‘We are all vulnerable, Kilmandaros. Don’t think Draconus is about to build a little farm in some mountain valley and spend the rest of his days whittling whistles while birds nest in his hair. He knows we’re here. He knows we’re up to something. Either he’s already figured it out, in which case he will come to find us, or he is even now setting out to pull loose all our secret ambitions.’

‘Who killed Anomander Rake?’

‘Dessembrae, wielding a sword forged by Rake’s own hand.’

She was rocked by that. Her mind raced. ‘Vengeance?’

‘None other.’

‘That weapon always terrified me,’ she said. ‘I could never understand why he set it aside.’

‘Really? The hand that holds it must be pure in its desire. Kilmandaros, Rake yielded it to his brother because his heart was already broken, while Andarist . . . well, we know that tale.’

As the significance of Mael’s words struck home, Kilmandaros found she was trembling. ‘Andarist,’ she whispered. ‘That . . . that . . .’ but she had no words to describe her feeling. Instead, her hands rose to her face again. ‘He is gone,’ she said, voice catching in a sob. ‘Anomander Rake is gone!’

Mael spoke, his tone suddenly harsh. ‘Leave Dessembrae alone. He was as much a victim as anyone else involved. Worse, he has been cheated, and used, and now his suffering is immeasurable.’

She shook her head, the muscles of her jaws creaking. ‘I was not thinking of Dessembrae.’

‘Kilmandaros, listen well. My thoughts on Draconus—my musings on his possible culpability—they are unproven. Speculations, nothing more. If you seek a confrontation with Draconus—if you seek vengeance—you will die. And it may well be for naught, for perhaps Draconus is innocent of all charges.’

‘You do not believe that.’

‘I was but reminding you of the danger he presents to us. How long was he trapped within Dragnipur? What did that do to him? To his mind? Is he even sane any more? One other thing, and think on this carefully, Kilmandaros. Would Rake have willingly freed a mad Draconus? Has he ever shown a thoughtless side to his decisions? Ever?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘He had a purpose.’

Mael’s smile was wry. ‘Even though he is dead, we find ourselves holding to faith in him. Extraordinary, isn’t it?’

‘Mother Dark—’

‘No longer faces away, and as with Darkness, so too it is with—’

‘Light. Gods below, Mael. What has he forced upon us?’

‘A final accounting, I’d wager. An end to the stupid games. He might as well have locked us all in one room—and no one leaves until we settle things once and for all.’

‘Bastard!’

‘Your grief was rather shortlived, Kilmandaros.’

‘Because what you say rings true—yes! Rake would think that way, wouldn’t he?’