All was in chaos when Peter arrived in Oldden. He wasn't quite sure how late it had gotten or what the city was like ordinarily, but even an outsider could see plain as day that something had clearly gone amiss. Fire illumined the rooftops ahead. Horses screamed. Children cried. In streets and alleys and cesscreeks and squares there raced hysterical passersby. Peter alone was unmoving on the Main, a road greater wide than any in Nahga.
Curse all and then some. He watched the city brew.
He took a small bit of solace in the fact that Una had at least enough decency to look ashamed of what she'd done. He'd seen the regret and the fright in her eyes. The admission of guilt. Ethos had never done him that kindness, just said the words, been inauthentic. The closest he'd come to an admission of guilt had been in a blend of angry discomfort, stiff overshrugging and topic evasion. It was easy enough to say the words, but another matter to mean them. Peter began to advance, having effectively reminded himself of his rage. He made mental lists as he made his way, terrible things he'd say and the like.
He wouldn't feel bad. He refused to. He'd done everything that he could, and he wasn't selfless enough to expect nothing in return. He could feel a little of Una's influence in that verdict. He didn't care. He'd devoted enough time to being the sort of person in whom someone might place their trust. All for nothing. Wasted effort.
Oldden Stronghold came into view. Again, Peter stopped. The renowned fortress, immeasurable, had been swallowed up by live vegetation. Moss climbed the outer walls, lichen webbed the portico, and its many hoardings and turrets and bastions had fallen under great duress, bloated by knotted shocks of growth. Most admirable of all was the krakenlike sprawl of Harken's native goromac, a massive tree the likes of which very few Karnans had seen before; sized to engulf the woebegone fort, its roots were like giant, atrocious snakes, wringing out life.
Naturally, panic had settled into the surrounding districts. Ethos had probably planned for it. While Oldden succumbed to confusion and fear, he'd no doubt infiltrated the grounds.
Peter jumped when someone hooked their arm through his, yanking him sideways. A horse-drawn cart went barreling by. "Gawking is an excellent way of getting yourself run over, Peter," a voice kindly cautioned. "I've been looking all over for you."
Una. Her hair was tied up rather messily, unusually so. Her hand was small around Peter's wrist as she steered him onward and inward. Resentfully, he asked, "You followed me?"
She didn't even look at him. The glaze of sweat on her skin made her shine like the star she'd been named for. "I know you're angry, but you didn't trudge hours through the freezing cold just to take a shot at Ethos," she said. "We'll find him in half the time if we work together."
Something in a nearby building exploded. It lit up the darkness. Peter stared at the side of Una's face, a step behind, resistant. "How could you work for Eadric Haraldson?"
She finally stopped to look at him, a black silhouette in the fires behind her. "Eadric was an excuse to involve myself with you and Ethos," she answered. "The days that I cooperated with him were the days before I knew how much you meant to me." She squeezed his hand in earnest. "I've been afraid of losing you, Peter. That's why I didn't say anything."
It didn't sound like a lie. "Fine."
Una headed in, but not for the overcome portico. She glanced back at Peter through the bustling crowd, pointing as she did to a darkened tannery. "We'll take the Low Road," she said. "It'll guide us through the catacombs."
"What's the Low Road?"
"It's an old escape route that leads to the Keep. Alrik Darga built it himself." The fourth king, if Peter recalled. "He thought his wife was plotting to kill him," she continued, and had him stand clear as she opened the tannery door. "He was sick. He thought the entire world was against him."
Peter sidestepped a staggering aleman, keeping vigilant. "Maybe it was."
"Legend has it he died of exposure somewhere in the tunnels. Ironic, right?"
"Have you ever been down there?" Peter entered at her gestured instruction. As he ducked inside, he added, "I only ask because I'd rather not trip and break my face on a skeleton."
She followed after, allowing the door to rasp shut behind them. A triad of spotters chased away the shadows within. "They put him to rest," she told him, fogging the air with her breath. "He's entombed around the corner from Hans. It's quite tasteful."
The tannery was vaster than first glance suggested. Its tiered floor was an open beehive of tan pits, desiccated hollows of lime and excrement. "Looks shut down."
"It is. The hold was still under construction when this was erected."
"Aye, you can tell it has old bones."
"It was on the outskirts before Oldden expanded," she explained. "It's much too surrounded by traffic now to warrant the stench. The drying shed was used for a grindery until Samuel Tauriden got himself butchered by Ashfoot's inexhaustible crew of miserable drunken braggarts."
Peter was only half-listening. The screams outside had heightened. He squinted through the cracks of a nearby boarded window and muttered, "They probably think it's a Bonesteel attack."
Something rattled to his left, beyond his periphery. Una was farther away than he'd realized; she was hauling a skid from the wall, the parts of her back all straining at once. The wood gave and hit the floor, raising dust, exposing a crude flight of stairs beyond. The path there was dark, hewn into earth, blacker and blacker the deeper it went.
Una took the lead again. Their descent was allied with the relentless patter of footsteps, but it was the closest they'd get to companionable silence. Peter followed the wall with his fingers, reminded of the Throat despite everything.
"Did Ethos know?" His voice was offensively loud in the tunnel. "Sorry," he said, softer this time, and tried again. "Did he know about you and Eadric?"
Una neglected to turn around. "He knew."
"You weren't the one who told him, though."
"No. He was suspicious of me from the start."
The spotters bobbed, throwing out shadows. "Oh."
"Does it bother you that he knew?"
"He always bothers me. I'm sure it's intentional."
She laughed, but something was off. It was a strange sort of sound. Unpleasant, maybe. "You're an odd one," she said. "I wonder if you know what a friend even is."
Flatly, he retorted, "I know what a friend is, princess."
"Yes, of course you do. Watch your head."
A low-hanging rock caught him in the eye. Peter tottered, stringing expletives while Una waited ahead for him. For just a second, it looked like she smiled.
"Sorry," she said. "I thought you'd see it."
Peter glared one-eyed at her. "Are you dissatisfied with how I treat you?"
"I didn't say that." Una's expression was indistinct, too blurred to read. "Ozwell's dead," she said, unexpectedly. "How do you feel about that?"
It came as a shock, but Peter tried not to let it show. He wanted to ask how it happened. "It's not like I knew the guy," he said. "Why?"
"Just curious." She quietly watched him rub at his eye. Her voice was plainly annoyed when she spoke again. "What was the plan, Peter?" she asked. "Did you even have one?"
"I figured he'd find me if I made enough of a racket."
"You need to take better care of yourself."
"Oh, fall off, princess."
The air chilled. They were at a crossway, Peter realized, vaulted walls in every direction. Urns were toppled. Ash was spilt. It looked like no one had been there in decades.
Una came closer. "How the mighty have fallen," she sighed, bands of light dissecting her face. "A country bumpkin, heir to the north. Syan would be livid." One such band highlighted her eyes, black as death and sin incarnate. "I haven't devoted this much of my time to ascendancy since the First Era," she said. "It's hard enough for me to back you while your cousin stands at such an obvious advantage, so the very least you can do in return is act a little more like an adult and less like an incurable halfwit who was raised in the festering bluefields of eastland." She studied him, atilt. "Give me a sign that some of this has made it past that utterly vacant look on your face."
Eadric. Peter forced himself calm. "Anouk has nothing to do with me," he said. "She was working the Dire, last I heard."
"Yes, but you must be aware that your mother was summoned to see off your grandfather," Eadric returned. "He's expected to pass any day now. A ship's been dispatched to Nahga."
Peter dimmed. "I'm being sent for, then."
"Flint's yours, if you'll have it."
"Anouk is more deserving."
"Which is why a Battlefrost such as yourself is ideal for forging alliances," Eadric said. "I've been trying to unify Karna for years. You and Una can help close the gap."
So that was it. "You're exactly like Ethos described. Pulling strings."
"Gladius will be dead soon." Eadric was speaking plainly now. "A week ago today, I'd planned to eliminate his entire bloodline and start fresh with Anouk, but I was reluctant to lose someone as talented as Una simply because of her bothersome father." Eadric sent him a meaningful look. "I'd hate to return to my original plan."
"You'd make Una sole survivor?"
"She's the only one I can afford to spare. The rest have turned against me. It's the Greentides all over again." Eadric fell silent. His expression didn't suit Una's face. "I don't believe in coincidences," he said. "Ethos tried constantly to lose you in those early days on the road. Yet you stuck it out with him. I instructed Una to get rid of you. Yet she let you stay. She felt like she had to." Eadric smirked and shook his head. "It's destiny that landed you here. As soon as I learned who you were, I knew."
"I'm not agreeing to anything until I speak with Ethos."
"You can't possibly still trust him." Eadric must have seen a shift in Peter's eyes, because laughter leapt from his hateful throat. "I misjudged you," he admitted. "Fine, then. If he survives the night, I'll let you see him. It'll serve as a good reminder."
Peter hopelessly blanked. "A reminder of what?"
Eadric was twisting Una's beauty. In her eyes there flashed an unmistakable spark of cruelty. "You started out as his crutch, Peter, but now you're just a nuisance," he said. "You weigh him down. This whole useless struggle… I'll bet he thinks he's protecting you from me." Eadric subsided, still smiling, but the next words he spoke sounded curiously dismal. "He may have gained himself some experience, but Ozwell was just a kid himself. And not a very bright one. It's too little, too late."
"You must suffer a complete lack of conscience."
"Rude. My conscience and I are on excellent terms."
"Ethos calls it moral insanity."
"He would know." Eadric suddenly staggered. His vile gaze went low and restless. Scathingly, he realized, "I need to leave."
Peter grinned. "It's him, yeah?"
"He's in the Keep." Eadric glanced up. It was too much of Una. "Take a right turn when you reach the sarcophagus of Enwyn Greentide. Don't stop until you reach the undercroft. Wait there for me."
"And I'm just supposed to be okay with you using Una whenever like?"
Eadric raised an eyebrow at him. "It's not like I'm giving you a choice, Peter."
With that, he pulled the plug. He'd said his piece. Una's knees buckled, devoid the demon inside her, and Peter reflexively lurched to catch her before she could brain herself on something. Left with no other options, he carefully slid to the catacomb floor, her in his arms, fingers numb, and did what he could to control his breathing. The spotters persisted with minds of their own.
Peter understood then what Ethos had meant. Hiding was pointless against someone like Eadric, to whom all of Karna already belonged. He was everywhere.
Una stirred after a few moments, but Peter didn't speak until he saw her eyes. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Ho, princess."
She looked confused. "Peter?"
"You're crushing my leg."
A brief pause, reality sinking in, and then— shock. Una abruptly removed herself, one fist at her heart. "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine."
"Really, I— "
"It's fine, Una. Drop it."
Una scanned the tunnel. "Where are we?"
"Oldden. Low Road, he called it. Redbeard's Colon."
"The catacombs." She rose to her feet, awed, and felt along wall-chiseled script as she read aloud names and dates and farewells. "All of the greats are buried here," she breathed. "Bulroc the Werde, Nocro Thundershield, Bjoren Ashfoot, the entire Greentide clan…" Her eyes darted to Peter, so unjustly filled with excitement. "Do you know what this means?"
Peter scowled up at her. "No dinner tonight?"
"We can find Sutter Bonesteel down here." When he failed to provide a satisfactory response, she crouched beside him and said, "Sutter Bonesteel is Eadric's true identity, Peter."
He frowned. "How exactly did you find that out?"
"Ethos told us after you left."
"That's impossible."
"He spoke through Toubin."
"Ethos possessed Ozwell?"
"Not exactly." Una fondled her necklace, gaze sliding. "It might have been my fault," she said, and she scoffed at herself. "No, it was my fault. I just didn't understand the link well enough. I didn't think Ethos would feel it if I poked my head in. The wound was too fresh."
Peter watched her, aware. "Is Ozwell really dead?"
Her expression darkened. Maybe she'd forgotten. "It was disgusting," she murmured. "Eadric blew a hole in him. There was blood everywhere."
"But it wasn't really Ozwell. It was Ethos. Right?"
"Yeah." She heaved a small sigh. "He took it well, I suppose."
Peter's mind was at speeds unthinkable; yet his body grew heavy. "There's something wrong with me, princess," he said. "I don't feel like myself anymore."
She smiled thinly for him. "What did the old Peter feel like?"
"I dunno. Straightforward, I guess. Sort of gassy." Peter calmed while she laughed. Grudgingly, he climbed to his feet. "So Eadric Haraldson is Sutter Bonesteel," he conceded. "We ought to look for his body while he and Ethos are distracted with one another."
Una tried to take his hand, but she froze mid-reach when he instinctively shied away. Her fingers curled, hesitant. Pained, she asked, "Are you afraid of me, Peter?"
He felt like Ethos, avoiding eyes as he batted the dust and the dirt from his clothes. "Let's get this over with before Eadric realizes his mistake."
She joined him. "Peter, please…"
"I'm trying not to be angry at you, Una." He went ahead, reading inscriptions. A man as renowned as Sutter Bonesteel would probably have a private chamber, but Eadric was more than shrewd enough to hide himself among the mundane. "Anouk, of all people," he muttered. "Karna would fall to ruin."
Una appeared at his side, head tilted. "Anouk Battlefrost?"
He glanced. "You've heard of her?"
"Of course." She briefly closed her eyes in thought, and then, in a voice so inflated that it had to be an imitation of someone, she recited, "Anouk Battlefrost, only offspring of Tritan Battlefrost and Ronen Kaia, second grandchild of Wolfgang Battlefrost and House Thundershield's Simsa Teyrsdötter." She stopped, looking displeased. "Yet another descendant of Daggeir Battlefrost," she said. "They're thugs, mostly, but as a child I was made to memorize the rotations of all our so-called noble relations."
She'd said the last with air quotes, but Peter couldn't smile.
"Her mother's dead, I'm told," she went on. "Howlings."
Arcades were ahead, yielding tombs. Names were etched into every stone arch. "This group looks recent," he said, and pointed. "There, see. Your grandfather."
"Why were you mumbling about Anouk?"
Peter ducked a cobweb. "Eadric has a stake in the ascendancy," he replied. "He brought her up as a possible candidate. It's hard to tell what his actual motives are."
Una made a low sound of disdain. "Battlefrosts," she scoffed. "I don't understand what the council sees in them. They're either falling off maps or into the sea. They have no idea where their legitimate successor is. We'd be better off putting them out of their misery."
He glared sidelong at her. "They're not all bad."
"They're roughnecks, Peter. Goons with ships. Brawny thick-necked foul-mouthed heathens who bathe in icy ocean shallows." Behind her hand, shifty like, she slyly disclosed, "I've heard they eat the sharks raw from their lances."
"Shut up, Una."
Una looked surprised. He'd never spoken to her like that. She stopped walking and didn't speak again until he'd turned and stopped as well. Her radiant eyes moved over his face, until, voice quiet, she realized, "I should have guessed, the way you look."
"Wolfgang Battlefrost is my grandfather. My mom's his eldest, the legitimate successor." He gave a small shrug. "That makes Anouk my cousin," he said. "Goons with ships and whatfor."
Una took a slow step closer. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It doesn't matter. Eadric knows. We need to be smart about how we approach this." Peter smiled, and he knew how it looked without needing to see it. "It'll be okay," he promised. "I might even make some demands of my own, do some good where it really counts."
"There's no freedom in it. Not with Eadric alive."
Peter mustered the courage to take her deceptively gentle hand. "Anouk can't come to Oldden," he insisted. "If this is what it takes, so be it."
She tore away from him. "Then tell me why."
So demanding. Relentless. Peter raked at his hair, spent in many more ways than one. "She'll kill Ethos," he said. "I've seen her do it. They can't ever meet."
In an instant, she blackened. Her glare became dangerous. "How?"
Just like that, Peter was transported back to the garden, back to the chaos, back to Shima. He could still envision it clearly. Anouk: more beautiful now than she'd been in her youth; cold, unflinching. The executioner. Ethos: his wide eyes defiant; afraid, but unbroken. The condemned.
"Close your eyes, if you like."
Una was speaking, he realized. "Peter, look at me," she instructed, catching his gaze. "We're in this together. You need to tell me what you know."
Relentless. "It was a vision. His."
"So he's seen it, too?"
"More than once, I imagine."
Una stared, gears turning. "We should kill her."
This was a side of her that she'd hidden from him until very recently. It was a ruthless side, grimly practical, and he might have called it admirable if it weren't so damn disturbing. Peter had the feeling that she was only just coming into it, as if she were settling into herself.
"She won't be a threat if she's dead, Peter."
"We don't kill people, Una."
She looked annoyed. "Not even Eadric?"
"Eadric's different," he said. "Eadric's a monster."
"I think he's rather refreshing," she retorted, playing the devil's advocate. "It takes a certain sort of man to take such terrible measures without feeling any obligation to justify himself. He's always been unapologetic and forthright about who and what he is."
"Are you kidding? He marked you. You ought to feel violated."
"You ran off," she reasoned. "He needed someone that you trusted enough to follow."
Narrowly, sourly, Peter scowled at her. "I definitely don't trust you."
She positively beamed in return. "No, but you love me."
"I've never told you that I loved you."
"You've never had to."
The sight of her was painful. Peter continued ahead, chased by her euphonious laughter. "Stop it," he grumbled. "I'm not that easy to read."
"Aw, you're embarrassed."
"Stop talking about it."
She caught his arm. "Why?"
Shoulders stiff, Peter turned out his darkest glower. Her smile dissolved. "You're in love with my best friend," he said. "Do you have any idea what that feels like?"
"I'm not in love with him."
"No offense, but that's bullshit, princess."
She flinched. "It most certainly is not bullshit."
Peter tried to pull away. "It's not like you can help it."
As if afraid that he might turn tail, she released his arm with the utmost caution. "I used to think it was love," she said. "But it's not."
"Then what is it?"
"Interest." She shrugged both shoulders and forced a smile. "It's the way he came into my life. I just want to understand him. It's interest."
Peter stared, unmoved. "That's no excuse to work for Eadric."
She didn't bite back, nor did she gasp or seem at all hurt. Eyes low, she absently played with the hem of his jacket. "Do you really think Anouk's going to kill him?"
"Yeah, I do," he answered. "Unless we stop it."
"Did you see anything else in the vision?"
It was an easy lie. "No."
The ground shuddered, reminding them of the bedlam above. Abreast, they carried on at a faster pace, driven by nerves, and turned at the Greentide woman's sarcophagus. Pebbles buzzed on the tunnel floor, scattering at their toes. The triad of spotters advanced and left them behind in the musty darkness.
"Peter Battlefrost," Una said, as if to test it. "You two certainly like your secrets."
She was smiling again. He told her, "Ethos doesn't know."
She glanced in open bewilderment. "Seriously?"
"You could try to conceal your shock."
"I thought you knew everything about each other." Light spread to her face as they came upon the spotters. The buoyant wonders drifted, unsure. Six doors lined the area ahead, three or so leaps between them each. "Oh," she breathed, her eyes alight. "The tombs."
Peter looked back at her. "You know what this is?"
"These are the Founders," she answered. "Hans Redbeard and his Council Five." She indicated the first, to their right, and, one by one, went back and forth through the rest. "Daggeir Battlefrost, his sister, Syan, Enwyn Greentide, Sutter Bonesteel, Rohan Stonehand, and Redbeard himself. The six of them were the first to step foot on Karnan soil."
"Or so the story goes."
"Or so it goes."
Peter arrived at the vault of Sutter Bonesteel. His hand hovered uncertainly at the door while his mind struggled to make sense of the dread in his gut. "Eadric doesn't make mistakes," he said. "This could be one of his traps."
Una, beside him, agreed, "Could be."
"Or it could be our only chance to stop him."
She smiled at that, just as stumped. "Could be, Peter."
Peter steadied his racing pulse. Tried to, rather. Hesitation lapped at his feet, swallowed his heels, sucked him under. He steeled himself despite the rising sea of indecision and heaved open the ancient door, ready to face what awaited him. A gust of pressure threw dust in his eyes: the cold, putrid breath of an undead beast. Movement settled. Darkness beamed.
The spotters zipped by and entered first. Peter followed. In the chamber beyond there was a single unmarked sarcophagus, as unadorned and unexceptional as the meager space that it occupied.
Una joined him and suggested, "Together?"
"Not yet," he replied. "Step back."
She didn't need him to say it twice. Peter liked that about her. She watched from the door while he carefully checked the area for traps. Curiously, she said, "You're a good man, Peter."
Peter straightened, wiping his brow. "Aye, and how's that?"
"I felt a need to say it. I don't want you to change."
He met her eyes. "Why would I change?"
She shrugged, fingers lost in the chain of her necklace. "No reason."
"Born liar," he scoffed. "Come over here and help with the lid."
The heavy stone scraped noisily from its chamber. Every grunt of effort and rasp of stone was amplified, transmogrified, uglified. It seemed the very ceiling would soon collapse upon them. Una gasped when the lid struck ground.
The silence returned. Together they gathered tombside, set in their ways.
But Eadric didn't make mistakes. "Gone," Peter said, eyes on the empty sarcophagus. "He'd have been a fool to leave it here. He was never in any danger of us."
Una's voice had lost its vigor. "What now?"
Before he could pretend like he knew, a noise begged a backward glance at the door. It was there, low to the ground— a girl was peering in at them, hair so disheveled that it partly masked the sliver of face she'd dared to expose.
She darted away, but Peter was already after her. The rundown soles of his stolen boots slid across the catacomb floor, and he was forced to catch himself before tearing down the murky passageway. She was rounding the bend by the time that he seized her. It sent them sprawling.
He demanded her name, but a blow to the side of his face cut him short. Fuming, he caught her flailing, floundering arms. "Cool it," he growled. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Doglike, she spat, "Eat me, turd bucket!"
Peter bristled. "Mouthy whelk."
"Ass hat! Knob jockey!"
Peter hoisted the tiny girl by her wrist while she frantically cursed and kicked at him. With feeling, he insisted, "Calm down."
She latched to his arm and bit it, hard.
The desired effect had her scrambling away, but he snatched up her ankle before she could vanish again. "Quit squirming," he seethed, deflecting a kick at his nose. "You little— "
The girl pivoted, free foot hovering between them. She was guarding her face with her fists as if she expected him to strike her. "Stupid," she snarled, and her spitfire glare was russet and bold. "Did you think he'd just leave his carcass lying around?"
Peter stared at her, suddenly uncertain.
She was cautiously still until he released her. Her voice had calmed when she spoke. "You might take down the Bonesteels, but you still shouldn't make him angry. We have pothers." His expression must have changed, because she sneered, "Hasn't anyone told you, yet?"
"Told me what?"
But her brazen eyes leapt to Una. Her grin vanished. Her shoulders hunched. "I wasn't gonna," she said, softly. "I was teasing him, is all."
Una sighed. She approached, footfall bouncing from wall to wall. "This isn't the time for teasing, Alyce," she replied, sounding stern. "He's looking for you."
"I know that, stupid. Why do you think I'm hiding down here in this shithole?"
Peter stole a glimpse of Una as she joined them. He wasn't surprised by the inky black state of her eyes. "Peter," Eadric greeted, unsmiling. "I see you've been sidetracked. I'd hate to hurt you."
Alyce's name was registering somewhere in the dark recesses of Peter's mind. Ethos had known her somehow. "He saw me, didn't he," Peter said. "Same as I saw him with Anouk."
"He did," Eadric replied, epitomizing patience. "So?"
"So you can't hurt me. You need me."
"How dull of you." Eadric dropped into a crouch and put a knife under Peter's nose. It happened too abruptly for words. "Did you think you had a face in the future?" he asked. "Get creative, Peter. My favorite thing about prophecy is how delightfully changeable it is."
The blade bit. Peter lurched back, collided with Alyce, and froze there. "Curse all if you live a day longer," he seethed, pulse alive and trapped in his throat. "Curse all and the rest."
" 'Curse whatever you want, Peter. It's what you're best at.' "
Ethos had said the same thing in the pass. Hearing it again came as such a surprise that he nearly forgot himself and his fear. "It's his mom you're after," Peter knew. "I get that she's dangerous. But what did she do to make you hate her so much?"
Eadric was strangely expressioned. Una would never have looked at him like that. "She destroyed everything irreplaceable to me," he replied. "I'll gladly do the same to you if you insist on sticking that nose of yours where it obviously doesn't belong."
"But what about the Old War? You'll revive it at this rate."
"There would be anarchy in the streets if not for me," Eadric said. "Karna needs a guardian, Peter, and I've kept the peace for hundreds of years. It's not your job to question me."
"That's an unholy load of garbage," Peter scoffed. "You're no guardian. Guardians don't hide behind innocent people like you do."
"Una's far from innocent," Eadric retorted. "She tried to get Ethos to kill her own father. Tried forcing it, even."
"Then she must've had a good reason for it."
Eadric dimmed. "She's done quite a number on you, Peter Thompson."
Alyce chose then to disentangle herself. As if her fear had never been, she stood and straightened her clothes. Her bearing seemed different. "He's nearing the restricted level, Eadric," she said. "Gladius is up in his den. How much longer are you planning to drag this out?"
Eadric glanced, at once diverted from his exchange with Peter. He smiled again, seriousness gone to the last. "Oh, good," he said. "You're back. I prefer it when you act your age."
She measured him up. "I don't like you in this body."
He pouted. "But it's so becoming."
"Not on you, it isn't. And it's bothering Peter."
The pout deepened until, blandly, it vanished. "Alright, then," he conceded. "I suppose Ethos takes precedence. The pest. I was clever to keep Kyrian on hand."
In disdain, she retorted, "That's one opinion."
"Buck up, dear. If all goes well, Ethos will kill him."
Alyce noticed Peter staring and bared her teeth at him. "What?"
Peter stood, blindly feeling for wall. "Whose side are you on exactly?"
"I'm on my side, stupid." For good measure, she leaned in and repeated, "Stupid."
Eadric was watching them interact. When they glanced at him, he smiled thinly, not unlike Una; an odd sort of coincidence. His eyes were polished stone, reflecting them. "I've just come up with a lovely idea," he said, and then, to Alyce, he instructed, "Stay with him after I'm gone."
She seemed less than thrilled. "Does it have to be me?"
"Unfailingly. For every piece, a purpose." Eadric went to his feet. "To that effect, I'll be making the rest of your evening unpleasant, Peter," he said. "I would explain why, but I very much doubt you'll remember any of this."
Peter quickly put Alyce behind him. "Stay back."
Eadric suddenly went very still, and in his eyes there was a small sort of light, a color like amber, which spread and abated. "Brat," he said, as if to himself. "Don't get in my way."
Una, Peter realized. She was fighting back, forcing him out. He wanted to cheer her on.
But as the amber light won out and blossomed, a worrying rage shook deep at her core. She'd gone white as snow, tight-fisting blade, and her voice was of gravel. She seethed, "Mine."
And then, in a gruesome motion, she turned the knife on herself.