“A grudge, Bragi. Definitely a grudge. This dark Deliverer, this warlord of the dead, is driven by hatred. Something twisted and molded and reshaped him till all he cares about is revenge. On Shinsan. On you. Because, Bragi, the Deliverer is Ethrian. My nephew. Your godson. Nepanthe and Mocker’s boy.”

She expected the news to smack him like a blow from a club, and she was not disappointed. He gulped air like a fish out of water. “But… but…” He stared, unable to accept. The Queen stared at him, her face pallid, one shaky hand held at her lips. Bragi tried to say something, apparently could not.

“It’s true, Bragi. I’ll swear any oath you want. Something in the east saved him from the Pracchia. He’s been out there all this time. That something saved him, made him an instrument of destruction and vessel of hatred, gave him immense power, then lost control. I saw him at Lioantung, Bragi. Physically he looks like you’d expect after all this time. But inside he’s not Ethrian anymore. He’s more like the embodiment of a natural force gone mad.”

Inger croaked something. Bragi groaned. “I believe her. Look at her. She’s scared silly. Now we know why Varthlokkur was so damned cranky whenever Ethrian’s name came up. He knew.”

Mist admitted her fear. “You’re right. I’m so frightened I can’t think. I just want to run… I keep wishing I’d left it in Lord Kuo’s lap. I didn’t bargain for this. You know what history will do to me if I can’t stop Ethrian? If there is any history?”

Bragi mused, “I really do understand Varthlokkur now.”

“What?”

“He knew. He’s known for a long time. He’s mentioned Ethrian several times since he’s been here. Hinting that he might still be alive. Acting like a man wrestling his conscience. Now I know what he meant when he said he couldn’t tell Nepanthe because it would destroy her.” He levered himself out of his chair. “He even threatened me when I suggested she ought to know there was a chance Ethrian was alive.”

Mist looked up at him. He was pale as death. As frightened as she. He believed. Somehow, that took a huge load off her shoulders. Shared fear is softened fear, she thought, recalling one of the lessons taught young soldiers.

“Let’s go talk to him,” Bragi suggested.

“I will need his help too,” she admitted. “And almost certainly Nepanthe’s.”

The King winced. “Don’t expect him to cooperate. He’s determined to keep it from her.”

“I’ll sell him. I have to.”

“Be careful what you say. I’ve never seen him so touchy. He said he’d pull out on me if I even dropped a hint to Nepanthe.”

Inger glanced up sharply, startled. A strange look entered her eyes. What the devil? Mist wondered. “Uhm,” she grunted. At another time she would have incorporated that bit of intelligence into her plans. Not now, though. All she wanted now was a way out of her dilemma.