Crit’s simple statement, “We fouled up,” applied to everyone in the room-none of
whom were accustomed to failure on such a grand scale. Niko’s physical pain was
the least of their worries. The demon erupting in his moat- molded rest-place
had the power to reshape all creation-if Roxane didn’t do something preemptive
with the Globe of Power or the mortal anarchy of the PFLS-inspired riots didn’t
overwhelm them all first.
None of then noticed a new shadow at the threshold.
“Divine Mother! This is intolerable!”
Shupansea, exiled Beysib Empress and, by virtue of foreign gold and the strong
arms of clan Burek, de facto ruler of Sanctuary, stopped short in the open
doorway. She stared- knowing that it discomfitted these drylanders, but there
was no other way. Her mind, moving behind glazed, amber eyes, scanned from one
shadowed comer of the room to the other, from the floor to the ceiling,
absorbing every detail without the distraction of movement.
They had been arguing, singly and severally, but the sight of her united them in
silence. She knew them all, except for the dark-clad, disheveled woman sitting
on a low stool with a half-full goblet leaning out of her hands. Their combined
presence in such a small, private room could only mean disaster.
Shupansea was caught in an undertow of emotion as the images of violence
patterned themselves against her memories of the Beysa’s court those last few
days before her supporters in clan Burek had effected her rescue, and exile. Not
even the silken touch of her familiar serpent moving between her breasts could