On my other side, it was easy to lie and cry awhile longer. In time, I tired of that. My tears helped neither Septio, who was beyond them, nor myself.
Everything came back to what I had been told. Some piece of the Duke’s magic was still missing. That I might be in possession of it seemed to be an idea fixed in the minds of both the Dancing Mistress and Federo. I was not magical. Not at all.
Unless it was similar to those splinters of grace scattered from the divine. Along with the balance of grace and evil that made up my soul, did I now carry a measure of the Duke’s essence as well? How could that be? The magic belonged to the pardines.
Federo had wrapped himself in their skin and gone hunting in their countries. That chilled me all over again. Looking for the missing portion that would seal him to godhood?
All thoughts circled back to Federo and the Dancing Mistress. They were the two partners in the original conspiracy that shattered the intent of the Factor’s training and set me on this path. A conspiracy to take the stolen magic from a once-human Duke and disperse it.
Surely the power could have settled in me. It had long since been grasped by a human hand, whatever the meaning and cost to the Dancing Mistress’ people.
My imaginings chased themselves long into the deepest darkness. I did not realize I had slept until thunder woke me.
Federo had returned. The Dancing Mistress followed close behind him, bound hand and foot with silver chains and walking with her head bowed low.
The traitor lit small braziers all around the edge of the tent. He called men to come and take Septio away, along with some of the carpets. That business put a sour look upon Federo’s face. He released our bonds, then ignored the Dancing Mistress and me completely while he set to cooking a small meal for himself, with tea and wine.
I did not know what he was about.
Neither did he, I realized in time.
Some small measure of hope stole into my drained courage with that thought. Whatever Federo’s plan, it had either failed or he did not trust the outcome. Otherwise he would have stood over me gloating once more.
The whole while the Dancing Mistress chafed my wrists and ankles to try to bring them back to life. We took the measure of one another with silent looks. A deep, wounded sadness filled her, so that I wanted to fold her into my arms until it seeped away.
I did not know for certain what she saw in me, but there was plenty. Love denied, betrayal of my own, death on death on death.
Our eyes held a long time; then I made my mouth give her the words “I love you.” Did I truly mean them? Even now, I cannot say. Back then, I thought I was going to die quite soon, and did not want to walk alone into the darkness.
She made a small kiss to the air. We both sighed. Then she set to kneading my arms, while I set to worrying more about Federo.
Eventually, he finished his meal and stood with an elaborated, false casualness. He perched upon his chair like a moody boy.
Whatever had taken hold within him over the years had slain the cheerful fop I’d once known. The old Federo was as dead as poor Septio. For all its raw power, the thunder rolling outside was the cheapest of stage tricks at the ragged end of a festival street. He had little left to threaten me with, having already taken my life. The actual dying would come soon enough.
I found I did not care so much what his game might be.
“Well,” Federo finally said.
The Dancing Mistress hugged my shoulders where I lay in her lap. There was no illusion of safety, but I was comforted nonetheless.
There seemed no point in answering him. The Dancing Mistress remained silent as well, except for her ragged breathing. Much too loud for one of her kind.
He leaned forward. “You would never have me,” he muttered. His eyes were tearful. “And I could never have had you.”
The latter was presumably addressed to me. I smiled as sweetly as I was able to.
“You, girl, carry something I need. You, woman, hold the power to take it from her.” His expression made my stomach lurch. “I shall tear it from both of you.” He reached to one side, his back against the sky iron, and grabbed a long spear of the sort used by cavalrymen. It had been propped against one of the poles of the tent. The end was leaf-bladed.
Federo worked the spear around in his hand until the haft was mostly over his shoulder and the point directed at us. “A shred of the Duke still abides within you.” He slid the spear closer until the tip rested against my calf. “We shall find a way to let him out.”
He pushed slightly and tugged it sideways. The blade ripped open the leg of my trousers, leaving a deep cut in the skin beneath.
Sucking air between my teeth, I tried to fight a queasy rebellion within.
“I will cut them off you if you do not remove them,” Federo said in a lazy voice.
It was nearly worth the trouble to let him slice away at me-I might die quicker-but I found I could not let go of life so readily. My fingers were still wooden as I loosened my pants and tried to draw them off.
Bending my legs to slip free burned as if I had been stung by a nest of hornets. I gave up the effort, gasping.
“You do not have to do this,” the Dancing Mistress said quietly to me.
“Oh, she does!” roared Federo. A round of thunder rolled harsh outside. I realized it had been calm before, but not now.
Thunder, lightning… was he a storm god? I stared at one of the braziers and tried to frame my death prayer.
Braziers. I felt a cold shiver. Fire. I looked up at the Dancing Mistress. Yes, I mouthed. Then: I have a plan.
She seemed to understand my intention. That was sufficient. She helped me out of my pants-I swallowed a scream-before she went to work on my shirt.
“See, you know what I need.” Federo’s spear point settled against my back as the Dancing Mistress rolled me across her lap to free my arms.
The ant-bite pain was now everywhere. Which was good, I tried to tell myself. That meant I could feel all of my body. Nothing had gone dead from the ill-use.
What I felt was enough to make me wish some of it had. If Blackblood had been my patron god, he would have been drunk on sacrifice.
Soon enough, I was flat on my back on the floor, barely able to move. Well, I’d been there before. Never with an armed man leaning close, his face twisting with clotted emotion. “Keep that blessed point away from me,” I growled.
“Oh, this?” He dragged the spearhead along my forearm, raising a welt.
The Dancing Mistress bent her face close to mine. I could see questions in her eyes. They warred with regret. I could not tell her, though. Federo seemed to hear perfectly well even above the sound of his thunder. I did not even want to think about my intentions, for fear the set of my body should give me away like a fighter signaling her next blow in a bout.
So I lifted my neck and kissed her.
She kissed me back.
Good, I thought. Give him a show. Distract him.
I tried to hug her, but my arms were like clubs. Mostly I beat them against her back. She clasped me close.
Federo moaned. I risked a glance. He was not the Federo I had known. Whatever the god within him might be, it had taken him as the crab disease sometimes took those with the tumors inside their heads. All the worst of him remained, while the worth of him was gone.
Then the spear caught me a scrape across the ribs. I resolved that he would die tonight, or I would die trying.
My hands had come back to life. They prickled much as if I had been sitting on them awhile, but they were no longer half-dead vessels of pain.
Legs, I needed my legs.
I crawled back up to nuzzle her face. “Oh, please,” I moaned, “kiss my thighs.” My voice would have had the Lily Blades falling out with laughter, but Federo just echoed the moan.
He was as the rankest of boys.
Facing Federo as I sprawled on the floor, I ran my tongue across my lips. Mistress Cherlise had shown me a number of such little bits of playacting which would arrest a man’s attention.