rise from his chair.
“Roxane’s not in hell-she’s in Niko. In his memories. In his lusts. He’s
bringing her back, Riddler. I don’t know how but I know what I saw.”
“The curse won’t have him.”
“Which curse? Yours, hers, or his? Or hasn’t it occurred to you that Niko loves
the witch-bitch far better than he loves you?”
“It is enough that he loves me at all.”
“Very convenient, Riddler. This Bandaran adept, reeking of moat, brings the
world’s own chaos in his wake and it’s all because he has the misfortune to
admire you. I suppose you’ll tell me Vashanka’s gone because he loved you, too
after his fashion.”
“All right,” Tempus roared, but he sat down again. “My curse-all mine-on the
people I love. Does that satisfy you?”
“Well, at least I should be safe from it,” Torchholder replied with a smile.
“Don’t play games with me, priest. You’re not in my league.”
“I’m not playing with you; I’m trying to set you free. How many years have you
been dragging that around with you? You think the universe spins in your navel?
The only curse you’ve got is the arrogance of believing yourself responsible for
everything.” It was sudden death to provoke Tempus’s wrath- everyone in the
Rankan Empire knew that-so the priest’s audacity left the immortal mercenary
flat-footed and muttering • about magicians, love, and other things that passed
the understanding of ordinary, uncursed, men.
“Let me tell you what I do understand, Riddler. I understand that a curse is
only a threat-a potential. No wizard-no, more than that: no god-can curse a