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After the king left, John thought about Blay. The guy really should have been with them for all of this.

I’d like to go to ZeroSum, he signed.

“Why? ’Cause you think it’s going to get Blay out?” Qhuinn went over to the briefcase and loaded the other gun, the clip sliding into place with a whisper and a click.

You need to tell me what’s doing. Now.

Qhuinn put on the holster and plugged the weapons in under his armpits. He looked . . . powerful. Deadly. With his cropped dark hair and those piercings in his ear and that tat underneath his blue eye, if John hadn’t known the guy, he would have sworn he was looking at a Brother.

What happened between you and Blay?

“I cut him loose, and I was cruel about it.”

Good God . . . Why?

“I was on the way to jail for murder, remember? He’d have eaten himself alive worrying about me. It would have ruined his life. Better that he hate me than be lonely for the rest of his days.”

No offense, but are you really that important to him?

Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes drilled into John’s. “Yes. I am. And don’t ask any questions about that.”

John knew a boundary when he saw it: Conversationally speaking, he’d just run into a concrete wall with barbed wire around it.

I still want to go to ZeroSum, and I still want to give him a chance to meet us out.

Qhuinn pulled a light jacket from his bag and seemed to gather himself as he put it on. When he turned back around, his characteristic smart-ass smile was back in place. “Your wish is my command, prince of mine.”

Don’t call me that.

As John headed for the exit, he texted Blay, hoping the guy would show eventually. Maybe if he was bugged enough he’d relent?

“So what should I call you?” Qhuinn said as he leaped ahead to open the door with a flourish. “Would you prefer ‘my liege’?”

Give it a rest, would you.

“How about good ol’-fashioned ‘master’?” When John just glared over his shoulder, Qhuinn shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go with fathead then. But that’s your damage, I gave you options.”

Chapter Thirty-one

There were two things the glymera liked above all else: a good party and a good funeral.

With the slaughter of Lash’s parents, they had both.

Phury sat in front of the computer in the training center’s office, a headache directly behind his left eyeball. He felt like the wizard was taking an ice pick to his optic nerve.

Actually, it’s a drill, mate, the wizard said.

Right, Phury thought. Of course it is.

Is that sarcasm? the wizard said. Ah, right. You’d planned to be a washed-up junkie and a disappointment to your brothers, and now that you’ve succeeded you’re getting cheeky. You know, perhaps you should start a seminar for others. Phury, son of Ahgony’s ten steps to success at being an utter, irredeemable failure.

Shall I get the ball rolling? Let’s start with the basics: being born.

Phury planted his elbows on either side of the laptop and rubbed his temples, trying to stay grounded in the real world instead of the wizard’s boneyard.

The computer screen in front of him glowed, and as he stared at it, he thought of all the shit that was coming into the Brotherhood’s general e-mail box. The glymera just wasn’t getting it. In the message he’d sent out to them, he’d reported on the attacks and urged the aristocracy to get out of Caldwell and take shelter in their safe houses. He’d been careful with the wording, trying not to incite panic, but evidently, he hadn’t been dire enough.

Although you’d think the slaughter of their leahdyre and his shellan in their own home would be enough.

God, there had been so much death from the Lessening Society last night and tonight . . . and given the glymera’s responses, there was going to be more. Soon.

Lash knew where every single aristocratic family lived in town, so there was a chance that a significant portion of the glymera was at risk for exposure. And the poor kid didn’t have to give each of the addresses out under duress, either. If the lessers got into just a couple of those homes, they’d find clues to so many others