Who then laughed from where he lay on his back. ‘Come, let us finish it.’

‘Why won’t you die!’

‘I should have,’ Draconus replied, shifting on to his side to spit out a gout of blood. ‘Or you would have, since I summoned my Finnest.’ He coughed, spat again. ‘But it seems to have gone astray…’ He groaned and pushed himself to his hands and knees. Blood poured from his wounds, making thick puddles beneath him. ‘And that’s not good.’ He glanced over with dull red eyes. ‘Still, I’ll leave one of you. For the chains. Though I doubt you’d deem them a mercy.’

Hissing, Caplo backed away.

‘You all thought me unmindful,’ Draconus said. ‘An impediment to your newfound powers. You, Syntara, Raal, even my beloved. But things have been unleashed. Indeed,’ he paused to cough again, ‘it’s all becoming something of a mess.’ He waved one hand back towards the massive wagon. ‘But I’m working on it. Take some faith in that. Tell your Higher Graces this: I will see it all through, and by that alone, you will one day find a throne awaiting you.’

‘We have no need of a throne! We have no realm to rule!’

Draconus showed red-stained teeth in a cruel grin. ‘Heed your fucking leopard instincts, Caplo, and find some patience. Restraint, even. I’m working as fast as I can.’

Caplo crouched his forms low, studied the ravaged Azathanai. ‘You promise us a realm?’

‘And a throne. Do they seem gifts? Remind yourself of that the day you need to defend them both.’

‘Where will we find these… gifts?’

Draconus grunted a bitter laugh. ‘Not in your precious monasteries.’ He pushed himself to his feet, stood tottering, his dripping hands held out slightly for balance. ‘You have a choice here. Leave, and seek those already upon the shore. Or try me again. But should you prevail against me, ruin will haunt you all – with my blessing.’ And he offered Caplo another crimson smile, this one faintly sad.

The six panthers turned to depart.

Behind them, Draconus raised his voice. ‘That way, Caplo? Are you sure?’

Snarling, the assassin padded to the gate. Moments before passing through the shattered doorway, he sembled into his Tiste form, and then staggered to the massive wounds upon his naked body.

I should have thought of that.

Gasping, blinded by pain, he stumbled through the portal.

* * *

Since seeing High Priestess Emral Lanear, Orfantal had struggled with an overwhelming desire to curl into her lap. She seemed a mother of bad habits, and this intrigued him. He was not interested in making sense of it – thinking too much about things hadn’t done him much good, thus far. There was something clean and pure in his sense of the guardian wolves he had on occasion conjured into being, and what he could feel of their minds told him that there were creatures in the world – in all the worlds – that lived simpler lives. He wanted to emulate such ways of living.