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Back Four Roads Cross Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. Also by Max Gladstone
  74. About the Author
  75. Newsletter Sign-up

“Now come on.” She tried to sit up, and failed. “Drag me to the hospital. I’d like to beat the rush.”

*   *   *

Tara flew over the city. Over her city. Free.

Stone wings beat, and Aev approached her. “Shale?”

She turned from the flaw in the demonglass arch. “He’s trapped,” she said. “Out west. He—threw himself into a monster’s mouth to save us. I’ll get him back. Bring him home.” She heard the weakness in her voice and didn’t hate herself for it.

That’s new, she thought.

Aev touched her arm. Then, before Tara could push her away, the gargoyle hugged her. Her stone was cold and warm at once.

“Thanks,” Tara said when they were done.

“We are wounded,” Aev said. “We are tired. We will heal, and go back for him. For now, let us celebrate like free women.”

“And Abelard. We should pick him up. He needs a break.”

“Do you think he can keep up?”

Tara grinned. “I’d like to watch him try.”

69

69

The gray tower stood at a cliff’s edge over a cold ocean where waves frothed amid sharp rocks. The tower’s windows were blind eyes against the sea, save at the summit, where one light shone.

Madeline Ramp turned from the ocean to her chamber. She required few homely comforts, which was why she carried all she needed with her: a cauldron, a well-stocked icebox, a good bed, several bookcases. In one corner, a cello swayed through an Old World sonata.

A package rested on her oaken clawfoot coffee table. The postman dropped it off “between 2:00 and 6:00 P.M. Seconday” to one of the addresses on which her front door opened. In fact the package had not arrived ’til well past seven, but under the circumstances she would not complain. She had not yet opened the box. Best to savor anticipation, the man himself had said. Like unwrapping a peasant.

She was quite sure that had been a slip of the tongue, but she’d not asked him for clarification.

She walked to the charcuterie spread she’d prepared, rolled a straw of prosciutto, popped it in her mouth, and chewed. She tasted meat and salt, smoke and fat. A bottle of pinot noir tipped wine into a glass, which floated to her hand as she turned back to the box. Bunny slippers scuffed across the gold thread of a Skeld rug.

She settled into her armchair, and with a flick of her fingers began to unwrap. Brown string untied itself and curled into a coil on the table. Tape split.

She ran her fingertips over rough cardboard and checked for signs of tampering, finding none.

She opened the lid, plunged her hand into packing immaterial, and found—

Nothing.