“You might not want to, son, but there’s something in you that refuses to die,” Durzo said. He threw the broken blade aside, but didn’t draw any other weapon.

“Master, don’t make me fight you,” Kylar said, pointing the blade at Durzo’s throat.

“You made your choice when you disobeyed me.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I wouldn’t have apprenticed you, but I thought you were something you’re not. May the Night Angels forgive me.”

“I don’t mean me!” Kylar’s hands shook on the sword. “Why’d you make me betray my best friend?”

“Because you broke the rules. Because life’s empty. Because I broke the rules too.” Durzo shrugged. “It catches up.”

“That’s not good enough!”

Durzo tented his hands and pursed his lips. “Logan died screaming, you know. Pathetic.”

Kylar lashed out. The sword streaked for Durzo’s neck. But Durzo didn’t flinch. The blade slapped into his palm and stopped as if it didn’t even have an edge.

But Durzo’s hands were still tented in front of him. The hand holding Kylar’s sword was made of pure magic.

It flung Retribution out of Kylar’s grip. Other hands bloomed in the air, striking at him. Kylar blocked and stumbled back as Durzo walked forward calmly, surging with Talent.

There was nothing Kylar could do. He blocked faster and faster, but the hands came faster still. Dimly, a few hands of his own Talent bloomed in front of him and blocked some of the attacks, but it wasn’t enough. Durzo drove him back and back.

Finally, hands latched onto each of Kylar’s limbs and pinned him to the wall. He couldn’t move an inch.

“Ah, kid,” Durzo said. “If I could have taught you to use your Talent, you’d have been something really special.”

Durzo drew a throwing dagger. Spun it in his fingers. Brought it up. He paused as if to say something, then shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Kylar.”

“Don’t be. Life’s empty, right?”

Durzo sighed. He was staring at Retribution, gleaming blackly at Kylar’s feet, as close as the moonlight and as far away as the moon. The look on his scarred face was anguish, regret.

Following his gaze, Kylar stared at the black sword that Durzo had carried for so many years, and remembered—

Scowling, Durzo had snatched the pouch away from him and turned it over. The Globe of Edges fell into his hand. “Damn. Just what I thought,” he said, his voice harsh in the quiet of the Jadwin hallway.

“What?” Kylar asked.

It was a fake, another fake ka’kari.

But Durzo wasn’t in any mood to answer questions. “Did the girl see your face?”

Kylar’s silence was enough.

“Take care of it. Kylar, that’s not a request. It’s an order. Kill her.”

“No,” Kylar said.