His gaze narrowed as it lingered on Seeker. Her monochrome painted features tensed under his scrutiny, eyes tracking to Pilgrim, either in judgement or disbelief, he couldn’t tell. “And you have a long-lost relative to find,” the Mad God said, frowning in concentration. “A daughter, apparently. Stolen by slavers whilst you were off finding new beasts to make friends with. Not a very good mother, are you?”

“I have atonement to make,” she replied, voice hoarse but steady. “And I’ll make it once I’ve recovered her.”

“How pathetically noble of you.”

Pilgrim saw the demon in him then, the glint of cruelty in his eyes, the slight predatory snarl that revealed teeth that seemed sharper than they should. The Mad God was neither mad nor a god. He was a fully sane demon with an endless supply of victims to feed his cruelty.

“But your prayer is too mundane,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “You will join my chorus on the glass sea, another note of sorrow to delight my ears. Whilst your prayer, King Guyime,” his smile broadened as he regarded Pilgrim, “I am more than willing to grant.”

“I pray for her,” Pilgrim said, stepping in front of Seeker. “Restore her daughter. If you will answer but one prayer, let it be hers.”

“Oh, don’t be tiresome.” The Mad God’s smile became a wince. “I have little patience for those who pretend heroism. And it really doesn’t suit you.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Pilgrim agreed. “Yes, they called me the Ravager, dread king of the northlands, persecutor of the Risen church. They killed my wife, called her a whore and a heretic, tied her to a stake and burnt her alive because she held to the forest gods of her people. And I made them pay. I left a trail of blood and slaughter a thousand miles long…” He faltered, the truth somehow catching his throat, truth he had never spoken, even to himself. “But it was never the sword,” he went on, forcing the words out. “Yes, I sought out a demon-cursed blade and used it to win my battles and kill my enemies, but I wielded it, it never wielded me. I earned this bondage and more besides. I do not pray for me, I pray for her.”

The Mad God raised an amused eyebrow. “You think this redeems you? It is but the merest grain on a scale that will never balance. History will always name you the Ravager.”

“History will.” Pilgrim nodded at Seeker, now half crouched, ready to run or fight, not that either would avail them anything. “But she won’t. I pray for her. Restore this woman’s daughter.”