Blint chuckled, his face was a cadaverous white. “I haven’t worried about dying in a long time. It’s not so bad.” He winced. “It’s not so good either. Kylar, promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Take care of my little girl. Save her. Momma K will know where they’ve got her.”

“I can’t,” Kylar said. “I would, but I can’t.”

He turned his head and pulled Durzo’s dart out of his neck. At first, he’d thought the twinge in his neck was from hitting the ground, but as soon as he moved, he knew better. It was a poisoned dart. Kylar was dying, too.

Durzo laughed. “Lucky throw,” he said. “Get me out of this tunnel. I’ll have to smell brimstone soon enough.”

Kylar pulled the two of them out of the door of the tunnel. He helped Durzo sit on the walkway and then sat across from him. Kylar was exhausted.

Maybe the poison on the dart was king snake venom with hemlock, then.

“You really love that Elene girl, don’t you?”

“I do,” Kylar said. “I really do.” Oddly, that was his only regret. He should have been a different man, a better man.

“I should be dead by now,” Durzo said.

“The knife got wet.” Was that touch of dizziness the poison?

Durzo tried to laugh, but eyes filled with sorrow instead. “Jorsin told me, ‘Six ka’kari for six angels of light, but one ka’kari stands watch in the night.’ The black has chosen you, Kylar. You are the Night Angel now. Give these petty, ungrateful people better than they deserve. Give them hope. This is your master’s piece: Kill Roth. For this city. For my daughter. For me.” His fingers dug painfully into Kylar’s arm. “I’m sorry, son. Sorry for all of it. Someday, maybe you can forgive. . . . ” his eyes dipped drowsily and he fought to open them, to stay focused.

Durzo wasn’t making sense. He knew Kylar was dying. It must have been the poison. “I do forgive you,” Kylar said. “May our deaths not be on each other’s heads.”

Durzo’s eyes lit suddenly and he seemed to rally against the poison in his veins. He smiled. “I didn’t poison . . . the dart. . . . The letter . . .” Durzo died in mid-breath, a slight tremor passing through his body, his eyes still fixed on Kylar.

Kylar closed Durzo’s eyes. A hollow enormity swallowed his stomach. A cry was stuck somewhere inside him, lost in the dark emptiness in his throat. Kylar stood woodenly, not taking enough care. The corpse slid from his lap, its head smacking roughly on the iron walkway. Its limbs were loose, graceless, lying in an uncomfortable position. Unmoving. Just like any corpse. In life, every man was unique. In death, every man was meat. Durzo was like any deader.