The slight brush of cloth hitting the floor behind him made him spin and lash out. But there was nothing there except Blint’s tunic in a pile on the floor. A thump announced Blint himself landing behind Kylar. Kylar spun once more, but something caught his left hand, then his right.

Master Blint stood bare-chested, a dead look in his eyes, his real hands at his sides. Kylar’s wrists were held in the air by magic. Slowly, his arms were pulled apart until he was spread-eagled, then further. Kylar held his silence for as long as he could, then screamed as he felt his joints on the verge of dislocating.

The bonds dropped and Kylar crumpled, defeated.

Durzo shook his head in disappointment—and Kylar attacked. His kick slowed as it approached Durzo’s knee as if it were sinking into a spring, then bounced back, spinning him hard and throwing him in a tangle to the floor.

“Do you see what just happened?” Durzo asked.

“You kicked my ass again,” Kylar said.

“Before that.”

“I almost hit you,” Kylar said.

“You fooled me and you would have destroyed me, but I used my Talent and you still refuse to use yours. Why?”

Because I’m broken. Since meeting Drissa Nile four years ago, Kylar had thought a hundred times about telling Durzo Blint what she’d told him: he didn’t have a conduit, and it couldn’t be fixed. But the rules had always been clear. Kylar became a wetboy, or he died. And as Blint had just proved again, Kylar wouldn’t be a wetboy without the Talent. Telling Blint the truth had always seemed like a quick way to die. Kylar had tried everything to get his Talent to work or to learn about anything that might help, but had found nothing.

Blint breathed deeply. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. “It’s time for some truth, Kylar. You’re a good fighter. Deficient still with pole arms and clubs and crossbows and—” He was starting to lecture but noticed it. “Regardless, you’re as good at hand-to-hand fighting and with those Ceuran hand-and-a-half swords you like as any fighter I’ve seen. Today you would’ve had me. You won’t win next time, but you’ll start winning. Your body knows what to do, and your mind has got it mostly figured out, too. In the next few years, your body will get a bit faster, a bit stronger, and you’ll get cleverer by half. But your weapons training is finished, Kylar. The rest is practice.”

“And?” Kylar asked.

“Follow me. I’ve got something that may help you.”