the world went giddy, skidded between past and present. Korphos and a Sanctuary
mansion. A missing Stepson, and a sorely wounded one, both prey to witches. A
thing that had happened, would happen, inevitably happened? Sometimes he had run
risks from mere expediency. Or perversity. He did not take his men into it to no
purpose.
Crit stood there, statue-quiet. Too damn willing. A snake had gotten in among
them, and Stepson hunted Stepson and stood there with that look that said
Anything you order.
“I’ve no doubt the witch can find him,” Tempus said. “If he doesn’t show up.
Don’t worry about it.” He gestured toward the door. Crit took the hint, and
Tempus walked as far as the hall beside him. “Just see you’re on time.”
“Is Niko-“
“Better.”
Maybe the tone invited nothing further. Crit went. Tempus stood there with his
hands slipped into the back of his belt until Crit had dwindled into a shape of
light and shadow on the white marble stairs that led to outer doors.
Niko was where Niko had no business being, that was where Niko was.
He struck his hand against his leg and headed down another stairs, past priests
who plastered themselves and their armfuls of linen and simples to the narrow
walls.
Through doors and doors and doors, till the thunder overhead diminished and the
last door gave way to a sanctum sanctorum deep in the palace bowels. He stepped
inside, saw the cluster around the bed, a half dozen priests, the mage, with
enough incense palling the room to choke a man. A child whimpered, a thin, faint