“Come, take your place beside me,” he said. Once again, she saw that undisguised lust in his face, and did not know if he lusted for her body or for her endowments.

Iome found herself halfway to the throne before she realized that he’d used his Voice to order her. To be manipulated this way angered her.

She sat on the throne, tried not to look at Raj Ahten’s face, at his incredibly handsome face.

“You understand why I must do this, don’t you?” he asked.

Iome didn’t answer.

“Someday you will thank me.” Raj Ahten studied her frankly. “Have you studied in the House of Understanding, or have you read the chronicles?”

Iome nodded. She’d read the chronicles—at least selected passages.

“Have you heard the name of Daylan Hammer?”

Iome had. “The warrior?”

“The chroniclers called him ‘the Sum of All Men.’ Sixteen hundred and eighty-eight years ago, he defeated the Toth invaders and their magicians, here on Rofehavan’s own shores. He defeated them almost single-handedly. He had so many endowments of stamina that when a sword passed through his heart, it would heal up again as the blade exited. Do you know how many endowments that takes?”

Iome shook her head.

“I do,” Raj Ahten said, pulling back his shirt. “Try it, if you like.”

Iome had her poniard strapped under her skirts. She hesitated just a moment. It seemed ghoulish, yet she might never have another chance to stab the man.

She pulled it, looked into his eyes. Raj Ahten watched her, confident. Iome plunged the dagger up between his ribs, saw the pain in his eyes, heard him give a startled gasp. She twisted the blade, yet no blood flowed down the runnel. Only a slight red film oozed where the blade met flesh. She pulled the blade free.

The wound closed as the bloody blade exited.

“You see?” Raj Ahten asked. “Neither your mother’s poison nor your own dagger can hurt me. Among Runelords, there has never been another of Daylan’s equal. Until now.

“It is said in my country that when he’d received enough endowments, he no longer needed to take them. The love of his people supported him, it flowed to him. When his Dedicates died, his powers remained, undiminished.”

She’d never read that. It defied her understanding of the art of the Runelords. Yet she hoped it was true. She hoped that such a thing could be, that Raj Ahten would someday quit draining people like her father.

“I think,” Raj Ahten said softly, “that I am nearly there. I think I shall be his equal, and that I shall defeat the reavers without the loss of fifty million human lives, as would happen under any other plan.”