“I don’t care about your binges. What have you done to Azoth?” She looked at the still form lying on the bed in her home’s guest room.

“Nothin’,” Durzo said, grinning foolishly. “Check. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with him.”

“What do you mean? He’s unconscious! I came back here and the servants were all in a flutter because you’d appeared here with—they said it was a corpse. I came up and Azoth was here. I can’t wake him. He’s dead to the world.”

For some reason, that set Durzo off. He started laughing.

Momma K slapped him, hard.

“Tell me what you’ve done. Have you poisoned him?”

That brought Durzo back. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “He’s dead. Has to be dead.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Gwinvere gorgeous,” Durzo said. “I can’t say. Someone threatened me. Someone who can do what they said. Said they’d come after Azo first, then you—and they knew about Vonda!”

Momma K drew back. Who had the power to threaten Durzo? Who or what could scare Durzo Blint?

Durzo sank onto a chair and put his face in his hands. “They have to think he’s dead. ’Specially after tonight.”

“You faked killing Azoth?”

Durzo nodded. “To show I didn’t care. To show they couldn’t push me.”

But you do, Momma K thought, and they can. She knew Durzo was thinking it, too. The wetboy had never been as invincible as he seemed. And when his control cracked, it burst wide open. The best Momma K could do was make sure that Durzo went to one of her brothels and have someone keep an eye on him. He might be there for two or three days straight, but she could make sure he was safe. Relatively.

“I’ll take care of the boy,” Momma K heard herself saying. “Do you have any idea what to do with him once he wakes up?”

“He’ll stay with the Drakes like we were planning. He’s dead to this world.”

“What did you use?”

Durzo looked at her, confused.

“What poison—never mind, just tell me, how long will he be unconscious?”

“I dunno.”

Momma K’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to slap him again. The man was insane. Even for a poisoner as gifted as Durzo, it was too easy to misjudge with a child. A child wasn’t simply a scaled-down adult. Durzo could have killed him. Durzo might have killed him. Azoth might never recover. Or he might wake and be an idiot, or not have the function of his limbs.

“You knew he might die,” she said.

“Sometimes you have to gamble.” Durzo patted his pockets, looking for garlic.

“You’re starting to love that boy, and it scares the hell out of you. Part of you wants him dead, doesn’t it, Durzo?”