“I think I’m done.”

  King Baalrek says nothing at first.

  The completed, now calm cube hangs in the air in perfect order. The last lines of red lightning keep humming along its edges, and the glow makes the cracks in his bones shine.

  Jacob stands there with his hands in his pockets causing Nimirea to stare at the finished puzzle and shaking her head.

  King Baalrek tries to laugh. No sound comes out. His jaw opens and closes once. He has seen Apostles of the Mad God go mad in front of this thing. He has watched whole Infernals drag their claws down their own faces because they stared at the wrong pattern for too long. He has never seen someone say “I think I’m done” and be right.

  His first thought is that the puzzle bugged. His second thought is that the Mad God is playing a joke on him. His third is that he must crush this boy before the boy grows teeth.

  He lifts his hand again. The finished cube shatters back into loose shards of stone and symbol. They hang in the air because his will holds them there.

  “This cannot be,” the Mad King whispers to himself. “This cannot be!”

  The skeleton becomes so agitated that the entire hall trembles. But as the spasms move his ivory frame, he suddenly catches the eyes of the two onlookers, the two worms that dared defy his trick—well, one of them, al least—and forces himself to stand tall and menacingly again.

  “You cheated,” he then says, dragging the word across the chamber, trying to regain his composure. His voice sounds calm but his absent heart is in turmoil. “Once is a fluke. Once proves nothing. You will face one more puzzle.”

  “That is not fair,” Nimirea snaps.

  Her voice cuts through the humming mana. She steps forward before she can stop herself.

  “You agreed to a bet,” she says. “He cleared your impossible trial. You cannot just add more because you do not like the result.”

  King Baalrek looks at her. His eye sockets glow brighter.

  “I can do anything, you overgrown toddler. I’m the Harbinger of the Mad God,” he spits aggressively. “I can add ten more. I can change the rules in the middle. I can kill you now and I can watch him break. You came into my Secret Room.”

  Jacob lifts one hand. “I accept.”

  Nimirea whirls on him. “Jacob, he wants to—”

  “If he wants one more puzzle, I’ll do one more,” Jacob says. He meets King Baalrek’s gaze. “You said three attempts. That was one attempt. You did not say it had to be one puzzle. I am just following the spirit of your rules.”

  The incarnation of Madness studies him. The boy’s courage smells like arrogance. It does not smell like fear. If the Mad King still had a tongue, he would be licking his lips, trying to taste what’s really hiding behind Jacob’s facade.

  In King Baalrek’s mind, the puzzle runs again.

  I built the bones of it when I was still made of flesh. There must be something that the other me taught this child about it. But I can simply escalate it to an even harder one, one I came up after I reached my final form.

  There must have been a disturbance. Perhaps the God of Madness pulled his fingers away for some reason.

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  “This time,” he thinks, “I will watch every line of your mind when you look at it. If there is a trick, I will see it.”

  The Mad King clenches his fist. The same shards form a different structure. This time the gigantic puzzle hangs lower, closer to Jacob’s head. The runes are not Infernal. They belong to an age older than his House.

  Every rotation warps the lines and resets the pattern.

  “Same rules,” the skeletal being says. “Look. Think. Solve.”

  Jacob steps under it. He looks up. The rotating rings reflect in his eyes.

  Nimirea holds her breath.

  King Baalrek narrows his focus. He stares at the boy. He watches for the first signs of strain. He waits for the pupils to dilate and the jaw to inadvertently clench, which always happens when the Madness seeps in.

  Jacob tilts his head slightly. He raises his hand once. He touches one of the rings with a fingertip. The ring slows down. The symbols shift. Jacob nods to himself.

  “Done,” he says.

  The Mad King blinks. “You have not even—”

  The rings click into place. The runes freeze. The grinding sound stops. The center of the puzzle opens and reveals a hollow core.

  “This should not be possible.”

  The Mad King hears his own voice and he hates the note in it. It sounds too sharp. It sounds too human. It sounds shocked.

  He steps closer to the puzzle and he checks every rune. They sit in the only configuration that does not infect the mind. He checks the traces of Madness. They lie dormant. The boy did not let them in. He moved around them. He walked between them as if he saw the layout of the curse.

  “Who taught you this?” the Mad King demands. “Who showed you these patterns? Which Prophet did you serve? Which Apostle did you watch die?”

  “No one,” Jacob says.

  The Mad King moves.

  One moment Nimirea stands near Jacob. The next, her feet dangle above the ground. A bony hand encircles her throat. The red lightning recoils from her skin because the Mad King’s grip burns hotter than it does.

  She claws at his wrist on instinct. Her rings cut against bone and do nothing.

  “Enough,” King Baalrek says. His voice drops. “Games are for children. You want to act wise, boy? You want to talk about bets and rules? Then you will play with something that matters.”

  He lifts Nimirea higher. Her face reddens. She bares her teeth but she cannot breathe enough to speak.

  “You will face one last puzzle,” King Baalrek says. “If you fail, I will crush her throat. If you walk away, I will snap her spine. If you try to attack me, I will rip her soul out. Do you understand?”

  Jacob’s hands curl into fists. “Put her down,” he says. “I don’t need you to do that. Just give me the puzzle.”

  “Finish the puzzle first and I’ll release the girl,” King Baalrek replies.

  King Baalrek starts to raise his hand again, ready to create the last, most deadly puzzle.

  “Wait,” Jacob says.

  The skeleton king pauses. “You want to negotiate?”

  Jacob shakes his head. “No. I just want to know something before I solve another one of your toys.”

  King Baalrek stares at him.

  “Why is it always puzzles?” Jacob asks. “You are an Infernal king. You could throw much worse at me. Yet you keep handing me little problems that belong in a classroom.”

  He speaks calmly. His eyes do not leave Nimirea’s face. Her fingers clutch at King Baalrek’s wrist. Her eyes narrow as she fights for air.

  King Baalrek snorts.

  “Classroom,” he says. “You think this is a game? You think these puzzles are toys. Knowledge is the only power that lasts! Muscles rot. Mana runs dry. Weapons break. Knowledge remains.”

  He tightens his grip slightly and feels Nimirea’s pulse flutter against his bones. “Puzzles show who understands the rules under the rules. They show who sees the hidden pattern. That is the only kind of person who can stand against Gods. A brute can destroy a city. A mind can destroy the divine.”

  He leans closer. His skull fills Jacob’s vision.

  “You want to save me from Madness? You want to save your little girl from her owner, the Monster God? You want to change the deals that were already signed? You will not do that with a sword. You do it with knowledge.”

  Jacob’s jaw tightens.

  “Knowledge is nothing without action, Mad King.”

  “Then act, Cloud,” the Mad King replies. “Act and show me how your soul loses its fiber, how it crumbles in front of my eyes. Let me be the one to destroy the last piece of heritage that Baalrek the Bastard created so that a new world, the Mad King’s world, can finally be born.”

  “Just give me the puzzle,” Jacob replies. “I want to meet my master again. I’ve had enough of you.”