it.”
I put a platinum ball on the table, polished, lustrous, covered with spidery runes. I roll it around with a fingertip. Tiny blustreams of fire fill every rune, then I snatch it back, make it disappear into me.
His eyes are wide. “Lord Eric Daadrul. The bearer of the Globe of Edges himself. Sir. It’s such an honor to meet you.”
“Mmm.”
“How’d you bond it?” he asks. Like it’s a throwaway question.
“Your own blood, need, and the ka’kari’s element.” Like it’s a throwaway answer.
“Its element? How’s that work with the silver ka’kari?”
“Easy. Got stabbed. Had blood, need, and metal in me all at once.”
He nods, filing it away. Then his voice hardens. “I’m gonna need you to hand over that ka’kari, Lord Daadrul.”
“Why?” I ask. “You’ve already got the red.”
He blinks.
“And no man can bond two ka’kari at the same time,” I say.
Yvor Vas talks. Buying time, maybe. Trying to process. “It’s for my sister. She’s dying. We have—had—the same disease. I bonded the red on accident and I got well. So I know it’ll save her. You have no idea what I’ve had to do to get this far. What it’s cost me. What I’ve done. Now hand it over. You might be impervious to blades, sir, but you’ll burn like any man.”
“So it’s not for Gwinvere?” I say.
A quick grimace. “What do I care about some whore?”
It tells me two things. First, he knows Gwinvere. Second, she really didn’t send him after the ka’kari. To learn that fact is the whole reason I told him my story, most of it true. I figured Gwinvere had to be in the Society of the Second Sun or she never would have found me in the first place, but I didn’t know—and I needed to know—if she’d try to kill me for the ka’kari. Immortality is a tempting prize.
“That’s really noble,” I say. “Murdering someone to save your sister, I mean.”
“I just listened to your story. You’re the last man in the world who ought to preach to me.”
~He does have a point there.~
Yvor stands and squeezes the red ka’kari in his hand. It covers his body with a slick red sheen. It burns away his clothing. He’ll have to work on that.
“Fight me,” he says. “I don’t know how to get the ka’kari if you die while it’s still inside your body.”
I stand, wobble. Kids these days. “You poisoned the ale,” I say. “You poisoned the ale ?”
“Ironic, huh?”
I fucking hate irony.
He throws a fireball at me.
I bring up the black ka’kari in a shield. With a whoosh, it devours the fireball.
“That’s not the Globe of Edges,” he says.
“And I’m not Eric Daadrul.” With a little sleight of hand, as if they’re coming out of my skin, I produce five little metemptingic balls: blue, green, silver, white, gold. They roll uncertainly around the tabletop.
“You have all of the ka’kari?” he asks, terrified, but greedy too, not yet understanding.
“Counterfeits,” I say. For just such occasions as this. I roll out my fake of the red ka’kari last.
Fear in his eyes, despite the suit of fire on his skin. Confusion. The Society only knows about six ka’kari—and what he’s just seen doesn’t fit any of them.
“You didn’t lure me here to take my ka’kari,” I tell him, sadly. “I lured you here to take yours.”
A conflagration.
I’m hurled through the back wall of my safe house into the marsh surrounding it. I knew fire might be a problem. That’s why I chose this place. No need to burn down the whole Warrens—not that they’re much worth saving. I land calf deep in marsh mud.
The black ka’kari coats my body as Yvor comes out of the burning doorway.
Fireballs burn smoking, hissing trenches in the marsh. I dodge, flip, disappear.
He throws a fan of flames in a full circle.
A splash as I land behind him.
He whips around, throws jets of flame.
They curl around my torso, burning the night on either side of me. What hits me is mostly absorbed. The ka’kari
I put a platinum ball on the table, polished, lustrous, covered with spidery runes. I roll it around with a fingertip. Tiny blustreams of fire fill every rune, then I snatch it back, make it disappear into me.
His eyes are wide. “Lord Eric Daadrul. The bearer of the Globe of Edges himself. Sir. It’s such an honor to meet you.”
“Mmm.”
“How’d you bond it?” he asks. Like it’s a throwaway question.
“Your own blood, need, and the ka’kari’s element.” Like it’s a throwaway answer.
“Its element? How’s that work with the silver ka’kari?”
“Easy. Got stabbed. Had blood, need, and metal in me all at once.”
He nods, filing it away. Then his voice hardens. “I’m gonna need you to hand over that ka’kari, Lord Daadrul.”
“Why?” I ask. “You’ve already got the red.”
He blinks.
“And no man can bond two ka’kari at the same time,” I say.
Yvor Vas talks. Buying time, maybe. Trying to process. “It’s for my sister. She’s dying. We have—had—the same disease. I bonded the red on accident and I got well. So I know it’ll save her. You have no idea what I’ve had to do to get this far. What it’s cost me. What I’ve done. Now hand it over. You might be impervious to blades, sir, but you’ll burn like any man.”
“So it’s not for Gwinvere?” I say.
A quick grimace. “What do I care about some whore?”
It tells me two things. First, he knows Gwinvere. Second, she really didn’t send him after the ka’kari. To learn that fact is the whole reason I told him my story, most of it true. I figured Gwinvere had to be in the Society of the Second Sun or she never would have found me in the first place, but I didn’t know—and I needed to know—if she’d try to kill me for the ka’kari. Immortality is a tempting prize.
“That’s really noble,” I say. “Murdering someone to save your sister, I mean.”
“I just listened to your story. You’re the last man in the world who ought to preach to me.”
~He does have a point there.~
Yvor stands and squeezes the red ka’kari in his hand. It covers his body with a slick red sheen. It burns away his clothing. He’ll have to work on that.
“Fight me,” he says. “I don’t know how to get the ka’kari if you die while it’s still inside your body.”
I stand, wobble. Kids these days. “You poisoned the ale,” I say. “You poisoned the ale ?”
“Ironic, huh?”
I fucking hate irony.
He throws a fireball at me.
I bring up the black ka’kari in a shield. With a whoosh, it devours the fireball.
“That’s not the Globe of Edges,” he says.
“And I’m not Eric Daadrul.” With a little sleight of hand, as if they’re coming out of my skin, I produce five little metemptingic balls: blue, green, silver, white, gold. They roll uncertainly around the tabletop.
“You have all of the ka’kari?” he asks, terrified, but greedy too, not yet understanding.
“Counterfeits,” I say. For just such occasions as this. I roll out my fake of the red ka’kari last.
Fear in his eyes, despite the suit of fire on his skin. Confusion. The Society only knows about six ka’kari—and what he’s just seen doesn’t fit any of them.
“You didn’t lure me here to take my ka’kari,” I tell him, sadly. “I lured you here to take yours.”
A conflagration.
I’m hurled through the back wall of my safe house into the marsh surrounding it. I knew fire might be a problem. That’s why I chose this place. No need to burn down the whole Warrens—not that they’re much worth saving. I land calf deep in marsh mud.
The black ka’kari coats my body as Yvor comes out of the burning doorway.
Fireballs burn smoking, hissing trenches in the marsh. I dodge, flip, disappear.
He throws a fan of flames in a full circle.
A splash as I land behind him.
He whips around, throws jets of flame.
They curl around my torso, burning the night on either side of me. What hits me is mostly absorbed. The ka’kari
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