A momentary sliver of calm pierced through Cyrus’s angry veil of thought. Stasia would not permit the death of her father. The Lioness would also hunt in vengeance for her family. He could not bring himself to harm either of the sisters, not even in self-defense, which meant Thorda must also live. He reined in his fury. He pulled back his sword and stepped away from his master. No, his former master.

“I am done with your rebellion,” he seethed at Thorda. “I renounce your Vagrant god. I am not your puppet. It is only for your daughters’ sakes that I let you live, for they are each worth a thousand of you.”

Thorda lowered his sword to his lap, and he faintly smiled. There was something frightful in his eye when he spoke.

“Godhood cannot be so easily cast aside, Cyrus, as you will soon learn.”

Cyrus jammed his weapons into their sheaths and stormed for the exit.

“I would have an explanation,” Stasia said, blocking his way. Cyrus pushed past her with a collision of their shoulders.

“Ask your father. He will tell you, if he is not a coward.”

The sound of anger and steel had clearly reverberated throughout the house. The others stared at him in silence, but only Mari moved to intercept his path to the front door.

“Cyrus, wait,” she asked. “What… what’s going on?”

He wished he could explain himself. He wished he could say goodbye properly, but how could he do so when it meant revealing the monstrous and vile nature of her father?

“I’m sorry, Mari,” he said. “But you will not see me again.”

Cyrus slammed the door shut behind him, pulled his hood high up over his face, and vowed never to return.

CHAPTER 49

SINSHEI

If Sinshei vin Lucavi was certain of anything, it was that the world conspired against her. She sat in a chair before the grand mirror of her bedroom, having recently finished tying the last of her braids. The messenger from the docks had just left. His words echoed in her mind, each syllable mocking her plans and her ambitions. Anger and indecision mixed to lock her in place in that chair. When the door opened, and Soma entered without knocking, she did not turn, only observed him in the mirror. By the smile on his face, things must have gone well for him, and terrible for Magus.

“Did the Vagrant and his allies attack as predicted?” she asked.

“They did,” he said, and he gestured wide as if thoroughly pleased with himself. “The square burns, the prisoners are hanged, and Magus himself is dead. The Vagrant, I’m sure, believes himself the one responsible, but the heavens were kind enough to grant me the honor of finishing off the bastard.”

The paragon strode to her chair, and he clapped his hands together.