Reis was so shocked that he blurred slightly at the margins, but he collected himself quickly and set his lines, details, and neatness into even sharper precision. “I should ask that of you. I know all the undying who chose rebirth—such a big, rambunctious family we are—but you are a new one. An opportunist, perhaps, spurred by a moment’s curiosity? We do gain a few that way. But you could only have been reborn with the help of someone stronger . . . see?” With a contemptuous flick, he brushed the Trickster’s hands down and away with abrupt yet controlled force. “You don’t have the power to manage this by yourself.”

“Children,” Patience said firmly. “Do not fight in my house.” She was sitting on the ground again, absently running a narrow length of gold-and-red silk through her fingers.

Reis bowed deeply. “My apologies, Eldest. But why allow one sent by angels to be manhandled like a thief sneaking in unwanted?”

Patience nodded, admitting the misdemeanor. “He is not usually this suspicious, but he has had a stressful time of late. Do not judge him.”

“Who is he?” Reis demanded with an intensity that was beyond mere query.

Patience ignored his question. “Farewell, dear Prince. It is good that you came and very good that Uriel sent you, but it is not safe to linger here. We are yet in the midst of battle.”

He shrugged, disappointed yet resigned in the face of the implacable. “Understood. I am glad I was of some use. Good hunting, Eldest.”

Before he vanished, one long look went to the Trickster.

“I will remember you,” he murmured.

To the Trickster it sounded more like curiosity than threat, but it was worrying nonetheless.

Patience spoke briskly. “It is time to find the elusive Mr. Outis and bring him into my labyrinth.”

“Bring him?” the Trickster exclaimed. “How? What happened to free will?”

She glared at him. “It is your task to persuade him. Make his life so uncomfortable that he will gladly consent to be elsewhere, even here.” She smiled coldly and beckoned him closer. “We have his thread.”

In an unexpected moment of whimsy, or perhaps in teasing acceptance of the human need for tangible symbols, she looped the ribbon of red-and-gold silk around his fingers. There was a translucent, cloudy-white stone tied to the ribbon, and it pressed against his wrist, hot from long holding in her hand.

“There,” she said. “Now bring him to me.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“For now you may call me Ajit,” said the Trickster.

The transition away from Patience had been quick but rich with information. The amulet pulled directly and sharply, like snagging a thread, and there were other tensions present. He could sense that Chance’s labyrinth was growing deeper and more complex, drawing in like a living web to entrap their adversary. The knowledge gladdened and strengthened him, bringing insouciance to his tongue and daring to his actions. He was going to enjoy himself.