“Have you forgotten everything in the last few minutes, miscreant? You’re as stupid as the concubine.”

You had to hand it to Terebell: she was either immune to his attitude, or very good at hiding her emotions. If she had any.

“Forgive my curiosity,” she said.

“My family does not forgive. The scars on your back should remind you of that on a daily basis.” His eyes were full of Ivy’s aura. “That’s why you want to know. You’re trying to steal amaranth—aren’t you, Sheratan?”

Scars.

Terebell’s face was hard. “Where were the resources moved?”

“I don’t like your interest. I suspect it. Are you plotting with the concubine again?”

“That was almost twenty years ago, Thuban. A long time by human standards, wouldn’t you say?”

“I do not care for human standards.”

“If you hold the past against me, that is one thing. But I do not think the blood-sovereign would appreciate your attitude toward her consort. Or your questionable descriptions of his role.”

Her voice was harder now. Thuban took a blade from the wall and swung it toward her. It stopped an inch from her neck. She didn’t flinch. “One more word out of you,” he said, his voice a whisper, “and I will summon him. And this time he will not be so temperate.”

Terebell fell silent for a moment. I thought I saw something in her face: pain, fear. They must be talking about one of the Sargas. Gomeisa, perhaps.

“Yes. I believe I remember where the supplies are.” Her voice was low. “How could I forget Tom Tower?”

Thuban barked a laugh. I absorbed the information, like blood absorbing flux. “No one could forget it.” He breathed the words against her ear. “Nor the sound of its bell. Does it ring in your memories, Sheratan? Do you remember how you screamed for mercy?”

My limbs were beginning to ache, but I didn’t dare move. Thuban was inadvertently helping me. Tom Tower must be the one that stood above the entrance, the bell tower.

“I did not cry for mercy,” Terebell said, “but for justice.”

A harsh snarl escaped his throat. “Fool.” He raised a hand to strike her—then stopped dead. He sniffed.

“I sense an aura.” He sniffed again. “Search the room, Sheratan. It smells human.”

“I don’t sense anything.” Terebell stayed where she was. “The room was locked when we arrived.”

“There are other ways to enter a room.”

“Now you sound paranoid.”

But Thuban didn’t seem convinced. He was walking toward my hiding place, nostrils flared wide, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. A sickening thought occurred to me: that he was a sniffer, able to smell spiritual activity. If he sniffed me out, I was worse than dead.

His fingers moved toward the box that hid me. In the distance, in another room, something exploded.