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CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

25 Sypheros

The next visitor Geth had to his chamber didn’t arrive with the same stealth as Chetiin. There was a knock at the door and Ashi entered. Midian slipped in after her and Geth caught a glimpse of Aruget speaking with the guards before the gnome closed the door again. Both wore tense expressions. Geth was certain Ashi’s was genuine; he wasn’t so sure about Midian’s.

“I ran into Midian in the entrance courtyard,” said Ashi.

“Ran into, nothing. I was looking for you,” Midian said with the kind of desperate cheerfulness people used to cover up stress. “This is the day, isn’t it? I would have waited in the hall outside Geth’s door if his guards didn’t look at me funny every time I walk by.” He turned to Geth. “Sage’s quill, you’re dressed up like kings and queens are coming to call. No, wait—they are. Or at least one is.”

“Shut it, Midian,” Geth told the gnome. He knew how he looked. The mirror in his chamber told him that. During his time fighting in the Last War, he’d gotten into the habit of preparing early on the days that he would see battle. Sometimes very early. His comrades had mocked him for it until they’d realized that the earlier Geth rose, the worse his temper before the battle was likely to be. Tariic’s coronation was a kind of battle and Geth had risen very early. His thick hair was washed and brushed and tied back. His clothes—fine trousers and a crimson shirt, a close-fitting vest of black leather stitched with polished bronze plates in the hobgoblin style—were all new, chosen by Razu and tailored to fit him. The great gauntlet on his right arm was as polished and bright as the black steel could ever be. Wrath hung at his side. He’d been ready since before dawn, and the coronation wouldn’t take place until the sun had passed noon.

Unlike human courts, ghaal’dar tradition not only permitted but required that arms and armor be worn in the presence of rulers as a sign of service and respect. Wrath and the gauntlet were a comforting weight, even if they weren’t the weapons he would need today. He looked to Ashi.

He didn’t need to say anything. She held out an innocent-seeming bundle wrapped in coarse sackcloth and tied with rough cords. Geth took it and laid it on the table beside the chest that held the Rod of Kings. The cords were intricately knotted. Geth simply cut them. More sackcloth had been wadded up around an inner wrapping of fine linen that reminded him disturbingly of a shroud. He folded it back.

Purple byeshk forged into a shaft as long as his forearm, as thick as his wrist, and traced with strange symbols winked up at him. The rod that lay among linen and sackcloth might have been the true rod instead of the false.

A slip of paper had been wrapped around it. He pulled it free and read the crisp, flowing script upon it. Balance owing: Kech Volaar tales of the daashor, Geth to bring the sword for my examination. You hold an exceptional piece of work. I should charge you more. Don’t tell anyone else my name!

Geth smiled at an image of Tenquis writing the brief note. Midian tried to peer at the message. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Geth folded the paper and tucked it inside his vest, then glanced at Ashi. “Did you have any trouble getting it from him?” he asked, taking care not to mention Tenquis by name.

Ashi was just as cautious. She shook her head. “He wasn’t expecting Aruget, though. He made him wait outside.” She looked down at the false rod. “It looks perfect, doesn’t it?”

“Put them together,” urged Midian.

Geth nodded and drew the keys to the chest up from inside his shirt. The three locks made heavy clicks as they opened. The true Rod of Kings lay like a slug among folds of black silk. Geth picked it out and held it next to the false rod. Tenquis’s work really was exceptional. The two rods were identical.

Midian whistled, his blue eyes wide. “You wouldn’t want to get those mixed up.”

“Our man thought of that,” Ashi said. “There’s an extra mark carved on the end of the false rod so it’s