It would be dawn soon. This had been perhaps the strangest night of Lucan’s life. Natural disasters, political intrigue, escaped royals, and theronts. It seemed like one of those particularly farcical mummery shows they were fond of in Tezada.

  But his reward for all these trials now lay strapped to two long boards of wood, shaped like a cross, her limbs splayed, and royal flesh ignobly bared for the world to see.

  “Qala Jin,” he whispered. Lucan’s taste was not for women, but he could not deny she was an exceptional beauty, though it seemed some form of premature age had ravaged her, deepening the lines about her eyes, mouth, and brow, three silver locks marring otherwise night-dark hair. He had heard of sorcerer’s using up their stores of magic too swiftly and thus irreparably damaging their bodies. Was this what Qala had done to save herself from the tsunami?

  Whatever the case, she was still alive and strong. She might have lost a few years, but a woman like her could do much in even a short lifetime.

  Currently, she was gagged. A black cloth clenched between teeth. Her eyes stared at him with a hatred he found as delicious as Daimonwine. Xarl stood beside him, breathing with the heaviness of one in the throes of narcotic lust. The toolbet at his waist glinted in the candlelight illuminating the dingy cell.

  “I’m going to remove your gag now, your highness,” Lucan said, with the trace of a smile ghosting his lips at the honorific term. “Please do not bother screaming. The walls of this dungeon are thick enough to withstand earthquakes.”

  He nodded to Xarl, who lumbered forward and removed the gag. If he feared the princess would bite him, he gave no sign. No sooner than the gag had slipped from her mouth than she began to speak, a melifluous song-speech that made the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end.

  “Talon, great breaker of chains,

  undo these binds, give your battle cry,

  and let me roam free as the felidae!”

  Light gathered to her, pulsed from her skin. Lucan saw forms overlapping, spirit-forms, god-forms. It was as though the ghosts that permeated the dungeon walls had now made themselves visible, arisen in armour of light, and coalesced about the princess, whose word-craft summoned them from the doom of forgetting. The overlapping forms condensed as the light brightened and brightened. In another moment, she would be free.

  Or would have, if Lucan had not prepared for this eventuality.

  Dreyne stepped forward from the shadows behind Lucan.

  “Koronzon,” he intoned. “You alone who walk without pretence,

  Master of the Void, Lord of Time,

  grant us now the gift of Silence!

  Qala screamed. Her fluid river of speech was stymied, and she slumped in her bonds, panting. Sweat slicked her body. Her eyes, before bright with hatred, looked like dull stones that’d lost their lustre. One emotion remained, however, and that was horror.

  Dreyne laughed.

  “Did you think you were the only one who knew the art of evocation, girl? You royals—”

  Lucan held up a hand. Dreyne was getting carried away. No doubt countering the magic of a powerful mage was quite the rush, but Lucan did not want any more of their hand to be revealed than was necessary.

  As a child, he had paid a Sumyrian master of evocation to train Dreyne. He had become something of a prodigy. He had tried to learn himself, of course, but it appeared he did not possess the aptitude. What had the master said? You lack imagination. If only the Sumyrian had known the scope of his ambition, the extent of the world he imagined on a daily basis—in the palm of his hand.

  Qala’s eyes darted from him to Dreyne, then to the robes he wore. Whilst he did not possess his Ring of Signification, there was enough evidence to tell her exactly who he was.

  In bringing Qala here, he had already chanced much. His secret face, his hidden operations, would ruin him if they came to light. He must remain, to the public eye, as the benevolent governor of a now flourishing state.

  But the opportunity was too great to miss. If all failed, he would simply dispose of her, and the Lost Princess would remain forever lost.

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  “Now that we all understand how things stand,” Lucan said. “We can begin.”

  Qala stared at him, her hatred renewing, albeit not as passionately as before. The exhaustion of her spell’s energy being so dissipated had clearly taken a toll, and this was right after using great reserves of magic to protect herself from the waves. Truly, they had her in her most vulnerable state. Perfection.

  “If you wish to torture me,” Qala said. “You need only continue talking. Your voice is agonising to listen to.”

  Lucan laughed. The woman had spirit.

  “I know firsthand that you Qi’shathians are strong. I know not whether it is culture or blood that makes you so, but I have yet to meet a Qi’shathian who did not have an iron will.”

  Qala spat.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. Especially when it is misinformed.”

  Lucan forced a patronising smile.

  “I have no intent of flattering you, Qala Jin. In fact, I wish to impress upon you fully the direness of your predicament.” He motioned to Xarl, who stepped forward, rifling through his bag of hideous tools, producing something that looked like a cross between a peeler and a garlic crusher, clearly made for the finger. At this, Qala’s eyes widened with fear. He saw her chest heaving for breath. Lucan made another motion and Xarl halted. He looked like a dog straining at the leash. Lucan could tell he was excited by this one.

  Now that Xarl was closer, Qala’s eyes moved from Lucan to him, studying him with morbid fascination.

  “You have a theront in your employ,” Qala said. “That is an imperial offence in Aurelia.”

  Lucan’s smile became genuine.

  “Indeed. But Xarl is a very useful man. I hate to waste good resources. Besides, I have an affection for those who were unduly cast aside. He is not pretty to look at, but he does his work with admirable dedication. What is more, his very long life means his efficacy will not diminish in my lifetime. Who knows? Maybe I shall have Xarl inherit the estate once I am Emperor?” He gave a high, cold laugh. Qala shivered. “That would be a delightful twist, would it not?”

  “Why am I here?” she said.

  “You are here because there are those who would pay fortunes for you to be delivered into their hands. Your brother being but one.”

  “You think Quen Yu would ever barter with an Aurelian? How little you understand about Qi’shathian culture…”

  Lucan snarled.

  “I understand enough to know that you Qi’shathians are gifted with a unique arrogance. You believe you are as the Sumyrians, god-touched. Dreyne’s parents were the same. Drunken alcoholics with no future, yet still they thought their way was best!” Lucan had not expected the passion of his own words. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “You are not above commerce. The droves of Qi’shathian galleons that dock in Wylhome every day are testament to that. Your brother wants you. Badly. You escaped him. When a prize escapes a man’s hands, it can drive him mad. He will barter with me whether I am Aurelian, Yarulian, or theront—because I have what he wants.” Lucan straightened. “But before I give you to him, and receive all the largess that the Qi’shathian coffers have to offer… I want something else from you.”

  Qala trembled. She held herself together well, but exposed as she was, there was no hiding the body’s subtle tells.

  He leaned in close. He let his breath caress her neck, almost as a lover’s would. But his kisses were poison. An older lover had told him that. And he knew it to be truth, even though the truth hurt. But Lucan was ultimately a pragmatist. His feelings did not matter, in the grand scheme. All that mattered was the strategy and its execution. Emotions were just another tool to be manipulated—including his own.

  “You, being the daughter of the Jade Empress, know the secret of her longevity. And you will give it to me. Otherwise, I will send you to your brother in rather worse condition than you are now.”

  Qala looked at him. Then, she laughed. The vibrancy of her laughter so startled him he took a few steps back. He’d thought that was the masterstroke, the critical strike hitting the weak point of her mental defences, but instead she had devolved into fits of giggles.

  “Quiet!” he snapped. “Quiet, damn you!” He struck her across the face. It was a filthy thing to touch a prisoner, a desecration of his fair hand, but he could not contain his rage.

  The slap only weakened the laughter. Through fits of hysterics—for tears were rolling down her eyes—she spoke.

  “You… you think I know? You think… You think my mother would share anything with her children? How… how little you know.” She sobered, now straightening as much as she could, strapped to the rack. She met his eyes and he did not like the cold Qi’shathian steel of her glare. “And as for the threat of torture, you also underestimate my brother. Whatever you do to me now shall be as a gift compared to what he will do.”

  Lucan stared at her for long moments. Could she be bluffing that she did not know the secret to the Jade Empress’s immortality? Perhaps, perhaps not. There was only one way to find out.

  “Xarl…” A loud bang rang through the dungeon, as though a door had been thrown violently open. Lucan wheeled. No one else had access to the dungeon save his three most loyal mercenaries and Xarl. That could only mean an intruder.

  “Xarl,” he said. “Investigate that sound. Leave your tools with me. And make sure you take your sword.”

  The cowled monster nodded. He removed his belt, the tools ratling in their filthy pouch, and handed them to his master. Then Xarl tramped off into the dark.

  “Governor,” Dreyne said. “Might I—”

  “You stay here. If she attempts evocation, counter it.”

  Lucan pulled out a saw from the bag. He turned it in the light. It was a crude thing, uncomfortable in his hand. He had laboured his whole life with his mind, not his hands. But despite that, he was no waif. His bloodline, whatever it was, had gifted him a hale body, strong of limb. He did not like to get his hands dirty, but sometimes, necessity called for it. He needed answers. His masterplan was now coming together. Political instability, the power of the Shadow Market, and now long—maybe even eternal—life. The ultimate control was in his grasp. He was a fatherless man, and yet soon, he would become father to all.

  He smiled at Qala.

  “Now then. Where we were?”