Sheraptus had no eyes for it, though. Nor did he have eyes for the sensation of a thin and sickly grasp about his wrist, fingers wriggling in between his fingers and prising them apart to expose a sweat-slick and vulnerable palm. He didn’t dare look down at that.
The granite felt a leaden life in his palm, a thing that squirmed against its shell and writhed against his skin, seeking a way in. It beat like a living thing, shed warmth as though it had blood all its own. It was alive.
He had no heart, no will to do anything but hurl it away, let alone ask what it was. But amidst the many things the Gray One That Grins knew, he knew this.
“Salvation,” he whispered through his teeth, forcing Sheraptus’s fingers closed over the stone. “Not from a god.”
He slipped backward, knees groaning and feet clicking upon the stones, a man who walked in and out of nightmares like a bad thought himself.
“To Jaga. To the tome. To kill, Sheraptus. Him and her. What you were created to do.”
Sheraptus stared into the darkness. He might have indeed been alone, left only with the dying sun and the dead bodies and the echoes that had died at the sound of his associate’s voice.
Pure destruction, he thought. It was here. It was there on Teji. It was there on the ship. Amidst my warriors, amidst the overscum. . inside her. And they are all dead.
And I am not.
He dared not think further. He dared not dwell on the reason. He dared not contemplate what the presence of pure destruction implied.
He might not have been alone.
And so he closed his eyes and turned his thoughts outward. His crown burned, the gems set inside it smoldering on his brow as something awoke inside him. It snapped in the back of his head, awoke from an electric slumber with the faintest of crackles. It slipped from him and into the air, where it traveled on a bridge from his skull.
And sought the end.
SEVEN
So, anyway. .
His wrist twitched. The blade came singing out of its hiding place, all sleek and shiny and puckering up its thin little steel lips.
What exactly are you doing, anyway? You’ve got a throat you need to open, you know. Seems a tad rude to keep her waiting.
He pulled its hidden latch, drew it back into its sheath. It disappeared with a disappointed scraping sound.
And I’d hate for her to think me rude. I also hated Bralston to think me a mass murderer. It seems reasonable that I should be allowed at least a day between murders.
He twitched and the Long, Slow Kiss came whistling out, eager and ready.
You’ve killed more in a day before, you know. Pirates, frogmen. . you might not have the highest score, of course, but you’ve definitely been in the running.
He pulled it back in, silenced its scraping protest with a quiet click.
See, that’s kind of the thing: they aren’t points. Or they shouldn’t be, at least. You shouldn’t be trying to justify this. You murdered thousands, sure, but those were thousands of eyes you didn’t have to look into. This is different. These ones. . hers. . they’ve seen you. They know you. Too well.
Twitch. It came out.
That’s kind of what they look to you for, though, isn’t it?
Pull. It went back in.
They ask too much of you. If they knew what you’ve done-
Twitch.
And why don’t they? Oh, right. Because if you tell them, they’ll always be bringing that up whenever you’re in an argument. “Oh yeah?” they’ll say. “Well, at least I didn’t inadvertently cause the deaths of four hundred wailing children and the rapes of their mothers.” And, really, what kind of retort is there for that?
Pull.
Don’t be stupid. They’re far more likely to kill you for it. Then you’ll go to hell, where you belong, and suffer for all eternity for it.
Twitch.
Would they, though? Kataria and Gariath haven’t even heard of Cier’Djaal. They wouldn’t even care. Dreadaeleon is barely aware of an existence beyond himself. Lenk probably would take offense.
Pull.
Of course, Lenk also just tried to cauterize his own wound to see if it would hurt. Does his opinion really matter?
Twitch.
So that leaves. .
He looked up. The village of Teji was quiet. The Owauku and Gonwa milled about, not paying attention to him as he sat beside the hut that held his prisoner. Not a sign of pink skin or blue robe in sight.
Huh.
Pull.
She usually comes around just as I’m thinking of her. Well, I suppose that would get a bit predictable after-
“Hey.”
Ah, there we are.
He looked up, flashing disinterest at Asper as she stood over him. “Hello.”
“The others have left,” she said. “Just about half an hour ago.”
“You didn’t try to-”
“I did. Not hard. Lenk says he should be back in a few days, assuming all goes well.”
“He just gave himself a rampaging infection and fell into babbling hysterics for the thousandth time,” Denaos said. “How could it not go well with that kind of intellect in charge?”
“He was. . under stress,” she said. “I’m just glad we were there to act when we did.”
“You’re glad?”
“More than I would have been if he tried to do it on his own.”
“Well, naturally. Him acting like a feebleminded toddler must appeal strongly to whatever matronly instincts have been rattling around inside your pelvis for the past ten years.”
“Yes, I have a penchant for associating with men who act like children on a regular basis, apparently.” She glanced to the hut’s door. “Is it done, then?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m sitting out here, not covered in blood and not breathing hard. Because the she-beast inside just sighed and accepted that it was her time.”
“I assumed it would be quick. Cold-blooded murder tends to be, I’ve heard.”
“You’re right, I ought to just untie her. It’s not like she can do a lot after you ruined her arm, right?”
She turned a glower upon him. He shrugged.
“You wanted to talk about it,” he said.
“Not now,” she replied sharply. “And with you, not ever.” Her gaze returned to the hut. “Has she been given last rites?”
“Has the rampaging crazy woman that calls the Gods ‘invisible skycreatures’ been given last rites?”
“It’s likely more apparent to those with more sense than sarcasm, but last rites doesn’t have to be all about the Gods,” she said. “She might have last words. She might have a last request.”
“She likely has both, and I guarantee that both of them consist of ‘bend over,’ ‘sword,’ and ‘jam in your rectum.’” He waved at the door. “By all means, though. Go crazy. Maybe she’ll repent and cover herself with the holy cloth and you two can go deliver cattle together or something.”
She split her gaze between the door and the rogue, making certain neither went wanting for contempt before she finally spat on the earth at his feet.
“I don’t waste my time,” she said, “for any man, woman, or god.”
She turned on her heel and stormed off, disappearing into the village and scattering lizardmen before her. He clicked his tongue and looked back down to his blade, feeling it twitch inside its sheath, against his wrist, trying to come out all on its own.