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Chapter 27 - 26

Ellena had fallen asleep in the den again, her drink on the armrest of her favorite chair. She'd said Gladius had done his best thinking there. She'd said it and laughed and then started to cry, and Peter had told her that it was okay. He'd told her that she would feel better someday. A master pretender himself, he thought. He wondered how Ethos managed.

He was crouched at her feet for a while, the fire at his back, trying to think of a gentle way to wake her. It was easy to see where Una had gotten her looks; even out cold, face rolled into her own slender shoulder, she had a captivating appearance. Peter took the glass from her before it could fall.

She stirred at the sound of the shifting ice. Strands of silver hair caught the light. She saw him and said her husband's name. She covered her eyes and apologized.

"It's sundown," he said. "I'd like you to eat."

"Everything turns to ash in my mouth."

"Not everything." To make his point, Peter sipped at her drink and fended her off when she tried to snatch it. She froze midreach, rancid breath fanning his face. "Eat something," he stressed, and he meant it, glaring a bit for emphasis. "Please."

With a small smile, she moved the hair by his brow to one side. "Gladius would have liked you," she murmured. "I wish you'd reconsider what we spoke about earlier."

"Ethos didn't kill your husband."

"I can't help but think that you wish it weren't true." She held his gaze for a moment, and to his silence, she said, "You'll defend him regardless."

"I'll defend anyone until they're proven guilty. The books even say it was Kyrian."

"The books are garbage. You can't trust a word Eadric puts in them."

"Then why did you make that announcement yesterday?"

She snorted. "Like I had a choice in the matter."

Peter didn't argue; he knew the feeling. He finished her drink and climbed to his feet. "Go to bed if you're not going to eat," he said. "This chair's going to give you a hump."

Ellena stood, tottering as she smoothed down the front of her dress. Her hands slowed over a trail of buttons. "Peter," she said, and she said it softly, like something had occurred to her. "When it's time, I'd like to be put with Gladius."

Eadric tended to pick people off. With her husband gone, it made sense for her to question how long she'd last. Peter gently took her hands. "I can protect you," he swore, catching her eyes. "I can."

The door opened, interfering, and Eadric entered as if he'd heard them. "Ellie," he greeted, playing friendly. "The tousled look, I like it. Get out."

Ethos entered after him, hands in his pockets and looking somehow like he still needed sleep. Peter must have tensed, because Ellena quickly pulled away. "I'll give you some privacy," she said, forcing a smile, squeezing his arm. "Be safe, Peter. Give it some thought."

Peter quietly watched her go, wishing he could apologize, but then gave a start when she advanced on Ethos. Eadric was already there; he put himself between them and glared until Ellena desisted and left the room. The door closed behind her.

Peter muttered, "You shouldn't disrespect her like that."

Eadric approached. He produced Peter's notebook from the folds of his coat and returned it with a meaningful look. Before he let go, he instructed, "Burn this."

"I thought you confiscated it. Why give it back if you want it gone?"

"It's yours, Peter. Destroy it." Eadric glanced behind him and snapped his fingers at Ethos. "Get over here," he said, pointing at the floor. "Now."

With a scowl, Ethos complied. "Don't snap your fingers at me."

"Behave while I'm gone or I'll shave your head. I'll have the cooks prepare supper."

"Good. Tell them to bring me some water before my system starts shutting down."

Eadric smirked and turned to go. But he whispered something to Ethos in passing that triggered a subtle well-deserved glower. To Peter, he languidly added, "I'll be back later."

Peter nodded. He didn't care where Eadric went, long as he went.

Ethos was quiet until they were alone. He'd been staring at the notebook, but he didn't ask about its contents or why Eadric wanted it set on fire. He just frowned up at Peter and asked, "Why'd you come after me?"

"Because fuck you."

He smiled a bit, but his eyes were distracted. Without so much as a word of warning, he went to a painting on the wall behind Peter and tore it clean off, flinging it blindly. The unexpectedness of it was startling; Ethos was trouble by design, but never forceful, never violent.

Alyce gasped involuntarily. She was crouched in the void beyond, one hand raised as if to stop him from discovering the passageway. Brown eyes wide, she whispered, "You broke it."

Ethos blinked at her. "Oh," he said, in mild surprise. "It's you."

Bafflingly, Alyce welled up. "Ho, Ethos."

"When did you get so small?"

"Stupid. You're always confused."

A happy smile spread. "I'm so glad you're real."

Alyce tried to conceal a laugh. "Did you think you'd imagined me?"

"Maybe," he replied. "I do strange things sometimes. But I mean well, mostly."

The tears won out; Alyce leapt forth and had a good cry against his shoulder, feet dangling. He let her have it out like that, sniffing her ears to make her laugh, feigning mercy when she grew heavy. It was a moment they'd earned, so Peter sighed and let them enjoy it until they'd moved their reunion-but-not to the den's great set of fireside chairs.

Peter refilled Ellena's empty glass. "I don't like you sneaking around in the voids, Alyce," he said, glancing. "I'm afraid you'll overhear something that gets you killed."

"I was following Ethos," said she, sourly, squirming into the massive guest chair. "I'm not about to let him get hurt again, not by Eadric, and certainly not by that buzzard, Norita."

From the rug, Ethos chuckled, "My hero."

Alyce drew her beloved pouch around; it was an old wicker creel, busted at the edges and not well cared for at all by the look. She rummaged within for a moment or two and then flung a dented canteen at Ethos. "It's fresh," she told him, pointing at it. "Feel free to polish it off."

"You really are a hero," he laughed. "Thank you."

Peter sank into the late king's colossal chair, dwarfed. He'd wanted to see Gladius for himself at the departure ceremony, but Eadric had denied him. Reminded, unfairly, he watched Ethos drink and thought terrible thoughts. He asked, "You okay?"

Ethos returned the empty canteen. "Don't I look okay?"

"Not really. I'd think you were sick if I were no wiser." Peter's eyes wandered the room. The days after the attack had been spent repairing it, scrubbing out stains, removing glass. Rhysa had mourned the original window. "I was worried," Peter said. "Eadric wouldn't let me in to see you."

Ethos basically ignored him. "Are you marked?"

Peter buried a chill. "No."

"You're sure?"

"Aye, I'm sure. Are you?"

Ethos glanced at Alyce. "Have you seen how he does it?"

Alyce sent him a wary look. It read like an apology. "He'll know that we talked about it," she said, eyes sliding low and away. "The rules are different now. You have to be careful." 

"Eadric is very aware of how I feel about this arrangement." 

"He doesn't care about how you feel, Ethos. You're still in compliance."

He grinned at her suddenly, tilting his head. "I can't get over how small you are."

Peter had known for a while that Ethos wasn't quite right, but it didn't make seeing him smile any easier. Peter hadn't smiled in days, not since the morning after, when the weight of all that had happened had hit him. Una, dead. Gladius, dead. Ethos, detained. Oldden, in disarray. There had been string after string of fights in the streets, widespread looting, warring neighbors, families fleeing. 

And Ethos was smiling. Smiling, even after all the damage he'd done.

"I saw you at the end there." He was looking at Peter now, hands in his lap. "How much did you see of the fight?" he asked. "Were you there for the fall?"

They'd seen it. They'd seen every hideous second of it. From the moment he'd dragged himself from the rubble, completely black, save for his eyes, they'd watched in horrified silence as he'd fought off and slain the Bonesteel councilman. Peter hadn't slept well since.

Ethos saw through him. "So you were."

"Alyce led us into the bailey as you came down with Kyrian." 

A shadow moved behind his eyes. "What were you all doing together?"

"Eadric tricked me into the Oldden catacombs by pretending to be Una," Peter mumbled. "Alyce was hiding down there on account of your tantrum."

Ethos crinkled his nose. "He pretended to be Una?"

"Don't look at me like that. I hate it when you look at me like that." 

"Was he convincing?" Ethos split into his usual stupid grin. "Did he woo you?"

Peter glowered. "Aye, gloat," he spat. "Fool that I am, thinking she'd muster an apology." He sat forward in the massive chair, crossly gesturing with the glass. "And curse you for letting her have a run at me, Ethos. You're at the top of my shit list again."

"I deserve that. Would you prefer it if she didn't come back?"

Peter tried to read him. The smile had faded, but not entirely. "No," he replied. "No, I don't hate her or anything. I was angry, mostly. Hurt like. I don't want her gone."

Ethos nodded, framed by the fire. His unusual eyes held the light like a cat. "I'm going to ask you a question," he said. "Please be honest with me."

"Aye, what is it?"

"Is this what you want?"

Peter frowned at him. "This?"

"This," he said. "Oldden. All of it."

"Since when does it matter what I want?"

"It matters." Ethos looked down at his hands; they were still in his lap, fingers curled, not quite into fists. "I'm a little overwhelmed," he said. "It would help me to know where you stand."

Ethos was still too dispassionate to know what he should be doing with himself. He'd always been lacking in that area. Motivation. Interest. "Eadric will let you go after Alma's dead," Peter said. "Did he mention that to you?"

"He mentioned it, yeah."

"Then shouldn't you focus on helping him?"

Ethos met his eyes. "You know what I'd have to do?"

"Then find another way. It all depends on how badly you want to be rid of him." Peter sank back into his chair, gripped by a rare desire to smoke. "I'll make up my mind when she's gone for good," he went on. "It's a family thing, way I see it. We've got to get past it somehow."

"I don't think of her like that."

"Like what? Family?"

"Yeah. She's just an old story to me."

Peter shrugged. "But isn't it easier that way?"

Ethos stole a glimpse of Alyce; she was watching her feet swing back and forth, wisely staying out of it. His gaze didn't return, but his next words were still meant for Peter. "I'll figure something out," he said, and he sounded resigned. "You're not wrong."

Peter squinted one-eyed through the bottom of his glass. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing, for now." Ethos reached over and stilled Alyce's bouncing feet. She met his eyes as if she'd expected it. "Alyce," he said. "Are you with me?"

A nervous laugh bubbled out of her. "You're really asking me that?"

"Where you stand matters, too."

"No, it doesn't. I stand wherever Eadric tells me to."

He treated her like he would a warm fire, palm outward, sensing the space. His smile was a flash of white. "Your pulse jumps when you say his name," he said, fascinated. "It reminds me of fondness, but it's not. It must that evil creature, love."

Alyce slapped his hand away. "Have some class."

Ethos caught her wrist, and she recoiled as he went to his knees. "I'm not Eadric," he promised. "I won't get angry at you for something that can't be helped."

She studied his eyes. "I don't know if I can defy him outright."

With another small smile, Ethos kissed her knuckles and let his head sink into her lap. "He'll want me to get my strength back," he knew. "A few days, maybe. I'll have a talk with him."

Alyce combed his hair with her fingers. "You're not so different from him."

Ethos closed his eyes. "I had this awful dream when I was healing up," he said. "I had antlers like Ludo and they kept getting caught on everything."

She sniggered. "I remember."

Peter watched them, feeling distant, thoughts brooding on gods and men. He'd never imagined that any two strangers could be so completely at ease with each other; it was a first, he realized, the first time he'd thought of Alyce and Ethos as something irrefutably Else.

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Alyce hushed him. Her brown eyes were hooded, inebriated by comfort. "Quiet, dummy," she murmured. "Let him rest a minute."

"He fell asleep?"

"Barely. It won't last."

Peter sighed in spite of himself. Godlings or not, they were like a couple of common dogs, curled up by a crackling fire. "You've never really explained this relationship, Alyce."

"Eadric says he's not my brother. Eadric says he's unnatural."

Curious, Peter asked, "Unnatural how?"

Alyce glanced. Her age suddenly seemed great. "You ask too much of him, Peter," she said. "She's his mom in spite of it all."

Peter refilled his drink. "Ethos doesn't have a mom," he replied. "And he wouldn't know how to love her if he did."

"I still think you ask too much."

The dying hearth was chilling the room, so Peter stood to feed it. He added a log and watched it burn. "Ethos needs to get out of this place," he said. "And if I have to pit him against the tono to do it, so be it. Whatever it takes."

"You've been here for days, Peter. I've been here for years." She was quiet for a moment, so Peter glanced. She was staring up at him, eyes alight. "He's marked," she told him. "It's done. Eadric won't let him go. Not ever. Not even if he survives his mother."

Such sage advice from a childish face. Maybe she was unnatural, too. Peter gave his head a shake and threw another log on the fire. "I don't know whose side you're really on, but if there's a way out of here, we'll find it."

"Even though you want to stay?"

"I'd rather take off than give Eadric the satisfaction of turning Ethos into someone like him." Peter sent Alyce a meaningful look. "We can take you with us."

"We three pigs, choking on butter?" 

"Pardon?"

"There are faster ways to kill ourselves."

A ranching proverb; butchered, but true. "How old are you, really?"

She had the nerve to smirk. But something must have been off in his eyes, because her seriousness returned rather quickly. She'd realized he wanted an answer from her. A number.

"Paper," Ethos suddenly mumbled, startling them, and he raised his head to squint about. He made an unclear gesture at Peter before properly indicating the desk in the corner. "Paper," he repeated. "And something to write with, please."

Asking what he wanted them for would be counterproductive. Knowing this, and with a sigh, Peter set down his unfinished drink to procure the requested items. Behind him, he could hear Alyce whisper to Ethos. She asked, "Was I being too loud?"

"Something else."

"Alma?"

"You can't hear it?"

"Not like this. You drown the rest out."

Ethos made a wry, surprised sort of sound. "Me?"

"More than before, I think," she replied. "You've changed somehow."

"You, too. I can't hear you at all." Ethos glanced up as Peter returned. He'd helped himself to the unsupervised glass and downed everything left of it. "Oh, Peter," he greeted, like they'd been apart for much longer than a second. "Any luck?"

Peter took the glass from him. "Don't finish my drinks without asking," he said, and indelicately dumped the supplies on the rug. "There. Paper and pencil."

Ethos thanked him. He blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and rotated a sheet of paper. "I'm betting we won't get many opportunities like this," he said. "Let's put our heads together."

Peter refilled his glass. "I'm not in the best frame of mind for brainstorming."

"That's fine. I'm more interested in Alyce's input." Ethos sketched a couple of lines and scribbled something between them. Aside, he said, "My measurements are off."

"What are you writing?" Peter asked. "You can't write."

"Oubi can," Ethos replied. "I can do a few new things thanks to him."

Alyce touched his shoulder and inadvertently made him jump. "Hey, monster," she said, when his eyes slid toward her. "Tell me exactly what you're doing."

He returned to his work. "I have a general idea of the fort's layout," he answered. "I need you to fill in the gaps. For example— " Ethos flipped the paper around and watched her face, tapping on what looked like a boxed off chamber. "Oubi never had clearance to this. Do you know what's in there?" 

Alyce traced the lines he'd made. "Is this the Southside Breezeway?"

"Yeah, see here. The stairs leading up to the second level."

"You're missing a wall on the side opposite. It's Bagley's branch."

Peter grudgingly went to the floor to see what all the fuss was about, and saw, dismally, that Ethos had drawn a fine start to a blueprint. Curse him for being decent at everything he ever tried. Peter spoke aloud without thinking. "This part of you drives me crazy," he said. "Catching on like you do."

Ethos didn't even bother a glance. "What are you talking about?"

"You learn too quickly. It's godlingery. It's cheating."

"I can pretend to be slow if it puts you at ease."

"Don't be an asshole." Peter lightly smacked him. "Look at me."

Ethos glared at him, hand hovering over the paper. He looked pissed. "Don't hit me."

"No? For a so-called pacifist you certainly beg for it a lot."

"I've never begged anyone for anything."

"Liar. You begged me for a bite of my sandwich once."

Peter must have surprised him. Ethos tried and failed not to smile, permitting a smirk. He returned to his mapping, a knee to the ground, and said, "That doesn't count."

"It counts. It was a good sandwich." But Alyce was staring over at him, so Peter pretended to fish something out of his drink. "What do you need a map for?" he asked, only partly interested. "You stand out too much to be given the freedom to wander."

"Exactly," Ethos replied. "I intend to memorize this in the event of a crisis. If something happens, I'd like to know which way to run."

"And if you get out?"

His tawny hand paused in the course of a sweep. He imparted a sheepish, lopsided grin. "I guess it depends on what I'm running from."

"Don't make an enemy of Eadric, Ethos."

But Ethos had lent his ear to Alyce, who, overturned in the chair and stretching, had cupped a hand at her mouth to impart some fresh new secret between them. They seemed happy, or as happy as they could be under the circumstances. Peter couldn't tell if he loved it or hated it. Funny, how easy it was to mistake one for the other. 

The night grew older and swallowed the sky, at which point a few pretty serving girls appeared with various trays of food. Ethos ate until he couldn't, patting his belly as if were ripe and saying they'd need to roll him away. He and Alyce were peas in a pod, throwing grapes, making faces, exchanging vulgar jokes about Eadric. The little one had the mouth of a sailor.

The fire was dying when Peter came to. One of his boots was gone. Ethos was sitting in the other chair, watching the hearth while Alyce soundly slept in his arms; she was sprawled about like a mangled goose, face smashed beautifully against his shoulder, drooling a stain right into his shirt.

Peter said his name too soon. His black eyes moved and kicked off firelight. "Sorry, no," Eadric replied. "Your boot's in the fire, if you're wondering."

"That's my chair you're sitting in."

"He was like this when I got here."

The nap hadn't done Peter any favors. His lips were clumsy. He cursed and looked around for the water pitcher. "What time is it?" he asked. "I feel like hell."

Like Ethos had, Eadric ignored him. "I took him too lightly, the whelp." 

Peter squeezed his eyes tightly shut, vying for stability. "What'd he do now?"

"He has an inconvenient physiology."

"You already knew that."

"Yes, but I didn't expect it to be this disorienting. It's a complete sensory overload. If I puke I'll never forgive myself." 

"Aye, he finally ate. Keep it down."

Eadric was quiet. He gazed at the fire. "It's good that he eats," he muttered. "It was the one thing about her that never sat right with me."

"You mean Alma."

Peter's voice invited his eyes. "Not natural, I remember thinking. If she and Hans hadn't been in love, I'd have killed her myself for what she was. But I overlooked it." He had a good laugh at that, drily adding, "There was to be a golden age."

"They were in love?"

"We had thirteen years of peace before the treaty fell apart," Eadric told him. "It happened during the delivery. Alma prophesied her own death at the hands of their newborn, and the measures Hans took to stop her from murdering it were what ended her life that first time. It set everything in motion."

The Leviathan. Redbeard the Righteous. The war and its foundation, all of it— lies.

"So yes, Hans drew the first blood," Eadric grumbled, onward and upward. "There's no changing that. No way around it. And in Alma's madness, she called it betrayal." He smoothed Alyce's hair. His hand stilled on the back of her head. "Five years, we managed. We were occupying Wyndemere at the time when she finally broke our defenses."

"What happened?"

Eadric glanced. "She got what she wanted," he said. "She broke prophecy, killed her boy. We still have his ashes right here in Oldden."

Peter uncertainly gestured at him. "Then this…"

"The real Ethos died a very long time ago, Peter." Eadric was holding his eyes, unsmiling. "What Alma made is an imitation of some sort," he said. "Creation, in his image. Replication. The fact that we possess his remains is proof that he's not the genuine article. That's how resurgence works. In the old world we'd have called him a clone."

"Is that why he wanted Una's body preserved?"

"Yes, precisely." 

Peter wasn't processing the information properly. It was too sudden. Too strange. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "What do you gain?"

"Perhaps I just felt like sharing."

"You never give stuff away for free."

Eadric split into a smile, and it was nothing like Ethos. It was an evil thing, gruesome, riddled with holes. "Okay, sure," he said. "I could use a favor. A small one. Though I really did feel like sharing."

Peter sat up to provide his full attention. "What do you want?"

"I want you to look in your right pocket."

Peter sighed and fished around. "What am I looking for?"

"A note," Eadric said, resting his head back. "Ethos slipped it to you." 

Peter tiredly went to his feet. His joints protested. Thoughts dark, he unfolded the note and recited its peculiar contents. " 'Why did the algae and the fungus get hitched?' "

Eadric made a derisive sound. "I know what it says."

"Then why the hell am I reading it to you?"

"I want you to tell me what it means."

"It doesn't mean anything. It's stupid. He's stupid."

"He's not stupid, Peter." Eadric rose from the chair, careful not to wake Alyce. "He must've just been getting a read on us," he mused. "It's along the lines of what I would've done."

Peter shook his head. "He's got no reason to get a read on me."

"Quit being such a Battlefrost, Peter. You were suspect the moment you told him to help me." He was touching his forehead where Ethos often did, pained by the source of his unrest. "He was testing the waters," he said. "I imagine he knows we're in cahoots."

"I'm only supporting you because you promised he'd be released."

"He will be. Once Alma's dead. And once I know for sure where he crawled into creation from."

"That wasn't part of the deal." Peter stopped him from turning away. "Oi," he snapped. "Where do you think you're going?"

Eadric blandly gave him a look. "Ethos hid a stash of oupir in here," he replied. "I don't know if he was trying to keep it on the sly or what he was thinking about at the time, but I can't concentrate with this infernal headache of his. Let go if you'd like to continue."

Reluctantly, Peter released him. "Then what about Alyce?"

"Alyce is mine," Eadric said, moving books. "Don't ask me about her."

"But she's never been around her own kind before. She should be with Ethos."

"Forming a monster militia, are you?" Eadric turned back. He sniffed at a sprig of oupir. "It'll be another twenty years before she looks old enough, Peter. Best call it quits."

"Old enough for what?"

"For you. And she's a terrible cook, so…"

Peter glowered. "That's disgusting. She's a kid."

Eadric chewed, waiting for the oupir to take effect. His beady, itinerant gaze made rounds through the room. "What a bizarre color spectrum," he mused. "I can't decide if it's better or worse than the auditory thing." His head tilted. "Ellena's still awake," he noticed. "She's crying. Typical."

"Her entire family just died," Peter retorted, patience thinning. "I don't know if being eternal has any drawbacks, but the least you can do is respect her loss."

"Eternity is a void, Peter. Life is precious because it ends."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

Eadric smiled, but this time it wasn't gruesome. His eyes slid away. "Karna's special," he said. "It needs protection. Guardianship. It needs someone to watch over it."

His bearing had taken a turn; Peter felt like he was seeing double— Eadric and Ethos, overlapping, coinciding, mixing him up for the hell of it. "It's a bit of earth, Eadric," he said. "Karna needs you like it needs a good drought. You're just afraid to die."

The gentle lapse in Eadric's bearing passed. "I wandered the ruins of my homeland for years," he said. "I stood atop the skulls in Atrophe. The war and the famine. Disease. Pollution. Do you even know what pollution is? Do you have any idea how many people it takes to poison an entire continent?" He looked repulsed by Peter. "A bit of earth," he spat. "Imbecile."

Those black eyes were ancient. Peter swallowed. "Is that why you're here?"

After a silence, Eadric's glare slipped back into a grin. "Could be," he said. "But I'm a liar, you know. History's much more exciting to tell when a little color's been added to it." Diverted, he inspected the oupir. "I digress," he said, with a glance at Alyce. "She stays. We have our own rather colorful past and I've done a few things that need making up for."

Peter raised his chin. "I'm sure she'd call it even for freedom."

"Cut the act, Peter," Eadric said. "You're as blandly controlling as they come. Seeing her interact with Ethos would be a constant reminder of what you're lacking."

"I'm not lacking. They're the ones lacking."

Eadric tapped his nose with a laugh. "Incapable of insincerity," he teased. "That's what you are, and I told him as much. I saw by his eyes that he agreed."

"You were talking to him about me?"

"Obviously. He was clearly relieved to be trapped with somebody clever for a change."

Peter would later wonder what had made him snap, if it was the thought of them looking down on him, or in fact something simpler, something much more primitive, but whatever the case, he lashed out intending to clock Eadric square. His fist swung wide somehow. A miss.

As soon as Peter registered it, a blur of movement caught him in the trachea. A jab, maybe. Too fast. It was followed by something resembling an uppercut. His nose exploded over the heel of Eadric's hand, force enough to stagger him, but not enough to drop him. 

Peter defaulted to pub rules. He dove low and caught Eadric's midsection. They landed hard. It was impossible to tell who was more hurt by it. But fights rarely lasted as long as people tended to think, and Eadric went on the defense, fast.

"Time! Time!"

"You uppish little— "

Eadric burst out laughing. He backed up into a shelf, taking advantage of Peter's surprise. Books toppled to the floor around him. "Hey, now," he said, still partly laughing. "Don't go treating me like Ethos just because I've borrowed his face. I'd hate to provoke you more than I have."

Peter bristled, on alert. "Both of you need to learn some respect."

"Okay, look— look —I shouldn't have baited you. He's still recovering. To be fair, if I'd used my corpse like a proper gentleman you'd be long dead on the primstone here." He jumped when Peter gave a start at him. "Kidding!"

"Your jokes are never funny. Get out."

"You knew what you were getting into, Peter." But Peter's glare persevered, and Eadric eventually heaved a sigh. "You're no fun," he said. "Tell him I'll be by at dawn."

"I'll tell him to burn this fort to the ground." 

But his eyes had already shifted to green. Peter hadn't seen them change. Ethos largely seemed unaffected; he just winced and shook the hair from his face. "That was fast," he said, and then crookedly smiled up at Peter. His teeth were red. "So did he get my joke?"

Peter tried to switch gears. "What joke?"

"The algae and the fungus joke."

"What makes you think he asked about it?"

His red smile grew. "Are you saying he didn't?"

They faced off briefly. "No," Peter said. "We didn't get it."

"What, neither of you?" That made him laugh. "I guess I win, then."

"Aye, I give. Why'd the algae and the fungus get hitched?"

"Because they took a lichen to each other. Geddit?"

Flatly, Peter stared at him. "What's it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything. It's a joke." There wasn't enough room to rise properly. Ethos gave up and sent Peter a mildly annoyed sort of look. "Could you scoot back a bit?"

Peter moved, lone boot squeaking across the floor. "Do you remember anything?"

"You mean the part where you attacked Eadric?"

Peter stood. "So you do."

"No," Ethos said. "I just don't see anyone else hovering over me with blood spatter all over their face. You have blood spatter all over your face, by the way."

Peter extended a helping hand. "I'm not hovering over you."

" 'What did the blind frog say to the fly?' "

" 'Shut up and take my hand.' "

"Not even close." But Ethos accepted the gesture. Once on his feet, he fished the oupir out of his mouth and shook the tacky dregs from his fingers. "There go my reserves," he mourned. "I troubled a pretty young philodendron to grow that."

Peter glanced at Ellena's favorite urn. Dirt was everywhere. The plant was kinked. It looked like he'd made a valiant effort to put it back the way he'd found it. "I'm sorry I hit you," Peter said, cleaning his face with his sleeve. "I forget myself when I get worked up."

"Can we be even if you're sorry?"

"Aye, we can be even." Peter caught his eyes and paused. "You've got this weird sort of frown like you want to ask me something," he said. "Go on and ask."

"How much pull do you have with Eadric?"

"Not enough to get you out of this."

Ethos raised an eyebrow. "Is that a fact?"

"Aye, it's a fact," Peter said. "Eadric only listens to Eadric."

"But he's human, you know. He'll respond to coercion just like the rest of you."

Ethos was moving too fast again. Peter sighed and asked, "Why'd you give me that stupid note?"

"I took a risk," he confessed. "I wanted to see how he'd play it." Low-gazed, he took on the same humble bearing that Peter had glimpsed in Eadric not five minutes earlier. But Ethos misread Peter's silence. He explained, "It would have gone differently if you'd been marked."

"And if I had been marked? What then?"

"He might have come at me directly. More unpleasantness. Who knows. Come sit." Ethos returned to the fireside rug. "It's fine," he pressed. "It was an experiment."

He and Alyce had clearly continued their work there. Peter could see her familiar scrawl mapping out the places she knew, ruining all his expensive paper. He went to the floor and rifled around, charmed when he found a batch of random doodles. They looked like something Alyce would draw. To Ethos, he said, "Show me yours."

Ethos laughed. "You don't want to see mine."

Peter quickly looked at him. "Oi, oi, now you have to."

He was scribbling again, head bent. "It smells like burnt leather in here."

"Don't try to distract me by changing the subject." But Ethos didn't respond; it looked like he was concentrating. Feeling off, Peter said, "We need to talk about something."

"A few things, more like. What have you been up to in the past ten days?"

Peter watched his hand glide over the paper. "I've gotten to know Ellena," he said. "She's nice for a highborn, I guess. A real beauty, kind in the eyes."

"She anything like her daughter?"

"She'd sleep better with your head on a pike."

Ethos didn't miss a beat. "I'll bet she would. What else?"

It was close to an admission of guilt, but leagues from an explanation. 

Without glancing, Ethos repeated, "What else?"

"Can you stop for a second?"

"No need."

"Ethos, stop."

Maybe it was Peter's tone. Ethos paused, but his eyes didn't rise. "If you have a question, ask it," he said. "Time is precious. I'm not interested in discussing your feelings."

"No? I must've rung your bell pretty good."

"Wasn't my bell when you rang it."

"You sure are taking it well. It'd bother me, playing his puppet."

Ethos gently placed the pencil down. "You don't think it bothers me?"

"I think you'd have more to say if it bothered you."

Finally, Ethos raised his eyes. Deep rage simmered there. "Yeah?"

Peter felt his adrenaline spike. Thrown, he cleared his throat. "There's something you really ought to know," he pressed. "It's important."

"Something Eadric told you?"

"Aye, just now."

"A lie, then." Ethos picked up the pencil and returned to scribbling. "Don't make the mistake of trusting Eadric just because you're in cahoots with him," he muttered. "It's good that you feel guilty and all, but I'm not going to sit here and let you use me as an atonement device. It's what he wants— the spread of false information. Keep it to yourself."

In cahoots, they both called it. "You think it's false information?"

"That's how Eadric works." Ethos balled up a sheet of paper and pitched it into the dying fire. The stench of it filled the den. "Every time we tell someone something, we have to assume we've just told someone else," he said. "If we do that, we can begin to think like him. Gain perspective."

Peter frowned. "Why do you want to think like him?"

"Because that's how I'll destroy him."

Ethos hadn't changed in bearing, but Peter could sense the ghost of his rage. "He'll know you told me that," he pointed out. "He'll know and he'll be ready for you."

Again, Ethos raised his eyes. The ghost: a deadlier look, if possible. "Good."

Alyce's arm materialized from the pile she'd made of herself in the chair. Her head followed and smoothly rolled back over Ethos' shoulder, putting them nose to nose. "Ho, monster," she said. "It's cold and I can't sleep with you thinking so loudly."

Ethos flashed a crooked smile. "You can hear me?"

"Always. I always hear you." She suddenly scowled. "You dog."

" 'Hey, why'd the algae and the fungus get hitched?' "

" 'Because no one else would have them?' "

Peter watched them laugh, quelling a pang in the depths of himself. Resentment. Distrust. It had all blended together over time, outgrown skins of envy and doubt and formed a noxious lance of hatred. It shone down there in the coals and the silt where not even he dared to go.