All he could do was shrug.

Cythera turned her gaze on the tree that was her mother. A single tear rolled down her painted cheek. Malden’s heart went out to her. She must have dared to hope when she saw how close he had come to rescuing Coruth. The plan had gone so smoothly, and now . . . Well. Things had changed.

He longed to speak to her. To reassure her, perhaps, though what words he would use to do so escaped him. Hazoth had not given him permission to speak anyway, so he kept silent. He tried to communicate with Cythera using just his eyes, but she would no longer look at him.

“One thing,” Hazoth said, rising to his feet again, “escapes me. I would like to have an answer before I decide what to do with you, little rodent.”

He came back over to Malden and stared down at him with unquiet eyes.

“What you are doing here is quite clear. You came to steal back that which you were paid for,” Hazoth said. “Why you would do so is no mystery. I imagine you think that if you can recover the item you will be able to bargain for your life with those who seek it. A logical conclusion, though there is one fallacy in your reasoning. The players in this game outstrip you in power and in intellect. They would be glad to have the thing back, certainly. But they would not let you live once they had it. Don’t you see? You’ve learned too much. An animal in possession of a secret is a dangerous animal. They would slaughter you even more readily than I.”

Malden bit his lip.

“You may speak,” Hazoth told him. “In fact, I insist. Tell me who sent you, and what they want from the crown?”

Malden frowned. “Surely you know the answer. The Burgrave wants what was stolen from him. He will be embarrassed if he appears tomorrow in the Ladymas procession without his crown.”

Hazoth smiled. “The Burgrave? Do you mean Ommen Tarness? I really don’t think he was the one who employed you.” He laughed at the thought. “No, not Ommen.”

“Why should he not?” Malden asked.

“Because Ommen Tarness is an idiot,” Hazoth answered.

Chapter Eighty-Four

Chapter Eighty-Four

“A fool, perhaps, but—”

Hazoth’s face clouded with anger. “I did not say you could speak!” he thundered.

Inside Malden’s chest his heart stopped beating. Pain lanced through his limbs and he dropped to the floor in a quivering heap. He could not draw breath, could not move, and every sound in the room was a distant echo—

—and then he recovered. He sat up carefully, unsure if he was still alive or had passed into the afterlife.