“The murdering shit-stain was no credit to your principals, whatever they think. Anyhow, he must have spied us out along with the money in our vault. I’ve had a long time to think about the situation, and it’s the only explanation that makes sense.
“We did our job,” he continued, “and then it turned out that the Gray King coveted our good fortune. He had a lot of bills to pay. So we got the chop. It was—”
Every fiber of his being, already unhinged by his more recent illness, revolted at the recollection of those moments drowning in a cask of warm, soupy filth.
“ … it was a near thing.”
“Did any of the Barsavis survive?”
“None. Nazca was murdered to put her father’s nerves on edge. With our help, the Gray King tricked Barsavi into thinking he’d avenged her. He threw a party at the Floating Grave, and that’s where he and his sons were taken apart. Hell of a spectacle. Remember the Berangias sisters?”
“How could I forget?”
“They were in on it. Turns out they were actually the sisters of the Gray King. They served Barsavi all those years, waiting for the moment to strike.”
“Gods, what happened to them?”
“Jean happened.”
“And this Gray King?”
“Ah.” Locke cleared his throat. “He was my affair. We crossed swords.”
“Now, to that I must admit some pleasant surprise,” said Sabetha, and Locke felt a fresh warmth around his heart at the sparkle of interest in her eyes. “Did you finally start paying attention to your bladework?”
“Ah, don’t be misled. I’m afraid he opened me up like a physiker. I had to trick him into letting me sheath a dagger in his back.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “I’m pleased you killed him. Still a pity you never amended your clumsiness with long steel.”
“Well, Sabetha, unlike some, I’m afraid I’ve just never had it in me to instantly presume a flawless expertise in every last sphereof human endeavor.”
“There was nothing instant about it. You mighthave thrown yourself into training as vigorously as I did, if you hadn’t lived with the expectation of having Jean Tannen at your back for the rest of your life.”
“No. Gods damn it, I would gladly listen to you berate me until the sun comes up, but not on this subject. Jean isn’t some dog I tricked into a leash. He’s my true and particular friend. He’s still yourtrue and particular friend, though both of you may need some time to recall it.”
“Forgive me,” she said. “I had your best interests at heart.”
“For someone whose primary insistence in life has alwaysbeen that she must be taken true and unalloyed, unbending to the whims of those around her, you have a curious interest in the correction of mycondition!”
“Ouch,” she said softly.
“Fuck.” Locke slammed his fists down on his legs. “Forgive me. I know you mean well—”
“No, you’re right,” she said. “I’m an extraordinarily accomplished hypocrite. Anything that displeased you is unsaid. Please go on with your story.”
“Ahhh … all right. Well. Not much more to say about Camorr. We took ship for Vel Virazzo the night the Gray King died. Oh! I met the Spider.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“When the Gray King business reached its conclusion, the duke’s people had no choice but to get involved. After an initial misunderstanding, the Spider and I worked together. Very briefly.”
“Sweet gods, were you pardonedfor your crimes?”
“Oh, hells, no. Once the Gray King was dead, Jean and I bolted like rabbits.”
“And did you learn the actual identity of the Spider?”
“Yes, she and I had words on several occasions.”
“So it was a woman! As I’d always thought.”
“How did you know?”
“All those years of rumors,” said Sabetha, “and the one detail that emerged with absolute clarity from the fog was that the Spider was a man. Everyone was certain. Now, if this person could maintain total control over every other shred of their identity, why was such a fundamental truth allowed to slip? It had to be misdirection.”
“Heh. So it was.”
“And who was she, then?”
“Ahhh,” said Locke. “I see I’ve got something that genuinely intrigues you. I think I’ll hold onto it for a while.”
“Oh? I’ll remember this, Master Lamora. On that you have my word. So you took ship. What next?”
Warmed to the subject, Locke spent about ten minutes summarizing the two years spent in and around Tal Verrar—the nature of the scheme for Requin’s Sinspire, the interference of Maxilan Stragos, the time in the Ghostwinds, the battles at sea, the loss of Ezri, the loss of nearly everything.
“Incredible,” Sabetha said when he drew his story to a close. “I’d heard about the trouble in Tal Verrar. You causedall that. You brought the gods-damned Archon down! You silly, stupid, lucky little wretches!”
“And for our genius, we left Tal Verrar without Jean’s love, without a fortune, and without an antidote.”
“I’m sorry for all of that. Especially for Jean.”
“I’d say something comforting, like how he’ll get over it in time, but I know he won’t.” Locke paused, and lowered his voice. “I know I didn’t.”
“Ah,” said Sabetha. It was a completely noncommittal noise. “And here we are, then.”
“Here we are,” said Locke. “Stories told.”
“I have … instructions from my principals,” she said. “We’re not forbidden from talking to one another, but in the matter of the election … Look, we’ve got to fight it out to the last. Sincerely. All of our tricks, all of our skills. The consequences for holding back would be severe. So severe, I could never—”
“I understand,” he said. “I have similar directions from my … uh, principals.”
“Gods, I wish we could talk all night.”
“Then why don’t we?”
“Because I didn’t expect to get this much honesty out of you.” She rose. “And if I don’t do what I really brought you here for, I might lose my nerve.”
“Wait, what do you mean—”
She answered him by pulling him out of the chair and into her arms. Reflexively, he fought back for a moment, but the intensity of the embrace subdued him.
“I am glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “Please believe me, whatever else happens, I’m so glad to see you.”
“I can’t believe I have two reasons to be grateful to the Bondsmagi,” said Locke. Gods, she was warm and strong, and her scent so instantly familiar beneath the slightest sweet-apple scent of perfume. He ran a hand through the gentle curls of her hair and sighed. “Assholes. I’d work for free for any chance to be near you. They’re offering a fortune, and I’d throw it in the Amathel for this. I—”
“Locke,” she whispered. “Indulge me.”
“Oh?”
“Kiss me.”
“With every—”
“No, not like that. My preferred way. You know what I mean. From back when we were—”
“Ahhh,” he said, laughing. “Your servant, madam.”
Sabetha had always had a peculiar ticklish weakness, something he’d discovered by accident when they’d first become lovers so many years before. He gently placed his left hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back, then planted his lips high up the side of her neck, beneath her ear.
The way she moved in his arms instantly folded his better judgment up and hid it away in a deep, dark place.
“So this is what you really brought me here for?”
“Keep going,” she said breathlessly, “and we’ll find out.”
He kissed her several more times, and when he felt he’d teased her enough, ran his tongue up and down those same few inches of warm skin. She actually gasped, and clutched him more tightly still.
“Oh, dear,” he said, laughing and smacking his lips. He swallowed several times to clear a curious dry taste from his tongue. “Your perfume. I seem to have removed some of it. I hope it wasn’t expensive.”