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A S HE WAITED for the end, Kanthe leaned his forehead against the bars of his cell. He stared across the dungeon to the open doors of the hearth. Atop the coals, the iron mask glowed a fiery red.

Rami drew alongside him. “It seems your brother was correct about how long it takes iron to heat up. The second bell of morning should be ringing anytime.”

“Hopefully, he’ll linger over his poached eggs, maybe over a pipe, too, then take a little rest to properly digest.” Kanthe glanced over to Frell and Cassta. “We could certainly do with some rest ourselves.”

No one had gotten any sleep.

The only change in their accommodations was that the body of Gheel had been hauled away. Kanthe suspected it was so that Mikaen would not have to endure the stench of bowel and bile, especially as the Shield’s bulk had rested too close to the same hearth and heated up alongside the iron mask. That wouldn’t do when the king returned. Knowing Mikaen, he would want to savor the smell of Kanthe’s searing flesh at its unsullied best.

With nothing more to do, Kanthe continued his vigil upon the hearth.

At least the torture of watching iron heat on coal had given Kanthe plenty of time to stew over his life’s choices. The eventual tally did not come out in his favor.

—He had been too selfish too often.

—He had been petty when he could have been kind.

—He had neglected to show proper gratitude for boons bestowed upon him.

—He had not stood up often enough when others were mistreated.

—He sometimes found pleasure in another’s pain—mostly when they deserved it.

So, he forgave himself for this last fault.

Still, one aspect weighed upon him the most.

I’m far too preoccupied with how the world sees me versus placing myself into another’s stance.

He sighed at this.

And now it may doom the world.

Voices and a commotion at the door drew his attention. Frell stood up, as did Cassta. Rami simply kept at Kanthe’s side.

The second bell of morning clanged loudly, even louder when the guard threw the latch and opened the door.

Rami mumbled, “While your brother may have many faults, tardiness is not one of them.”

The two guards hurried to either side to make room for the arrivals.

Only it wasn’t Mikaen.

Instead, two gray-robed Shriven pushed into the dungeon with their cowls pulled low. In the firelit shadows, the tattoo of black across their pale faces stood out starkly, making their eyes seem to float in the darkness.

The one in the lead, though, only had one eye showing. The other was covered in a patch.

Wryth…

The bastard passed a sheaf of parchment to the guard. “We’re here to collect Frell hy Mhlaghifor. As approved by the king’s seal.”

Kanthe glanced over to the alchymist. He remembered Mikaen mentioning that Frell was to be delivered to the deepest regions of the Shrivenkeep, likely to be brutalized under arcane methods and stripped of all his knowledge—then handed over for some foul use that would be worse than any torture.

Clearly, I’ve had way too much time to ponder such things.

Frell’s lips narrowed with disgust, but otherwise, he seemed unperturbed.

Rami cast the alchymist a worried glance. “At least you’ll be spared of having to watch the king’s entertainment.”

Across the room, the guards inspected the pages as the second Shrive waited.

Wryth used this moment to stalk up to the cell, clearly ready to gloat. He stopped with his hands folded into his robe and tucked under the leather bandolier of his Shriven cryst. He cast a haughty gaze across both cells.

“From your actions of late, it appears you know far more about the ta’wyn than I expected. Then again, you did steal the bronze woman from me over a year ago.” A bit of heat entered his voice at this insult. “Still, I wish to learn more.”

Frell confronted him. “Do your best. You’ll find I’m not easy to break.”

“Everyone claims such, but it seldom proves true.” Wryth waved a hand dismissively. “But I did not come here to issue threats. Simply to judge for myself your true worth.”

Kanthe frowned. “What do you mean?”

“For the moment, I seek to decide if there might be common ground between us.”

Frell’s eyes pinched with suspicion. “How so?”

“I believe it’s plain to all that Kryst Eligor must be stopped.”

Kanthe took a step back, too shocked to speak.

Wryth’s gazed fixed on him. “And your brother is not the king to do it.”

Kanthe choked out a few words. “And you think I am?”

“That’s what I’ve come to determine.” He swept a look across the cells. “You failed in your attempt to harm Eligor. Lost a ta’wyn ally. And got captured. An all-around defeat, one that does not reflect well on your abilities.”

“Then why bother coming here?” Frell asked.

Wryth sighed. “Eligor speaks of a weapon. Something that he wants Mikaen to help him secure. A treasure he describes as a massive schysm buried at the heart of the world. One hidden long ago.”

Frell shared a look with Kanthe.

“I assume you know what a schysm is?” Wryth asked, his one eye narrowing.

Kanthe sensed this was a test—not just this question, but the whole conversation. “You know very well what a schysm is—as you stole one from our ta’wyn. ”

He noted the barely perceptible dip of Wryth’s chin. “But you don’t know what this weapon does, do you?” Kanthe pressed him.

“And you do?”

Ah, so the bastard doesn’t know the answer.

Kanthe shrugged. “I do. I can tell you it’s a key. To what I won’t reveal unless you help us.”

Wryth frowned deeply. Kanthe knew that the Iflelen order was ruled by the pursuit of forbidden knowledge—and none more so than this man.

But will this tantalizing crumb be enough?

Wryth slipped his hands from his robe and folded his fingers at his lips, clearly contemplating. He eventually lowered them. “I believe I can wheedle the answer out of Eligor eventually. And if not him, Mikaen is an easy fop to manipulate.”

Past Wryth’s shoulder, Kanthe saw the guards had finished inspecting the papers, but the other Shrive sought to delay them, drawing them into conversation.

Time is running short.

Kanthe stepped closer, knowing he needed something more alluring to sway Wryth. “You may be right about determining what the key opens, but do you believe you can discover where the key is hidden? Eligor is not likely to share that detail with anyone. Certainly not Mikaen.”

Wryth brought his fingertips back up and whispered between them, “No doubt, Eligor must never get the key.”

“In that we are in full agreement,” Frell said sternly.

“And you claim to know where this key is hidden?”

Before Kanthe could stop him, Frell answered with the truth. “We do not.”

Wryth shoved his hands down. “Then I see no use to side with your lot. Better I strive in the shadows, which has served me well.”

Kanthe suspected that might not be true any longer. Otherwise, Wryth would not have risked this gambit.

Wryth swung away, but Kanthe reached through the bars and snagged the edge of his robe, a rare affront, one that caused the Iflelen’s face to darken with fury.

Kanthe did not back down and stared him in the one eye. “The others may not know, but I do.”

Wryth faced him. “And why should I believe you?”

Behind Wryth, one of the guards crossed toward them.

“Decide now,” Kanthe warned. “With all your scholarship, you know how to judge a man’s word. So look at me.”

Wryth scowled but obeyed.

Kanthe drew the man closer. “I swear to you—I know where Eligor hid his key.”

Wryth’s one eye shone with a fiery intensity. It felt like it was burning into the back of Kanthe’s skull. He wanted to turn away from the gaze, but he steeled his neck and refused to break.

The guard stepped up to the cell. While his face scrunched with curiosity, the man knew better than to challenge a Shrive. “Sir, all seems to be—”

Wryth turned with his fingers already in a pouch along his leather Shriven cryst. As he faced the guard, he tossed a pinch of crimson powder from the pocket. The stricken man stumbled back with a sharp inhale of surprise, drawing the poison deep. By the time he struck the stones his body contorted with his heels hammering hard.

Upon this signal, the other Shrive stabbed the second guard with a blade as thin as a fang. Whether poisoned or simply a skilled strike, the target collapsed to the floor with nary a whimper.

Wryth retrieved the keys and unlocked both doors. “We must be swift. I can get us out of the castle, but we’ll need a place to hide, then a way out of the city.”

Once free, Cassta joined them, brushing against Kanthe, her eyes shining on him. She whispered, just a breath from her lips. “Kreshna…”

It was the second time she had uttered the Rhysian word to him, encompassing both thanks and acknowledgment of a debt owed. Kanthe hoped he lived long enough to collect on those appreciating debts.

To the side, Rami confronted Wryth. “So you intend to come with us?”

The Iflelen looked at the bodies and tossed the keys aside. “I’ve cast my lot.” He stared over at Kanthe. “As long as he keeps his word.”

Kanthe drove everyone forward. “Let’s go.”

The other Shrive opened the door. Two more guards lay dead in the hall, with a third Shrive standing over them.

They all piled outside and swept away, chasing through passages dark and hidden. The other two Shriven vanished off, likely returning to their roosts far below, ready to cast full blame upon Wryth.

As they fled, Frell drew Kanthe aside. “You’ve just invited a coiled asp into our midst.”

“An asp who just saved my handsome face,” Kanthe reminded him.

“He cannot be trusted.”

“I suspect he believes the same of us.”

“It is a dangerous game you play, Kanthe. He’s not a man to cross lightly. While we might live, this lie of yours will not serve us well once he learns the truth.”

Kanthe scowled at his former mentor. “I did not lie. What sort of scoundrel do you take me for?”

Frell frowned, clearly trying to judge his sincerity.

Kanthe admitted the truth. “I do know where Eligor hid the key.”

To avoid further questions, he sped onward. With his task accomplished, one concern remained foremost.

Someone needs to get that turubya spinning.