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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

The question took her aback. She’d never considered letting herself fail before—the struggle’s difficulty always seemed proof of its value. “If we do, they win: the Cardinals who wonder why you’re at the table, or I am. The little gnome in your skull who says you shouldn’t be here, and when you try and fail it laughs and says, ‘See? You never should have tried at all.’”

“He’s in your head too?”

“Inside everyone’s, I think.”

“You don’t let on.”

“Mine’s loud enough I got deaf to the little bastard a while ago.” She looked down at her hands, and over at his, and before she could think better of it she laid her left on his right. Abelard was skin and gristle and bone. Not fit for roasting, Ma would have said. “The church will need a saint before this is over. It’ll need you. And I might, too.” Gods and demons, but that last felt hard to say—like peeling a hangnail into blood. What diagnosis would a headshrinker make of a woman who found admitting weakness less terrifying than necromantic war?

His hand stayed limp under hers. “I’ll try,” he said, and smiled weakly.

She hoped her disappointment didn’t show. “Good.”

She’d reached the ladder down before he spoke again. “We can win this, can’t we?”

“Sure,” she said, covering the lie.

15

15

Cat dove from the Bounty in the dark.

She never liked swimming. She liked it less in the ocean, and even less at night, but duty and preference were rare bedfellows. Not even bedfellows, she thought as the black water closed over her. They’d had one bitter night when duty and honor were on a break and preference was too drunk to remember she hated duty’s smirk and the way he treated waiters.

How could you not like swimming? was one of those questions fellow gym rats asked, with a precious emphasis on the last word. So calming, so rhythmic. Good for your back and blood pressure. Cat didn’t like calm, and she distrusted rhythm. More to the point, the Suit sank, an after-effect of its connection to the gargoyles and their goddess: she wasn’t made of stone, but the Suit convinced the world she was. Dive Suited and you’d tumble to the seafloor, which admittedly helped when the time came to dredge Alt Coulumb’s harbor.