“Give you the power.” Naumoriel sneered. “How much would you sacrifice for it, human?”

“I’ve spent years searching for this place,” Gyre said. “I came here, knowing it would probably mean my death. I abandoned my life in Deepfire, whatever security I had.” He closed his eyes and saw Yora’s face. Sarah’s, Harrow’s. “I let my friends die.”

Naumoriel beckoned with one hand, and Gyre hurried after him as the animated chair stalked across the room. It came to a halt beside a long, low table, almost like a bed. It had neatly rolled strips of silvery cloth attached to it, and Gyre took a moment to recognize them as restraints.

“And if I were to tell you that is not enough?” Naumoriel said. His voice was quiet.

“Then I would say,” Gyre said, struggling to keep his voice steady, “that I would be prepared to offer whatever was required.”

There was a long silence.

“We shall see, human.” The old ghoul leaned forward and stroked the table. With a clicking, whirring sound, insect-like limbs spidered out from underneath it, unfolding in a horrible ballet of steel and dark, pulsing muscle. They were tipped with spikes, and grippers, and exquisite little knives in a hundred varieties. Naumoriel looked at them like a doting father at his children. “We shall see.”

Chapter 20

“Agathios-Challenger Maya.” Prodominus’ voice was clearly audible in the hall. “Present yourself to the Council.”

Maya looked at Evinda, who was once again on watch outside the Council’s door. The old centarch gave her a nod and stepped aside, and Maya bowed deeply in return. For a moment, she thought she caught a hint of a smile on Evinda’s stern face.

Taking a deep breath, Maya straightened her formal uniform, touched the Thing for reassurance, and opened the door. Inside, the Council sat as before, except that the edges of the chamber were much more crowded with aides and onlookers. Everyone who could contrive an excuse to be here, Maya guessed, had packed themselves in along the walls to see what happened to the upstart agathios who had challenged the centarchate.

And, of course, one of the twelve chairs was empty.

“Kyriliarchs,” Maya said, when she reached the center of the chamber. She bowed again, and waited.

“You have challenged the centarchate, as tradition allows,” Prodominus said. “And in accordance with tradition, the centarchate has answered. The ancient forms have been followed.”

From the Dogmatic wing of the Council, two Kyriliarchs started saying something in low voices. A buzz ran through the onlookers, then cut off when Prodominus raised one hand.

“Your duel with Centarch Tanax Brokenedge was most impressive,” Prodominus said. “There were, however, some … irregularities.”

Maya tried to keep herself under control, but her chest went tight. In spite of generous doses of quickheal and the care of the Forge healers, the gouge on her hip still hurt when she walked, and she held her arm stiffly at her side. Irregularities.