The receiving room of House Saar’Jin was cold. There was the cool tile underfoot, and the frigid bite of a morning draft slipping through seams in the stone walls, and finally, the icy gaze of Princess Sazhra as she stared down at her retinue from atop the Maelstrom Seat.

  Of the three types of cold present, the princess’ gaze was the most chilling. No one met her stare – to do so was to invite her focused wrath – but even a passing glance was enough to raise Kelmar’s gooseflesh.

  He kept his head bowed low, eyes fixed on the seal-skin rug on which he kneeled. He had served the princess long enough to know the rhythms of her moods, when her dark melancholies would break, when her cheer was feigned, and, most importantly, when her wrath was near to overflowing. She had tight control of her emotions … until she didn’t.

  Long draw, quick snap, her father used to say.

  He might have been talking about a dangerous bow, one built for expert hands, rather than his own daughter. Then again, the old prince himself was much the same. The difference between them was what happened after they’d snapped. Where the old prince often felt ashamed of his outbursts, and was as quick to make amends as he was to do damage, Kelmar knew the princess’ rage was always final, and often fatal.

  “I want to understand,” she said, her voice calm as the sea before a storm, “how a man under my protection was nearly torn to pieces by a rat-swarm. In public, no less. Scarcely two hundred yards from the gates of this very house.”

  No one spoke. Not Kelmar, or Virelios, or Balthus, the captain of the Princess Guard. They wouldn’t either, not until she demanded it.

  He Who Speaks First Buys High.

  Every Brass Man knew that maxim. It was the first lesson a child learned, once they could speak. It was an important lesson, too, for words were as dangerous as fire or feral dogs or deep water. Moreso, even.

  “Balthus,” the princess said finally.

  Kelmar exhaled, air whistling around his silver nose. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

  “Yes, my lady.” Balthus still wore his armor of polished glass, now chipped and cracked and crusted with dried blood. He had removed his helm to show a weary face, pale almost unto death.

  The man was bleeding inside, Kelmar figured. He wondered if the old sawbones could patch him up. He’d never much cared for Balthus, too rigid, too inflexible, with a stick so far up his ass it poked his brain every time he sat down. But credit where credit was due, the man was a good soldier, and he’d trained the Guard to be the most feared warriors in Uqmai.

  “What can you tell me of the events of last night?”

  “I was awakened after third bell by my second-in-command. The watchmen at the gate had received a call for help from the witch, and they were preparing to leave out.”

  “The witch?”

  “The mind witch,” Balthus said. “The physician’s slave girl.”

  One of the princess’ attendants, a young woman with curly hair dyed the deep green of old copper sucked her teeth disdainfully. It was a quiet gesture, but Kelmar noticed.

  “Remind us of her name, Virelios.”

  “Kyra,” the physician offered.

  He’d answered exactly what was asked of him, and not a word more. Clever.

  “And what exactly was she doing outside the gates, I wonder,” the princess said. “Why was she in a position to need help?”

  Virelios kept his head bowed. “I sent her to fetch the outlander from his quarters. I needed him for further testing.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “You know I keep strange hours, my lady. It is not uncommon for me to send for a patient after the second moon.”

  “And somehow,” the princess said, “between the outlander’s quarters and your workshop, the two got lost, wandered down into the city, and started a goddamn riot?”

  “I can’t speak to that, my lady.”

  “Weren’t you concerned when they didn’t arrive at your workshop in a reasonable time?”

  “Well, a reasonable time is difficult to quantify. I often lose myself in my work. Hours can pass without my noticing; I even miss the chime of the city bell. But when I realized how long Kyra was absent, I grew most concerned.”

  “Did you alert anyone?”

  “I told a watchman.”

  “Which watchman?”

  “The tall boy, Nestor,” the physician said. “He usually stands guard by the east gate until dawn.”

  Princess Sazhra turned to an attendant, a male slave with a shaved pate and a thin mustache, dressed in a toga the color of a rain cloud.

  “Fetch Nestor of the watch,” she commanded.

  The attendant crossed his arms over his chest and bowed.

  “That may prove difficult,” Virelios interjected. “He died in my workshop not one hour ago. A horrible wound to his belly. I pulled three live rats out of there.”

  Kelmar shivered at the thought. It wasn’t right to treat human flesh that way. But then the rat fuckers had no respect for humanity. It’s why he always dealt with them at arm’s length, and always made them pay–

  He put the thought from his mind.

  You never could tell who was listening inside your head, especially not in the manor. The only defense was a clear mind. He'd learned a few protective techniques from the old prince's attendant, a withered, pinched-face mentalist named Rylic. There were ways to consciously forget things, bury them so deep in your mind even you forgot they were there, until an unconscious trigger called them back from the black depths. He hadn't had time to use them though. That business with Iliquith in the slums had left him shaken, and since then he hadn't had a moment's rest. It seemed a fresh crisis arrived every hour.

  “Was this man the only witness to your call for help?” the princess asked.

  “Unfortunately, he was.”

  The princess shifted on her throne, considering the physician’s words. She wore deep indigo today, trimmed in shimmering fishscale of silver and white. Kelmar could only guess at how much that dress had cost. Whatever the price, it was a fraction of what she’d spent on those creams and lotions she slathered on her skin each day. He’d seen a few of the trade logs for the ingredients needed to concoct those particular unguents. Ruinous.

  The old prince, for all his love of good wine and dangerous women, would never have allowed such purchases. Not until the house was back in order, not until the coffers had been filled again and the banner of House Saar’Jin flew in half the ports across the Shattered Sea.

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  He wondered if that wasn’t the reason she kept the old sawbones around, to make sure her skin stayed tight, her tits nice and firm, her ass plump. Why else? Everyone knew Virelios was a snake in the grass, all Quicksilver Men were. The question now was if he was worth the trouble.

  “So the slave girl sent a mental summons to the watchmen at the gates,” the princess said, turning back to Balthus. “And they roused the Guard, and the Guard roused you?”

  Balthus nodded. “That’s right, my lady.”

  “And who led the guard to the pavilion?”

  “I did.” Balthus coughed and then wiped at his mouth, his fingers coming away dark with blood. “When we arrived, the cultists were attacking the outlander. He fought with the fury of ten men. The dead were stacked to his knees.”

  “I knew he was a strong fighter the moment I laid eyes on him.”

  But the princess hadn't seen him up close, the way he moved in battle like a wrathful demigod, the way fear radiated off him like heat waves off the desert floor. He was terror made flesh.

  “But even he couldn’t beat back a horde that size,” Balthus said.

  “So how did he survive?”

  Balthus paused. “Something came over him. He changed. Forgive me, my lady, I sound like a scared child. But the outlander ... I saw him, he ... grew horns. Like a demon.”

  “Horns?” The princess looked to Virelios. “What do you make of this?”

  Virelios shook his head, never raising his gaze from the ground. “This is the first I’m hearing of it, my lady.”

  “Do you think it’s sorcery?”

  “Perhaps,” Virelios said. “Although, as we discussed, the outlander has a few other anatomical curiosities which may better explain this transformation.”

  “This parasite theory you mentioned?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  Sazhra turned her attention back to Balthus. “What happened next?”

  “The Guard met the cultists head on. The vermin horde had been attacking the outlander, but it turned on us as we entered the pavilion. The outlander used the distraction to flee into the city. Just leapt off the pavilion like some kind of animal.”

  “And what of Virelios’ slave girl?”

  “She was with him.”

  “Willingly?”

  “I couldn’t say, my lady.”

  The princess leaned back. “Leave me,” she said after a while, waving her hand as though shooing a fly.

  Balthus made to drop to both knees and touch his head to the floor, but the effort pained him too much.

  “Virelios, see to Balthus’ wound,” she said. “And make sure I can find you when you’re finished.”

  Virelios nodded and helped the guard captain to his feet. When they had exited the room, Kelmar felt the princess' gaze turn to him.

  “What do you make of this?” she said.

  Kelmar kept his face low. “I suspect some kind of treachery, my lady.”

  “Balthus may die from his wounds before nightfall. Why fight so hard for someone he plans to betray? And if Virelios is a turncoat, why would he stay at the manor while the outlander flees with his slave? It makes him look guilty.”

  “The who and the why of it make no sense to me.”

  “What if I propose another option?” the princess said. “That you are my betrayer.”

  Kelmar felt his bowels turn to ice. “I would never do such a thing, my lady.”

  “Then explain your actions.”

  “I was asleep last night. I never even left the manor.”

  “And what about the day before?”

  “You mean the business with Iliquith? I explained that to you already.”

  “Help me understand it again.”

  “I don’t know what more –”

  “Look at me,” the princess said.

  Kelmar lifted his head. Sazhra's eyes were painted with powdered opal and her lips were wine-dark. She stared at him without blinking, her face beautiful and devastating in equal measure.

  “My lady, as I told you, I never meant to start trouble with the city guard. But there were unexpected complications.”

  “You mean Iliquith having his throat opened up like an old wine skin?”

  Kelmar's mind flashed back to that dark study, the stench of offal and blood still fresh in his nostrils. He had known Iliquith for years. The man was a louse and a liar, but he didn't deserve to die like that. The memory coiled tight in Kelmar's skull. He didn’t even want to think about, but trying to ignore it only made the thoughts more intrusive.

  Yes, he had taken the bribe from the rat fuckers. But only because he needed the money. He’d fallen behind at the dice table down at the White Boar. And there was that spice ship he’d invested in from Wolfshead Bay, the one captured by pirates. His debtors were coming to collect in blood. What was a man to do? He had no choice.

  But Iliquith dying was never part of the deal.

  He spared a glance across the room. Had that green haired girl been looking at him? Did he see her wince when he recalled the sight of Iliquith splayed over his desk?

  “That was a tragedy,” he said. “I can’t begin to describe how upsetting it was.”

  “I’m sure it was quite upsetting to be found in a dead man’s home. With blood on your hands.”

  Kelmar smiled politely. “That was not our blood. Nor, I might add, our knife.”

  “No, of course not.” Sazhra leaned forward in her seat. “So then tell me, why did you and the outlander kill several of the city guard on your way out.”

  “I suspect the guards were summoned by a servant before we even arrived. We had scarcely stepped through the front door when they showed up. They were itching for a fight.”

  That part, at least, was true. He hadn’t expected the captain to come so quickly, or so aggressively. But perhaps that was the price of relying on cheap help.

  The princess's face was impassive, with no hint of the roiling emotions under the surface. “Tell me plainly, Kelmar, what did you find in that house?”

  Kelmar hesitated. He wanted to spin his words, bend the facts to serve him best. But the princess' voice was iron wrapped in silk, and he knew too well what happened to those who overstepped with Sazhra.

  “A corpse," he said. “And a dagger. One with the mark of the Red Coin.”

  That silenced her.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I would stake my name on it.”

  “What about your life?” she said.

  “I’d show you the dagger as proof, but the outlander took it. He has it still, I’ll bet.”

  Sazhra stared off. “The Red Coin has no business in Iliquith’s house. Nor in mine.”

  Kelmar felt the same. Even as he walked himself back through the bloody trail of decisions that led him here, he saw no place for the Red Coin to intervene. The offer had come in whispers, from a Rat Cultist with eyes like ink and a smile full of knives. She came to him at dusk, wrapped in the promise of power and cloaked in vermin. She said she could make his problems disappear. And Kelmar, like the fool he had always been when a woman with secrets came whispering, had listened to her.

  All he had to do was lead Frank to the manor. Let the city guard find them inside. Frank was to take the fall. He was already marked by the guards, already walking a tightrope over Uqmai’s many traps. All Kelmar had to do was give a little push. The cult would even handle the trouble of bribing the guard captain to take him alive.

  It was foolproof, right up until it all went to shit.

  No one had expected Frank to fight like a cornered beast. No one had expected him to win. And absolutely no one had expected to find a dagger with the Red Coin's mark buried in Iliquith’s blood-stained desk.

  The whole affair reeked of a double cross. Layers within layers of deceit. But whose game was being played here?

  “And it was only the outlander who did the killing?” Sazhra asked.

  “That’s right?”

  “And he managed to take out all the guards by himself? Well, all except the captain, from what I hear.”

  The plan had been for the guard captain to make a noisy arrest, haul Frank away and leave Kelmar untouched. But when the fight started going Frank’s way, the captain had met his eyes across the courtyard, seen the trap turning back on itself, and made a decision. They both had.

  “The captain fled,” Kelmar said simply.

  “And you didn’t stop him?”

  “I didn’t think another corpse was the solution to our problems.”

  “One less witness to make trouble.”

  “I’ll know for next time.”

  Sazhra’s eyes narrowed. Her nails clicked on the lacquered wood. “You have always been useful to this house. First to my father, and now to me.”

  He bowed. “My loyalty is yours.”

  “I said useful, not loyal. Your loyalty is only to your own survival. I respect that, to a point. But if I smell blood in the water, Kelmar, I am not above joining the frenzy.”

  He bowed again. “Of course, princess.”

  She stood. The guards flanking her shifted with her rise, their glass armor catching the light like frozen smoke.

  “We have only two more days left until the stars align, and we are no closer to entering the spire. We have yet to crack the ritual, and our handpicked thief is on the run.”

  “We’ll find him today, my lady. I’ll lead a search myself.”

  “No, I have more important things for you to do. There is something I'm missing here, and only part of it has to do with the outlander.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Set a meet with the Red Coin. Go through the usual back channels. I want to know why they're interfering in my business. Shake the slums, too. See what the streets are saying.”

  “And what of the Rat Cult?”

  “Have them summoned to the Guild Court. Accuse them of attacking a lawful House of Uqmai like common thugs. Throw in a few false accusations as well. Just enough to get the gossips talking. Nothing will come of it, of course. The court has been neutered for years. But we must at least make a show of seeking legal justice before we resort to violence.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “And find out where this outlander comes from. He told the tariff lords at the city gate he'd been in contact with Copper Men. I want to know what he was doing before he landed on my doorstep. Send word to the docks, too. Offer a reward for anyone who hands him over to us. No questions asked. And let it be known that anyone who gives him passage off this island risks the wrath of House Saar'Jin. I don't care if its a fishing skiff or a trireme fit for war, I will sink any ship he sets foot on.” She turned back to Kelamr. “And then send for the Bastard.”

  Suddenly Kelmar was cold again. “Is that really necessary? It's been years since we've called for the Bastard.”

  “I didn't take you for the squeamish type.” Sazhra smiled. “He's ruthless and good at his job. And more than that, his loyalty is unquestioned. He's exactly what I need right now.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Something is moving out there, Kelmar,” she said softly. "Something old. I thought I could master it. But I may have been wrong."

  Kelmar kept his silence. He had a sinking feeling that soon everyone in Uqmai would pay the price for the princess' mistake, one way or another.