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“My apologies,” the warlord said. “You’ve stirred my emotions. Please know you fascinated me. I was eager to work with you—and to work with you for a long time. I truly hope you have enough to beat Ockley. We will make sure you have everything you need between now and then. There is a detailed record of his duels from the last time he visited the city. I’ll make sure they’re sent to you. It would be a fine coup if one of our own defeated Kathor’s golden son. Please ask anything of my servants, and I’ll make sure they attend to it. I wish there was some other way forward, but it always comes back to money. In this case, your life isn’t worth nearly as much as your death. I do hope you’ll survive. But if you don’t…”
He shrugged those pretty shoulders. The chain rattled slightly.
“Enjoy the rest of your night.”
It did not take long for Cath to notice that Dahvid was alone. He was still too shocked to move. When he did not move from the railing, she slid through the crowd to join him. Her dress billowed behind her. He thought he’d never seen someone quite so beautiful as her. Or maybe that was the inevitable thought of his own death talking.
“Well?”
“Change of plans.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I’ll be right back.”
There was no other way. He needed to act now. Before it was too late. There’d been no public announcement yet. He felt quite certain that Darling was entrusting this information to him because of some misguided sense of sympathy. A warning shot to help Dahvid start mentally preparing for what was to come. The gambling halls had no idea of the news. Likely they wouldn’t until morning. It gave Dahvid the smallest window in which to intervene. He secretly wished Nevelyn were there to confirm his decision. He hoped this was the wisest route, but deep down, he knew there was no route left to him that was wise. All of them were perilous.
Darling was back at the front of the crowd. He was watching some petty fight unfold below him. Dahvid pushed forward and raised his voice to a guttural, rattling shout.
“Darling!”
Everyone fell quiet. There was a small buzzing down in the pits, but every other sound died away. He saw hands drifting silently to weapons. Agatha Marchment was shadowing over to his position without making a sound. Dahvid raised his voice again.
“Darling. I challenge you. A gauntlet!”
His words echoed over the dunes.
“My name is Dahvid Tin’Vori. Before all of these witnesses, I challenge you to a gauntlet. I will defeat five of your champions. And when the last one takes their final breath, I will make my demand of you. Do you accept my challenge?”
He saw a run of emotions on Darling’s face. Surprise, anger, humor. Eventually the pretty man settled on a grisly sort of smile. Dahvid already knew what he would say. They had studied all the rules. Darling’s system worked because he was an immovable object. Always, he responded in the same way. Everyone waited for the warlord’s answer, but there was only one possible response.
“Challenge accepted,” Darling called back. “Let there be a gauntlet.”
There was a great roar from the crowd. Champions were already clamoring to their lord, asking to be one of the chosen five. He saw one final look of annoyance cross Darling’s features, and then Dahvid turned away from the scene. He reached for Cath’s hand. Together, they glided down the stairs. Past the glittering eyeglasses and all the pretty things, back out into the waiting jaws of the night. Cath kept asking what happened. Why did he do that? It was far too soon.
Dahvid offered no answers. There were guards waiting for them with hoods. Ready to escort them back to Ravinia. He dipped his head down, and the world went completely dark once more. His stomach turned as he stared into the disorienting black.
He could not help wondering if this was what death looked like.
Like nothing at all.
20 NEVELYN TIN’VORI
“So much for visitors,” Nevelyn whispered to herself.
She climbed down a step stool, waiting until her feet were solidly on the ground to inspect her handiwork. She was standing in the center of her apartment. It consisted of three very small rooms. A decent-sized living room that Nevelyn had not bothered to furnish. A kitchen that was cramped and tiny, which led to a bedroom that felt even more cramped and tiny. It had already been difficult to imagine ever inviting a guest here, but her newest addition eliminated the possibility entirely.
Nevelyn had installed four identical hook rings. Each one glinted on a different wall, set just a hand’s length lower than the ceiling. From each ring, a black rope ran to the center of the room, each stretched taut. They all attached to the dangling beginnings of a magnificent black dress. Nevelyn had measured everything, considered each angle with meticulous care. If someone were to slide into the finished version of the dress with the help of a footstool, they would remain suspended in midair, unable to touch the ground below them. She circled once, testing each rope, but even her full weight was not enough to make them do more than tremble. She’d used most of her money on these particular ropes. A vendor had promised they were the strongest ones.
In that morning quiet, she heard a low moan. Nevelyn’s eyes swung from the dress to her apartment’s interior wall. She padded over on bare feet and set her ear to the cracked plaster. There was another moan. Followed by a lower voice. The distinct groan of a bed. Nevelyn sat there listening to her neighbors. Her own loneliness loomed then. Like an empty stomach that had gone days without food. She stood in a state of paralysis for several minutes.
Her mind was the only thing that could free her in such moments. Alter the paradigm. The sounds were not a reflection of her own loneliness—but rather a way to measure the current effectiveness of her magic. Yes, that was a better way to view it. When she’d first moved in, the noise of their lovemaking had been echoing and everywhere. There’d been no room in her own apartment—no combination of shut doors or well-placed blankets—that could fully keep out the sound. Now, after just a few magical applications, she had to strain to hear them through the wall.
Nevelyn knew that was not good enough. She needed this entire room to be completely soundproof. It would require even more of her precious magic. Ren Monroe’s contact had provided what they could. A vessel and the name of someone who never collected their magical stipend. Nevelyn had stood in line on the first day of that month and been awed as someone casually handed her free magic to use. That was unthinkable back in Ravinia. Everything there had a cost. Kathor, though, was rich with spells and enchantments. She’d learned that in just a few weeks living here. A person saw magic everywhere they walked.
Based on the current schedule, she’d have one more chance to refill her magic before their plans were fully in motion. That final stipend would need to go almost entirely to preparing the room. She could not afford to waste any of it—that much was certain.
Outside she spied subtle traces of red shooting through the endless gray. It was nearly sunrise. Time to go. She left the couple to their fun and got dressed. There was a forged letter sitting on the kitchen table between two bottles of wine. Nevelyn folded the letter carefully before placing it and the bottles into her satchel. Determined to win the day, she trotted down her steps into a side alley and walked with her head high. She would look the morning right in the eyes, as her father used to say.
