Tempus had none. They healed. Everything slid off him and vanished. Only Niko
had the bandages, Niko had the scars, Niko was fragile as all he loved. “Stay
there,” he said, too sharply. “I’ve too much else. I don’t need this.”
Niko subsided quietly. Lay back with his eyes shut. It was not what he had meant
to say or do. He walked over and pressed Niko’s hand, walked out then.
Call off the damn dinner, he thought. What’s to be gained? How did I agree to
that?
It was before hell broke loose; it was to calm a nervous town. It was to get the
measure of a witch and her intentions. And to discover the threads that Strat
had run here and here and here through the town. In that regard it made more
sense than not. The affair was a stone in motion, downhill, and it would say
something now to the town to break off this engagement. “… Souls of yours and
mine…” Straton was one of those souls at imminent risk. And if there was a
thing which might pull Straton into reach it was this, his own witch-lover’s
arranging.
Why meet with them? Why this courting of Stepsons?
That was the insane question. He thought ofKorphos again; and the arrows. And
poisoned wine. And the Emperor.
He was not accustomed to direct challenge, but it was still possible.
The door stayed open to a steady stream of martial guests, arrivals afoot and
ahorse out front, with the clank of swords in the foyer, the inpouring of
wolfish men who towered and clattered with weapons they did not give up at the
door. Hand after huge hand took Moria’s as she stood sentry at the door of her