Kevlin exited the Tamarr Palace into the cool night. He descended the stone steps and paused in the shadows between torches set in ornate sconces along the nearest walk. It felt great to be outside and feel the light breeze on his face.

He glanced back at the Tamarr Palace. Despite his personal dislike for Gabral, the short colonel did have a sound mind for strategy. He commanded an extensive knowledge of the greater palace compound and its security forces.

In the just-concluded meeting, they had set up a plan for taking the elusive Remiel when he appeared. Kevlin would prefer cornering Remiel with his brothers and beating the truth out of him, but he had to admit the plan was a good one.

Maybe Remiel would resist when they captured him. The thought was promising.

Kevlin crossed the Silver Spoke and followed a secondary walk paved with cobblestones around the front of the ornate Freyarr Palace. He passed few people. This time of night, most people seemed to prefer staying in the lower levels to coming out in the cool air. Jerrik and Drystan had both decided on that route, but Kevlin was glad he chose to walk aboveground and take the long way around. It provided uninterrupted time to think.

The Trembling Madness was barely discernible, and the constant craving for magic well contained. Tomorrow, he'd have to seek out Harafin to get some magic, but for now he enjoyed feeling normal and free of danger.

Leave until tomorrow the next battle with unruly magic. Would it ever submit willingly to his control again? If not, how long could he continue to conquer it? How long before his concentration slipped or his will wavered?

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Kevlin glanced forward to the statue of Akillik that stood bathed in bright lantern light. He skirted it and kept his gaze averted. The last person he wanted to see was the fickle god. Could he really avoid ever spinning the Wheel again? What would happen if it spun against him?

Kevlin shivered.

When he reached the blocky, granite Meinarr Palace, Kevlin paused in front of the towering statue of Asherah in her flowing blue robes. He should have brought some money to leave a donation. Now might be a good time to start returning to her good graces. He no longer doubted that she existed. It would be nice to convince one of the gods to remain on his side.

As he stood there contemplating the statue, a wave of dread crept into him, like a chill on a winter's night. It felt almost tangible, a palpable wave of terror. He'd only ever felt such a thing in the presence of . . .

Kevlin spun and grabbed for his sword. He also snapped his left hand down to unsheathe the hidden stiletto from his wrist guard.

Dozens of heavy ropes whipped out of the shadows on the far side of Asherah and wrapped around him like living snakes. With startling speed, the ropes bound him from neck to ankle and pinned his hands to his side. All he managed to do was extend his stiletto between layers of encircling rope.

Bound so tight, Kevlin slowly tipped sideways to the ground. A hooded figure stepped out of the shadows and approached. Kevlin didn't need to see their face to know them.

Tanathos.

The Shadeleech carried a two-foot, intricately carved wooden rod that looked vaguely familiar. He had been pointing it at Kevlin like some kind of weapon, but now tossed it aside.

Kevlin tried to shout for help, but Tanathos lunged and shoved a rag so far into his mouth it started choking him. He tried spitting it out, but Tanathos tied it in place with a wide strip of black cloth. Kevlin fought a growing sense of panic. He could barely breathe.

Tanathos punched him in the side of the head. Lights danced behind his eyes, but anger burned away some of the fear. The Shadeleech leaned over him and pushed the brim of the wide had he was wearing far enough back for Kevlin to see the roiling blackness covering his eyes.

Tanathos smiled down at him. "Hello, Kevlin. Your soul belongs to me."