Ylia wasn’t sure what she had expected when Telos took to the dancefloor. She’d suspected he might be quite good. What she had not expected was for him to be perhaps the best dancer she had ever seen in her life. She sat mesmerised as his feet jigged, pivoted, and flew into the air. His sheer sense of rhythm was hypnotic—and a little arousing. His mother was smiling, laughing, as Telos twirled her about. Others had come to join them, and the inn was perhaps the merriest it had been in a long, long time.

  She had to admit, she was a little jealous of them. Against all the odds, he had found his mother again, and while there was much unresolved, clearly it was a happy reunion. But he had willingly left his mother. Her father had been taken from her by force. Why couldn’t I find him? It was a selfish thought, she knew, but there were so many reminders of her loss. The very air she breathed, humid with tropic perfume, was an echo of her father. Benjamyn Hart. Explorer. Conqueror.

  Dead.

  That was the most likely ending to his story, yet somehow she refused to believe it.

  Urgal nuzzled her hand and she smiled.

  “At least you’re always here for me, eh Urgal?”

  The cat purred and nuzzled her again. A few other patrons gave her terrified looks. Ylia smiled to herself.

  Jubal and Qala were dancing. The huge theront was surprisingly limber, given his immense brawn and height. The Qi’shathian Princess was another story—she moved well, but it was all formality, the dance of one who knew only the steps of a court, and not the freedom of throwing oneself to the wind. Still, there were smiles on all their faces, and ale was flowing, where before the drink had been stymied.

  Telos spotted her still sat by the side and capered up to her, kicking his feet ridiculously high in the air. He finished with a full-blown somersault, landing in a kneeling position, extending his hands placatingly before her like a parody of a nobleman intent to woo.

  “M’lady, why do you sit on the side, when there is merry dancing to be enjoyed?”

  “I don’t drink and I don’t dance,” she said.

  Telos frowned.

  “The former, I understand. But the latter? Come, you were made for dancing!”

  Ylia shook her head.

  “No, you were made for dancing. I’ve never met a man who could get his knee to head-height before.”

  Telos grinned.

  “I did my time in the circus, remember.”

  “Now that is a sight I would have liked to see. Telos the circus-performer!”

  “Come, let me show you a few of my tricks.”

  He stood and extended his hand to her, but she shook her head.

  “I said no. I don’t dance.”

  Telos frowned again.

  “Why?”

  “I…” How could she explain? She only danced when she was drunk, and she had vowed never to be drunk again, therefore dancing had bad associations for her, associations with being totally out of control, of not being herself. It was not unlike being possessed, and that made her think of the Daimons. She shuddered. “It’s just best I don’t,” she finished.

  Telos looked like a crestfallen boy told that his dinner had been spoiled. She might have laughed, were she not so anxious.

  “Just one dance, Ylia. You might even enjoy it.”

  She sighed. Could he not see that was what she was afraid of? She could no longer deny her feelings for Telos, they had been steadily growing the longer they spent together, and she had even been ready to act on them. There had been one or two moments aboard Hope’s Sojourn, where their eyes had met, their hands brushed, the others had gone to bed, leaving them alone… It was only the narrow confines of the ship, in which every fart, belch, and scratch could be heard, that’d prevented them.

  But now, having come to Memory, things were different. Now they were in the final stages of the game. The dangers, already great, had magnified. If she lost Telos now, it would be like losing her father all over again.

  Telos stared at her. She folded her lips inward and shook her head again. He nodded sadly, turned back to the dancers. Suddenly, he spun around.

  “I will not accept no!”

  He grabbed her wrists and hoisted he to her feet. She tried to resist—but he was stupidly strong. He held her gently, yet she could feel that his fingers possessed the strength to snap her wrists.

  It was, frankly, terrifying.

  He spun her around and she screamed. People thought it was part of the game and laughed. A space was cleared, and Telos spun her again.

  “You bastard!” she cried.

  But now, against her every desire, she was laughing.

  “Come on!” he said.

  And that was that. She was dancing. At first awkwardly and haltingly, but soon with everything she had. She knew nothing about formal moves, nothing about capers or jigs or waltzes; she knew only how to throw her arms in time with the soft drum, to spin when the woman’s voice rang with high clarity, to hop from foot to foot as though the floor were burning her.

  And Telos was there, guiding her. He did not force but simply indicated, with his eyes, with gentle hand-movements, where and when they should come together, and pirouette, and fall into one another’s arms, and then part again. They whirled around one another, madder than all the rest. And the music washed through her body like cooling ocean water, and the memories were momentarily carried away, leaving her with a mind sparkling clean, and only pure joy remaining.

  The rest of the night passed in gladness. Cursory arrangements were made to meet tomorrow, the two parties setting off together. But even that shadow could not diminish the light burning in so many faces. In a dreamlike trance, she climbed the stairs, hand-in-hand with Telos. And then she was in his room. To her great surprise, he hesitated here. Some shadow of courtesy or fear or worriers of presumption held him back from crossing the threshold. So she crossed it for him. She peeled off his clothes, and he stood before her naked, much like the first day they had met. He was pleasing to the eye—all wiry muscle, and tufts of coarse hair, and a cheeky smile that sparkled.

  And then he was peeling her, too. She slid from her clothes and stood naked before him. How long had it been? An eternity, it seemed. She saw plainly how simple it was: that she’d been scared to be vulnerable with another human being. Loss, and abuse, and damage had made her an observer of life, but afraid to live it for herself.

  But no longer. Her skin glowed. She felt like molten fire poured into the form of a woman. She pushed him back on the bed and climbed atop him. He looked almost frightened—or perhaps it was just crazed excitement. She could feel his heartbeat thundering through his whole body. His skin tasted like lightning as she kissed it.

  “From the first moment I saw you…” Telos said, his voice thick and hoarse.

  Ylia nodded.

  “I know.”

  ***

  The next morning, Ylia woke in a pleasant haze. Not fully awake, she basked in the intermingled dawnlight of dream and fantasy. She stretched out a hand, almost afraid at what she might find, but breathed a sigh of relief when she found the hard-muscled body of Telos.

  Not a dream, then. Not imagined. They had finally come together.

  He snored—so loudly the room practically shook. She fought down the giggle and rolled over. Her belly was growling at her—almost as loudly as Telos’s snore.

  She waited a while, hoping he would surface, that they might make love again or at least talk, but Telos was a man knocked unconscious. She smiled to herself. Clearly, he’d needed the release.

  She wanted to stay and linger in this dreamlike moment, for she knew what was to come would likely be terrible, but her hunger was now excruciating. Must be the dancing… and other things. Her appetite for life was rapidly waxing, it seemed.

  She got up, dressed, and opened the door.

  Urgal lay there, glaring at her.

  “Oh… Sorry Urgal.”

  The cat yowled loudly. Telos was still insensible to the world, however. She closed the door and knelt.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t forget you. I just…”

  Urgal tilted his head upward in an unmistakeable gesture of aloofness, and then padded off down the hallway. Ylia couldn’t help but laugh.

  She headed downstairs. Urgal followed while pretending he was not following. He hunted under tables for scraps—of which there were plenty.

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  The tavern was alive and rumbling as though it’d never quieted. And Jubal, Qala, Julya, and her team, were all up and siting at a table. Ylia’s heart plummeted when she saw what they were eating.

  “Telos is going to be furious,” she said, as she took a seat at the table.

  Qala eyed Ylia with a raised eyebrow.

  “I doubt he will be worried about porridge after last night’s delights.”

  Ylia blushed red.

  Coughing to hide embarrassment, she flagged down a barmaid, who brought her a steaming bowl of oats and a cup of korlash. She devoured both with enthusiasm, and the growling in her belly abated.

  “Well, what’s the plan for today?” Ylia asked. Her thoughts buzzed with the afterglow of korlash.

  Qala and Julya exchanged a glance—clearly they had been planning—but before they could answer, Telos came bounding down the stairs. Ylia could barely stifle her laughter. His chest was puffed out as far as bones would allow, and he strutted over to the table like a cockerel that’d just chased off a fox.

  “Good morning, friends!” he crowed. “I trust you all slept well?”

  Everyone either suppressed smiles or openly laughed. Well, save for the mercenaries who journeyed with Julya, who were deadly serious about everyone and everything.

  “How good of you to join us, Telos,” Qala said, barely concealing her mirth. “As you can see, we have all already eaten and made plans for the day. It seems to me you are not taking our endeavour quite seriously?” Her smile was a delicious subtlety. Most people would not realise Qala was joking, but Ylia had known her just long enough to detect the invitation to play.

  “Well, as the Book of Talon says, ‘War will be upon us whether we fret or sleep; so I shall sleep the sleep of one already dead’.” Telos grinned.

  “He truly is in fine fettle this morning,” Jubal rumbled. “He’s quoting poetry.”

  Telos took a seat next to Ylia and she tried hard not to meet his eyes. It was stupid to be embarrassed. They were two adults, with feelings for one another, and it might also be the end of the world as they knew it. There was nothing abnormal about what they had done. And yet, it felt strangely childlike, impulsive.

  A flurry of tingling sensations ran up her hand as Telos gently placed his hand over hers. She turned, now forced to look him in the face. His smile was radiant.

  Pretty bastard.

  She smiled back, unable to resist.

  “I trust you are well rested, Ylia?” he said, not concealing the double meaning.

  “Very well,” she replied, trying and failing not to blush further.

  “Then this is good!” Telos said, suddenly all business. “Now for breakfast.”

  As if listening in and waiting for the right moment, a barmaid came over and placed a warm bowl of porridge in front of Telos. The whole table sucked in its breath. Telos stared at the bowl. A muscle under his eye twitched.

  Then a huge grin spread across his face.

  “Porridge. My favourite!” he said, before hungrily tucking into the bowl.

  Ylia, Qala, and Jubal all exchanged glances.

  Then they burst out laughing.

  ***

  After breakfast, the smiles began to fade. They had a serious task before them. The map possessed by Julya and her team indicated that the Shadow Market was nearest the settlement of Scumbay, which was five day’s trek from their current location.

  “It’s too long,” Telos said. “I don’t know how I know, but something tells me we’ll be too late.”

  “We’ve been months in getting here,” Jubal said. “Are you certain a few days will make such a difference?”

  “Not rationally, no,” Telos replied. “It is pure instinct that tells me we must now hasten.”

  Jubal nodded.

  “Very well. I will not question the instincts of a demigod.”

  Telos frowned at that. July’a men looked at one another uncertainly. They had seen him bend steel, but the word “demigod” meant so much more.

  “I think we must be careful what terms we use,” Telos said.

  Jubal only shrugged.

  “I know what you are, Telos. I have seen it.”

  Telos shook his head.

  “I think—”

  “You can quibble over terms another time,” Julya cut in. “We must deal with the challenges at hand.

  “Quite,” Telos said.

  Qala smiled.

  “I like your mother more and more, Telos.”

  Julya smiled. “We can hire Daggerfeet to cover the distance in a single day. It is costly, but we were considering doing it anyway, even if we had no encountered you. We will be safer moving at greater speed.”

  “Daggerfeet?” Ylia said. “What are they?”

  “Birds. Big ones,” Heploss grunted.

  “They do not fly,” Julya quickly explained. “But they have long legs and they move exceedingly quickly.”

  “And they’re large enough to ride?” Ylia was a little incredulous.

  “Yes,” Julya said. “In fact, they are ideal for it. The only issue is how temperamental they can be, but we know a trainer here who is confident his latest batch are tame.”

  “You have been preparing for this trip for some time, Mother,” Telos observed.

  Julya smiled again, though this time there was a sardonic curl to her lips that Ylia recognised from Telos’s humour. “Yes, and now my son has come and ruined everything.”

  “Apologies,” Telos said, though he was smiling too.

  Suddenly, Julya threw her arms about her son. Telos looked so surprised it was as though a trap had been sprung on him. Then he slowly sank into the embrace, wrapping his arms around his mother.

  “I am so glad to be with you, son. On this last great adventure.” Julya Daggeron’s voice cracked as she spoke, and Ylia felt her heart rend. What did she mean by that? Was she dying, or was she just being a little melodramatic? Perhaps it ran in the family.

  Telos patted his mother’s back and finally they parted. Julya’s eyes were misty, and Telos looked like he had partly turned to stone in an effort to restrain the emotion.

  Qala looked at the two wistfully. Ylia forgot sometimes that Qala was human, like them. She seemed like a mystical spirit, she was so composed, and wielded such powerful magic. But beneath the veneer of the Empress-to-be, and the military commander on a quest for revenge, and the sorceress who could save and destroy, was a girl who had been spurned by her own family. Perhaps she longed to embrace her mother, too? Ylia realised she was not the only one absent a parent—or a reunion.

  “If the money can stretch, I like the Daggerfeet,” Telos said.

  Julya nodded.

  “Agreed.”

  “But Mother, I have to warn you: no doubt the Shadow Market is dangerous at the best of times, but with me there…”

  Julya only laughed.

  “Telos, if you think I am afraid of bad luck, then think again! I have known nothing but bad luck for the last twenty years!”

  But Telos was shaking his head.

  “No, Mother. I’m not thinking of that. I’m thinking of the Goddess.”

  That sobered even the proud Julya Daggeron. Her face went slightly pale, and the vitality that clouded her age fell away, like fog dispersed by gales.

  “Nereth?” Julya whispered.

  She had heard the tale last night, as they all had. But Ylia understood full well how it was difficult to believe it fully, to see it as a physical truth. Ylia had heard a thousand, thousand tall tales in her time as an innkeeper. Only a handful had ever proved even remotely true. She would not have believed Telos, not fully, had she not seen everything she had seen: the unnatural disasters of Wylhome, a living god in the flesh, Danyil’s sacrifice…

  “Not just Nereth,” Telos said. “But The Warden.”

  A chill went through Ylia’s bones at that name. Jubal uttered a curse, low and crackling, like thunder. Confused glances were exchanged by Julya’s men. Qala’s face shadowed. Urgal, suddenly by Ylia’s side, let out a hiss. He remembers, she thought. He remembers when The Warden almost killed him.

  It seemed a lifetime ago, that encounter in The House of the Verdant Sun. But in truth it was only a few moons. Yet the image of Urgal lying there, half dead, and her House burning, would never leave her.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Ylia said, unable to keep the note of hope from her voice.

  Telos swallowed. “At The Red Lion Inn, in Azalton… The innkeeper said he saw a man who looked just like The Warden. And someone set Daimonopolis on fire.”

  “But even if he were alive and somehow survived the same fall, The Warden is chasing you,” Jubal said. “Why would he be in front of us? What is his purpose?”

  “This is only conjecture,” Telos said, which Ylia knew meant he had considered the matter very deeply indeed. “But I think he is also after The Nergal. Hence why we must make all haste.”

  “But why?” Ylia said.

  “The gods brought me back,” Telos said. “Or at least saved me at the last possible moment. I thought for a while it was Nereth, or one of the other gods, who brought The Warden back too. It made sense that if Nereth could not kill us directly, that she would choose a champion to do it instead.”

  “But then we met the dwarf…” Jubal said, his eyes widening.

  Telos nodded.

  “The weapon he carried…” Telos’s eyes flicked momentarily to Ylia. She had hidden the hand-cannon under their bed, and now wore it concealed under her blouse. The weight of it was surprisingly taxing. She had sore flesh all around her neck from where the thong upon which it hung was cutting into the skin. “The weapon he carried could only have been given to him by Nereth, or one of her allies. He was the champion she chose to send after us. And he nearly succeeded.”

  “But Nereth could have multiple champions?” Julya put in.

  “That is not generally how the Kwei-Shin operate,” Qala said.

  “Even setting that aside, it increasingly does not make sense to me that The Warden is allied with Nereth,” Telos went on. “If he were, he would know where we are. I have no doubt he would come and eliminate us before pursuing his goal of securing The Nergal. No, he is obeying another master, and there is only one possible alternative.”

  “The Daimons…” Ylia whispered.

  Telos nodded.

  “I asked myself what other entity has the power to return life to a broken vessel? The answer is the Daimons.”

  “You think he will be waiting for us, then?” Julya said, and her eyes were grey with concern.

  Telos nodded once more.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I have caused you much pain. I do not wish to cause you more. In truth, I know not what to do. I cannot ask you to come with me, for death is highly likely. I cannot ask you to stay behind, because I know you, and I know that you have set your heart upon an adventure.” Telos held up his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Julya smiled then, and placed a hand on her son’s shoulder.

  “Be at peace, Telos. You have a great mind, and you plan much, but life has taught me that sometimes we must simply ride the waves. Let us go and see what comes. I am a proud woman, but not so proud as to not flee at the first sign of real danger.” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Otherwise, I might have re-married.”

  Telos laughed loudly at this.

  “Oh Mother, I missed your wit and wisdom!”