“Because I will let you die if you don’t,” Rhazat replied sweetly. “Come now, it’s not such a chore.”

“This is what keeps you here, isn’t it? This is what my ancestor Nhandi did to you.”

“Yes, it is and you, being of her bloodline, can free me. Come now, it’s not difficult. Just a fingertip will do.”

“Do it yourself!”

Rhazat sighed.

“Then smash it.”

“Anyone could do that, but it would not break the magic as long as the seal remains in place.”

“I will never do what you ask.”

“Really? You would let your child die?”

Klia raised her chin. “I am of the royal house of Skala, and a general. It is my duty to protect the people of Skala. If I must sacrifice my life and my child’s to do that, then I will.”

“You surprise me, my dear,” Rhazat said, clearly displeased. “And suppose I were to cut off your hand?”

Klia pulled the padded glove from her maimed left hand. “You can start with this one.”

Rhazat sighed again. “Very well, not today.”

“Not ever.”

The dyrmagnos merely smiled.

Alec glanced sidelong at Seregil as they rode with the others into Menosi early the next morning. Seregil hadn’t slept well and his mood had not improved when Alec had strapped on his quiver and slung the Radly over his shoulder.

“What do you need that for?” he’d asked.

“Better to have it and not need it,” Alec replied with a shrug, and strode from the tent before Seregil could put up an argument.

As they approached the palace, he could tell that Seregil was more than just out of sorts. A hank of rope hung from Cynril’s saddlebow; apparently he meant to use it. Ahead of them, Mika was chattering excitedly to Thero and Micum about the ghosts he hoped to see.

“Look, I promise I’ll hang back,” Alec murmured.

Seregil said nothing, just set his thin lips in a grim line that never boded well.

Alec reined Windrunner in, letting Thero and the others go on ahead. Seregil turned Cynril and sidled in beside him with a questioning look.

Alec caught Seregil’s gaze and held it. “I worry about you, too, talí, but I’m not constantly second-guessing you.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. You are now. You’re the one who made me a nightrunner, Seregil. It’s a dangerous life. We both know that, but I don’t hear you constantly fussing over Micum or Thero.”

“Because they’re not my talímenios!” Seregil said softly.

“I’m also your partner, and I thought you considered me an equal.”

“Of course I do.”