turned stiffly and went out without answering me. I followed him, and we ate dinner in uncompromising silence before Mildmay, without a glance in my direction, insinuated himself into a card game. I went to bed early. He barely twitched an eyebrow. From his face and his lazy posture, no one could have guessed that he was playing for the money to pay our bill— or that he was sick. I hated myself for my selfishness as I climbed the stairs. This was my exile he was funding, after all, Mildmay dragged along only because of the obligation d’âme, and when he’d asked me to cast it, he surely couldn’t have been expected to be agreeing to be taken away from everything he’d ever known.
But he’d done that for me before we were bound together by magic. He’d walked across Kekropia for me, for no good reason. It occurred to me that I’d never even asked him why he’d done it, and I shuddered; right now I didn’t even want to know.
Maybe when we reached Esmer, I would feel brave enough for that conversation. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would get distracted and forget to ask.
Mildmay
I’d been playing cards for money since we hit Clerval, along of not having had the balls to ask Lord Giancarlo for what Felix was due on his stipend before we left. So our money’d run out, and Felix wasn’t good for nothing, and even if he hadn’t been wrapped in that black cloud, I wasn’t sure I could’ve talked him into reading the Sibylline for money the way Mavortian von Heber’d used to. And, you know, I’m a good pickpocket and everything, but that ain’t no reliable way to earn a living, especially not traveling. Besides which, I’d only have to fuck up once, and, well, depending on where we were, I might end up in jail for Kethe knows how long, or missing a hand, or dead. And I hated the fuck out of the first two options, thanks all the same, and if I got my stupid self killed, I wasn’t kidding myself about how long it’d be before Felix followed. I was mostly working on trying to keep him from leading, if you get me.
I’d been a cardsharp on and off since I had a septad and three, so it wasn’t like this was no new thing. And hating it wasn’t no new thing, either. So I gritted my teeth and played nice and careful and no cheating, because again that’s a good way to end up dead, and mostly I was the best player at the table by a septad- mile or so, and I never bet much and I never bet hard and I never pushed people to keep playing when they decided to fold, and so far nobody’d got pissed at me and so far I’d been able to keep a step ahead of the hotel bills.
So far.
In Arbalest, the game they liked was Horned Menelan, insane fucking thing with rules up one side and down the other, like where you sat and what color you were, for fuck’s sake. I could play it, but I didn’t like it none.
Don’t have to like it, Milly- Fox. Just have to win.
Felix
If I squinted at them, the cracks in the ceiling of our room made the shape of a tree, blasted by lightning— and certainly dead, for it was nothing but cracks in dry and ancient plaster. The Dead Tree, the eigh teenth trump of the Sibylline, that which offered neither shelter nor pity. The aftermath of betrayal, the cold and merciless light of truth: the full moon rose behind the Dead Tree and flooded the world with its heatless light.
So what does the moon show you, Felix Harrowgate, thief, murderer, traitor, whore?
Nothing I want to see.
I rolled over, but after a moment, I flopped onto my back again. Having the Dead Tree behind me was worse than staring at it. The moon was the governor of dreams, and I had carefully avoided thinking about my dreams all day long. But I couldn’t deny something was wrong, and with the Dead Tree glaring down at me, I couldn’t deny I needed to figure out what it was.
And I couldn’t deny, much as I might want to, that I knew where to start.
I sat up long enough to take my shoes off, then lay down again, making myself as
But he’d done that for me before we were bound together by magic. He’d walked across Kekropia for me, for no good reason. It occurred to me that I’d never even asked him why he’d done it, and I shuddered; right now I didn’t even want to know.
Maybe when we reached Esmer, I would feel brave enough for that conversation. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would get distracted and forget to ask.
Mildmay
I’d been playing cards for money since we hit Clerval, along of not having had the balls to ask Lord Giancarlo for what Felix was due on his stipend before we left. So our money’d run out, and Felix wasn’t good for nothing, and even if he hadn’t been wrapped in that black cloud, I wasn’t sure I could’ve talked him into reading the Sibylline for money the way Mavortian von Heber’d used to. And, you know, I’m a good pickpocket and everything, but that ain’t no reliable way to earn a living, especially not traveling. Besides which, I’d only have to fuck up once, and, well, depending on where we were, I might end up in jail for Kethe knows how long, or missing a hand, or dead. And I hated the fuck out of the first two options, thanks all the same, and if I got my stupid self killed, I wasn’t kidding myself about how long it’d be before Felix followed. I was mostly working on trying to keep him from leading, if you get me.
I’d been a cardsharp on and off since I had a septad and three, so it wasn’t like this was no new thing. And hating it wasn’t no new thing, either. So I gritted my teeth and played nice and careful and no cheating, because again that’s a good way to end up dead, and mostly I was the best player at the table by a septad- mile or so, and I never bet much and I never bet hard and I never pushed people to keep playing when they decided to fold, and so far nobody’d got pissed at me and so far I’d been able to keep a step ahead of the hotel bills.
So far.
In Arbalest, the game they liked was Horned Menelan, insane fucking thing with rules up one side and down the other, like where you sat and what color you were, for fuck’s sake. I could play it, but I didn’t like it none.
Don’t have to like it, Milly- Fox. Just have to win.
Felix
If I squinted at them, the cracks in the ceiling of our room made the shape of a tree, blasted by lightning— and certainly dead, for it was nothing but cracks in dry and ancient plaster. The Dead Tree, the eigh teenth trump of the Sibylline, that which offered neither shelter nor pity. The aftermath of betrayal, the cold and merciless light of truth: the full moon rose behind the Dead Tree and flooded the world with its heatless light.
So what does the moon show you, Felix Harrowgate, thief, murderer, traitor, whore?
Nothing I want to see.
I rolled over, but after a moment, I flopped onto my back again. Having the Dead Tree behind me was worse than staring at it. The moon was the governor of dreams, and I had carefully avoided thinking about my dreams all day long. But I couldn’t deny something was wrong, and with the Dead Tree glaring down at me, I couldn’t deny I needed to figure out what it was.
And I couldn’t deny, much as I might want to, that I knew where to start.
I sat up long enough to take my shoes off, then lay down again, making myself as
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