In the end, Stammel and Arcolin followed two Councilors and several clerks to the city’s prison. There, in the lamplit governor’s office, Kory was brought before them. He looked the worse for wear, with fresh scrapes and bruises and one sleeve ripped to the shoulder; his hair had been tied back close to his head, so his scar was clearly visible. In daylight it had been just a mass of pale scar tissue, shiny. But in the lamplight, as he ducked his head, the shadows suddenly showed the shape of the brand under it all, the fox head.

Without waiting for permission, Stammel walked up to him. “Well, Korryn—you don’t seem to have learned much in the past hand of years.”

“You!” The man glared. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have had a decent place in the world.”

“You always were a braggart,” Stammel said. “If you’d put the effort into honest work you put into bragging and bullying, you probably would have had a decent life. I’m not the one who made you a liar and a coward.”

“I’m not a coward,” Korryn said. “I’m just not stupid enough to bow and scrape to the likes of you.” He spat at Stammel; Stammel put up a hand in time, looked at the spittle, and then wiped it down Korryn’s own shirtfront.

“Your noble father—if indeed you had such—would not be pleased with his bastard,” Stammel said.

“Would he not?” Korryn grinned suddenly, a different grin. “I think he would—” His arms struck out, the broken chains of his bonds smashing the two guards in the face, and then his hands closed on Stammel’s throat. “I have looked forward to this a long time, Matthis Stammel.”

Arcolin felt a pressure on him like a load of sand: he could not move. He knew at once it was some enchantment.

“It was my honor to serve as the body for one greater than I could ever be,” Korryn said. “And to have an audience—that is best of all.”

Stammel, Arcolin saw, could not struggle; his face darkened to a dusky purple, then bluish. Korryn dropped him, a limp heap, to the floor, then pulled a blade from one of the motionless guards.

“Which should I kill first?” he asked in a light tone. “The captain who never knew me and yet was quick to condemn? The Councilors? The guards? Such a puzzle … who will suffer most from watching others die and being unable to stop them? My pretty captain, I do believe—” He stroked Arcolin’s cheek with the flat of the guard’s sword. “But do not worry, Captain—before you die of shame, I will have my fun with you, too. I think the guards first, as they are such mindless cattle they might escape my spell.”

He did not turn, but backed around behind the guards, slitting the throat of one; blood sprayed out, soaking Stammel’s body. The other, he gutted from behind, slowly, watching with obvious delight those who could not move to stop him. “In favor of my lord Liart, and my lord Ibbirun, I give this blood and this pain,” he said. “May they grant me power to serve them better.” He dipped his hand in blood and then walked around, smearing blood on all their faces.