“I pledged everything to support the Concern. My soul. Others’. If not for that, this city would be a desert now.” He raised his hand. Another drink floated over from the clubhouse.

“Do you think your partners would be happy to learn you used stolen property as collateral?”

“I paid off those loans long ago—not that I accept your characterization of the property as stolen. If you want to argue that point in court, send my people a date, and I’ll schedule my countersuit of libel for the same day so we can get all this over with at once. Is this the best you can do, Ms. Abernathy?”

She felt the same anger she’d seen in Shale, and squelched it. “A fight wouldn’t be good for either of us. I have a thousand years of documentary evidence on my side. And you’re—you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Where does it end? You’ve killed my client, and your own gods, and your own people. You just tried to goad Shale into suicide by Craftsman. How long can you keep this up?”

The glass settled in his hand. “I’m a Deathless King. I can keep this up forever. Sort of in the job description.”

“Why don’t your old friends visit you anymore?”

The sky cracked and blackened and split with lightning. The earth opened, and fangs of fire jutted up. Black thorn-vines curled around Tara’s limbs, growing as they pierced clothes and skin and meat. Far away, everyone screamed.

Then she stood unharmed on the white beach beneath the blue sky as the sun crept to apex. Waves rolled. The world endured.

She remembered it ending. It had, a second ago.

The King in Red swirled his drink. Pink alcoholic slush churned beneath paper umbrellas. His laugh sounded like the rasp of sandpaper over fingernails. “You do speak your mind, Ms. Abernathy.”

She did not trust herself to move, but she could speak. “You’re long in Coulumbite bonds. If Kos falls, you lose millions of souls. Give Seril back the sky, and your stake’s safe.”

“Or I could swallow the loss and watch your self-righteous mistress die, because it amuses me to do so.”

“My client,” she corrected. “Not mistress. And with all due respect, if you wanted to do that, you’d have joined Ramp.”

He sipped his cocktail, and damn him if he didn’t make her hold her breath.

“I’m afraid,” he said, “you’re speaking with the wrong guy. I donated my aerial rights to Alt Coulumb when Kos returned from the dead.”

“Donated?” The word felt strange in her mouth.