, and ran to escape the great hall through the archway leading to her mother’s spire. I threw myself at her. My armored shoulder dug into the small of her back and brought her to the ground. She disappeared under me. Her figure materialized a few paces closer to the archway. The Meaning she’d employed was so good as to fool my souleyes for the fraction of time it took me to reach her. Damn Merkusian’s creations.
I dashed at her again. A wall appeared to block my way. I crashed through to face yet another. This one, I leaped over. Three spears raced to pierce my chest. I slapped them aside without slowing. They crumbled into motes of light before disappearing altogether.
Sensing her escape was about to fail, Elur turned to face me. White armor covered her instantly— an imitation of Merkusian’s armor.
Bone hit metal.
Bone won.
ShElure fell back a step, grunting. I threw a fist at her face. Merkusian’s armor did not include a helmet—the man often joked that his face was too handsome to cover up. Her armor changed, shifting and growing into a metal colossus. Suddenly, she was twice my height and many times my weight.
My punch connected. Elur’s swift growth had the blow aimed at her nose fall onto her abdomen. A dent in the shape of my fist imprinted itself onto the plates protecting her midriff. She flew back and struck the wall beside Lorail’s archway, aided by the imaginary weight of her new armor. The crystal structure ignored her with ease.
I rushed in once more. Elur got to her knees. Another punch. Her head snapped back, spine cracking. The construct that was her armor blew away into motes of light.
Elur was on her hands and knees, coughing blood. She’d Painted her broken neck back into place but ignored her caved-in cheek. Her hair was disheveled. She looked up, drooling red-tinged spit.
“You’re too strong,” she slurred through her broken face.
“No such thing as too strong.”
“You’re half my age. Not even Muraad wields your strength.”
“I’m not as young as I appear.”
“You can’t do this,” she said, trying something new.
“And why not?” Slow steps carried me towards her.
“Civil war.”
“Exactly.”
***
I took a bite of the venison and sighed in disappointment. The fire was smokeless—a clever application of Ignis Arts on my part. A naked Elur hung over the heat from a spit I’d made from my two swords, their tips meeting somewhere in her liver. I had plunged one down her throat and the other between her legs. It wasn’t long before the smell of her roasting flesh had made me hungry, hence the venison. To my disappointment, there were no boars to hunt for leagues around. Adding to my dismay, Elur’s groans of pain had lost their luster and no longer served to keep my attention. As had the succulence of her fear. While torture was one of my favorite pastimes, it is a rather dreary affair when practiced with strict moderation.
My camp was at the epicenter of a dimple in the relatively flat land half a league outside the wild forest that sat south of the northern coast of the capital island. The vigilant residents of the city deep within the woods and the many patrols they’d sent to keep watch had hassled me away. And so I waited, contenting myself with a toy I forbade myself from breaking. I had resigned to the idea of another dull day of waiting when I sensed the approach.
I dismissed the fire, kicked fresh dirt over the scorched earth, rescued my victim from her pain, though not her captivity, and dumped her over a temperate Qaniin who stood there gnawing contentedly on wildflowers. We circled northeast along the sparse trees outlining the forest's edge. My target came from the west, heading for the stronghold deep within the wild woods. And it was a stronghold. Not in the typical sense, for if anyone of import had found the place, they'd raze it to the ground effortlessly enough. No, it was a stronghold because almost no one could discover the place. The city took all pains to go unnoticed. They maintained the dense, year-round foliage that hid them from any who observed from above with meticulous care and expended great efforts to manipulate how and where the evolved and mundane beasts roamed under the natural canopy, setting a trap for the bandits and marauders and other such uninvited guests who dared venture too deep. Then there was the town itself, which melded with the forest so well that most potential infiltrators who survived the patrols of men and beasts would breach a good distance into the settlement before belatedly realizing their arrival. So extensive was their camouflage that when I first laid eyes upon the town, I thought Kolokasians had secretly invaded Evergreen, though closer inspection broke the illusion. While the homes carved into the trees, buildings covered in moss, green-painted roof tiles, and shrub-covered pathways had the look of nature about them, Kolokasian creations felt like nature personified had come to life and built herself a home indistinct from all her other more tranquil constructs.
My target’s wagon broke the horizon, the orange of dusk burning behind it. Observing their direction and the terrain, I picked a clearing, trudged there beside my trotting horse and her passenger, and waited.
Two rode in the front. The third—the person I’d come to see—sat in the back, hidden by the wagon's black, aged, sensus-treated wood. The driver and her seatmate noticed me quickly enough, the last rays of sun aiding them from their backs and illuminating all but the shadows the hood of my dark green shawl poured over my face. Qaniin, restless and annoyed, stood beside me, eyeing them with eager hostility—snarling neighs, gnashing teeth, and violent jerks of her head made it seem like she was living the fantasy of chopping and tearing them to pieces. The driver and her companion took little notice. A lone, dark stranger and his lively horse did not cause any great fear in them. The wagon continued, making no move to avoid us. They did, however, stop before they ran us over.
The taller of the pair dropped the reigns and stood. “State your business.”
I looked up, the shadows across my face pulling back a little. “I’ve brought a gift.”
“For who?”
“For trust.”
The shorter of the two pulled her partner's sleeve until the gangly tripler leaned in. “He’s alone,” she whispered.
“So?”
“Think. Where are we?”
“Close to the—”
Fillo flicked Brifal's ear and hissed, “Think. We are in the wild.”
“And he’s alone.” Brifal rubbed at her earlobe.
I shook my head. “Jule! Come out, will you! Preferably before the idiocy of your guards drives me to violence!”
The whispers ceased as Brifal and Fillo stared at one another. A ruffling sounded from the back of the cart, so faint as to require my unnatural hearing to be heard. A few more near-silent shuffles preceded the thud of the wagon's rear door dropping open. Another thud followed as Jule hopped off and met the forest floor. She came into view, her nakedness softened by the low light of a budding evening. A glance at Qaniin fetched her the knowledge of who I was.
“You are fast becoming a thorn in my side,” she said.
I leaned back as if offended. “A rather horrendous welcome, considering the richness of the gift I’ve brought.”
Jule strode forward, twigs and leaves crunching beneath her naked feet. “Your gifts—for all that they are gifts—will be the end of me.” She stopped before me and nodded at the body slung over Qaniin. “What sort of cursed luck have you brought me this time.”
“All in due time,” I said. “Before I present my gift in all its glory, I will take the trust I am already owed.”
The captain’s gaze snapped back my way, the cold, dark hatred in them as deep as it was irrational. “Owed?”
“Owed,” I repeated. “Regardless of my motives, my actions have benefitted you and yours in more ways than you know. Then there is all the trust I have put in you by opening the doors to Snowliar, exposing the faces of those who serve me, and letting you witness the assaults I levied upon the Lorail’s queendom. And let us not forget the crimes against me I have forgiven.”
Jule lurched forward. Suddenly, the quivering snarl fell off her face, and the impending step followed suit, pulled back by the calmness of her emerging persona.
“Even if I were to agree,” she said, pausing to smile, “it is unbecoming to give charity only to come and demand payment.”
The smile I gave her was reminiscent of the type you might imagine on the face of a virgin boy the first time he loses himself to the throes of passion—that is to say, utterly insensible to how unflattering one appears. “As is accepting a favor and not offering your own in kind.”
Jule shook her head in wry amusement. “I take it you expect us to escort you to the city?”
“I am owed.”
We ditched the wagon when the forest's vegetation grew too dense. Brifal took the lead, Qaniin and I trailed Jule, and Fillo brought up the rear, cursing and cussing all the way—Qaniin was decisively flatulent during our journey, and I let her have her small victories, mainly because I knew how vexing the terrain was for her. Wild, overgrown plants reached for our ankles, scratching at us with thorns and leaves ready with poison. Bulging roots and knotted twine snagged at our boots and hooves. Weeping trees and feral vines hung low, slapping into our faces and obscuring our mundane sight. Behind their swaying collective, hidden figures in the shape of men and beasts watched us. The beasts prowled ever closer, daring mundanes and wily evolved the closest of them. The men stayed back, their mandate more aligned with being an observer than that of a hunter.
“Where nearly at the border,” Jule said after she caught me observing the creatures.
“I know,” I said, and did. The matrix, while unfamiliar to me, blazed blue to my souleyes. “It is a rather clever solution.”
“What do you know of our Arts?” Jule did not deign to look back when she asked the question. I did not need my souleyes to know she thought herself offended.
“Besides what I can see, very little.”
Jule turned but kept walking, her stride and balance unaffected. “You have the sight?”
“I do.”
“Not this useless thing they call sensight. I mean, the sight?”
I shrugged. “I know little of your Arts—not much is written about your people in our books and histories. However, if you are asking whether or not I can see your working, I can.”
“And what do you see?”
“Without getting into the details,” I said, pointing at where the matrix began, “I see two multilayered functions. The first is bait, a tug on the beasts’ desires. I can also see it pull on both primal and higher-order desires, feeding hunger and greed as well as lust and the illusion of love, calling to beasts and men alike.” I waited a heartbeat, long enough for us to cross the invisible threshold. Suddenly, all the creatures who thought they were preying on us staggered to a stop. A mundane wolf shook his head, took a turn, and went on his way, oblivious. An evolved dog of some shaggy breed that stood tall and hid their nimble form with a craggy coat of hair froze in place. Slowly, it rose from its crouching stalk, its head shifting about, the look of confusion on its expression ironically indicative of its intelligence. “If I'm reading it right, the second half is the matrix protecting the city—a combination of illusions. One layer conceals the city, blocking sight and sound, and the other invades the minds of those who manage to stumble too close, subtly but surely guiding them away.”
Jule’s stride stuttered, and she nearly lost her footing. Brifal was quick to offer a supporting hand, righting the half-naked Easterner.
“That’s not sensight,” Jule said, stopping and facing me head-on.
I shrugged. “Not exactly.”
She watched me, waiting, hoping I’d elaborate. I offered her a smile. She knew me just about well enough to shiver at the sight. As if to hide from her fear, she turned to Brifal and gestured for her to lead the way once more.
The structures at the outskirts of the city were better hidden, integrating seamlessly with inconspicuous fixtures of the forest—an outpost lay beneath a natural mound of grass-covered earth, another stood on a collection of thick branches, the limp twigs of the tree hiding its walls. Deeper in, the buildings were more recognizable, though the aesthetics remained obedient to the surroundings.
Figures clad in dark greens and browns, smeared with dry mud, and caked in packed dirt slipped into our path. Jule overtook Brifal and stood before them, a dam against the wave of their hostility.
“He is not an enemy,” she said.
“Maybe not, but he is worthy of the description,” said the central figure. A man. One I knew.
I stepped forward. Brifal stepped into my path, face hard, expression determined. I walked on as if she were air, and like air, she flowed around me. Unlike air, however, she did so less gracefully, tripping and falling to the ground.
“It appears,” I said, addressing the man, “that in the end, you didn’t have a choice in the matter. How goes it, Andol?” I reached out a hand.
“Tell me he is not the man you spoke of,” Andol told Jule, ignoring my greeting. For a brief and frivolous instant, I wished I’d let him kill the boy in the Grifal estate so that I might reap his life and soul and fear at that moment.
Jule’s head dropped. “I’m afraid I cannot.”
“Do you know what type of man you’ve allied us with?” The man growled his question. Only he and I knew how little of his anger colored his tone.
“Calm yourself, Andol.” I stepped closer and looped my arm around his shoulders so swiftly as to render his reaction to stop me too slow. “Much like you, she had little choice in the matter. Now, how about you invite me somewhere comfortable and let me reveal the magnificence of the present I’ve brought along.” With that, I let him go, knowing his inability to escape my hold had tempered his urge to react with aggression.
With the severe and reserved comportment I’ve come to expect from him, Andol turned, waved for me to follow with a stiff wave of his hand, and said, “Follow.”
A crowd appeared. They stared at us with fascination and a smidgen of fear. I was surprised to see as many women as men, and more so for all the children leaning out from behind their parents’ backs.
The room was modest—a small, hollowed-out, oval space at the base of one of the larger trees. Four rough wooden chairs and one matrix lantern hanging from a vine-woven rope were all the decorations the room possessed. Andol, Jule, and I, along with a man unknown to me, sat facing each other. At my feet was my niece, gagged as much to avoid the screams the lance of pain I’d stuck in her soul caused as to stop her silver tongue from creating havoc.
“Talk,” Andol commanded. I was not too fond of his tone, but greater needs demanded I let the insult pass.
“I’ve come to solidify our allyship.”
“What allyship?”
“We have a common enemy.”
“The Lorail godlings could almost say the same about you, and I’d find it difficult to disagree. It does not make any of us allies. All it means is that we each face multiple enemies.”
I took a deep breath—a show to convince him he was wearing on my patience. I looked over at Jule, exasperation marking my features. “Does he speak for all of you?”
“I do,” said the stranger. He was an older man. A Fiora, or their equivalent—he did not have the smell of an Islander about him. I knew he was old because age had crept onto his features despite the density of his divinity: a slight sagging of his pale skin, the round rim of cloudy white surrounding his iris, the faint spots on the back of his hands. My best estimation had him on par with Lira in terms of strength. Maybe Polerma.
I nodded a greeting at the old man. “And what is your opinion?”
The man rubbed his hands over the cane he held before him. I saw the resemblance when he looked up and revealed more of his face.
“I hold Andol in high regard,” he said.
“And Jule?”
“Moreso.”
“Because she is your daughter?”
“Partly.” The old man looked over at Jule. The pride in his eyes made me sick. “I hope my raising her has something to do with why I hold her in high regard, though I might be erring in the same way an absent parent might disown their undutiful child.” He turned his gaze back to me, the smile fading. “What do you wish to gain from the allyship you seek?”
“More weapons with which to defeat my enemies.”
“And what is it you offer?”
“The same.” I pointed down at my prisoner. She squirmed in abject pain and terror. “She is a sign of what I can offer.”
The man slid his cane forward and peered over its round handle. “And who might she be?”
I looked the man in the eyes for a heavy and pregnant while.
Then I told him.