The Night Parade

Nineteen

As they followed the winding corridor that led to Reisz and Ord’s chamber, Krystin vainly tried to force Myrmeen to stop and listen to her, but the fighter silenced her each time.

“You have to know. You have to understand—” Krystin began. A hiss came to them from around the next bend, where they could see flickering yellow-orange torchlight and nothing else. Myrmeen froze and Krystin swallowed her next words. The hiss sounded again, revealing itself to be more of a whisper that was paradoxically very loud, as if the speaker had been next to each of the women.

Myrmeen looked down and saw the shadow stretching off from her boots shorten and deepen. The torches behind her were being snuffed out, one by one. Shadows suffused the corridor, stealing across the walls, moving into the cracks of doorways to seal them. A terrible voice came to them:

“Did you know that when I was a little boy I used to burn the other children? They told me to stop, told me that they’d feed me into the flames, and you know what? They did. I liked it.”

Myrmeen had heard the leathery voice before, in her nightmares. She was not surprised when the light before her grew more intense and a long, thin shadow suddenly stretched out, piercing the splash of yellow-white light that insinuated itself upon the stone floor.

A red-haired man covered in sweat turned the corner, his eyebrows and hair burning as smoke leaked from his nostrils and mouth. He wore a red shirt that was opened to the waist and belted with black leather, then ran to midthigh. The rest of his body was bare, revealing his intensely muscled physique. The patches of tight, curly red hair on his chest, arms and legs, glowed bright orange and seemed to smolder. Flames licked at his clenched fists. He smiled knowingly at Myrmeen as he said, “Your presence is requested.”

Although exhausted from her battle with Tamara, Myrmeen raised her sword. The fiery-haired man frowned and lifted his open palm, revealing a seemingly endless tunnel that appeared to be a gateway to a dimension of flames. A tongue of fire leapt across the distance separating them and flicked the sword from her hand. The metal was molten slag before it struck the ground and Myrmeen yelped as her brain registered that her hand was burned and soon would blister. She could feel the rush of displaced air and the taunting presence of unnatural heat even though the flames had retreated into the monster’s hand.

“That was rude,” he admonished, his features twisting cruelly as he fought to contain the murderous energy within him. The call of the flame rose to infuse his entire body with a white, pulsating glow. “But, then, I have not been entirely given to proper etiquette myself, have I? My name is Imperator Zeal. I have been instructed by Lord Sixx to escort you to a private audience. Please follow me.”

Myrmeen did not move. As the man before her spoke, she heard the skittering and laughter of creatures emerging from the shadows at her back and became determined not to look over her shoulder. Krystin held on to the fleshy part of her upper arm, the girl’s nails biting deeply enough to draw blood.

She also was trying not to look back.

“Do not make me repeat myself!” Zeal snarled as he pointed in their direction, his index finger losing its consistency and becoming a wavering line of fire. “Come with me or you both die!”

The corridor was becoming stuffy. The air was changing, taking on an unnatural consistency as the darkness drew closer. Myrmeen realized that in moments she would be enveloped by the living shadows of the night people.

“Are my friends with you?” she asked quietly.

“They’re all here!” he bellowed. “It’s a party! A celebration of our new beginning! Come one, come all—come now or I will boil the moisture from your bodies and have you dragged!”

Myrmeen shuddered involuntarily. The shadows surrounding her grew cold and she felt something that might have been a hand brush against her leg.

Imperator Zeal aimed his hand at Krystin’s face. “Come now or I will disfigure the child.”

“All right,” Myrmeen said quickly.

“Good decision,” Zeal said, his features relaxing slightly. “Besides, we don’t have far to go.”

They walked through the twisting corridor to the pit where Myrmeen had found Krystin several hours earlier. The chattering creatures at their backs occasionally nudged them on. Sometimes the monsters whispered taunts meant to provoke Myrmeen into turning and facing the gathering of darkness that followed close behind, but she ignored them. When she stepped into the open theater surrounding the pit, Myrmeen was not surprised to find a host of creatures every bit as grotesque as the ones she had imagined at her back. Most were human enough to stand on two legs and look out through lumps of flesh that could, from a distance, be mistaken for heads.

More than a hundred of the inhuman tormenters of dreams were gathered around the pit. Myrmeen saw beings with mouths covering their entire bodies, creatures that shook uncontrollably, and men and women with skin of every color—including one woman whose flesh changed color whenever she moved or laughed. Colors rippled through the voluptuous frame of the naked rainbow woman as she kissed a tall man’s arm. His flesh was covered with eyes that his black leather and armor were designed to protect with crystal coverings woven into his suit.

Lord Sixx was extremely relaxed and seemed only mildly interested when Myrmeen and Krystin were led into the room. Imperator Zeal’s entourage remained in the corridor’s shadows, then spread out to block every avenue of escape other than the shaft at the center of the large chamber.

Finally Sixx looked over and smiled, his arching brows and widow’s peak pointing at the three sets of eyes peering out from his skull. Zeal approached Lord Sixx with the prisoners, the fiery-haired man bowing as he reached the dark man who held dominion over them all. “Lord Sixx, may I present—”

“You may not,” Sixx said as he dismissed the rainbow woman with a gentle pat to her bottom and approached Myrmeen. “I know who this is, you idiot.”

Myrmeen noticed that not all of his eyes moved at the same time, and she was unnerved by the sight.

Imperator Zeal lowered his gaze and backed away. “Of course, milord,” he said.

“Myrmeen Lhal,” Lord Sixx declared in his rich voice, “ruler of Arabel, a fine city. Who sits upon your throne, Myrmeen? One of yours? Or one of ours, perhaps?”

The implication caused her heart to leap into her throat as she thought of Elyn, the Harper who had masqueraded as Myrmeen, ruling the city in her stead.

“Ah,” Sixx said softly as he tasted her fear, “sweet.”

Myrmeen understood her mistake.

“Don’t worry,” Sixx muttered assuredly, “your friend is safe. But you might be surprised to learn how many of our kind have replaced humans in positions of power throughout this world. I’ll give you a hint: Zhentil Keep is more for us than an excellent hunting ground.”

The Zhentarim, Myrmeen thought, the Harpers’ blood enemies. If the shadow people could infiltrate ranks such as those, then no agency in the world was safe from their spies. She considered that even the Harpers could be compromised.

“He’s lying,” Krystin said. “He always lies.”

Lord Sixx turned his gaze to Krystin in amusement. “Have we met?”

“That’s what Alden said,” she muttered.

Sixx shrugged happily. “Alden is a confused child. You can’t take his rambling to heart. It may prove fatal not only to you.”

Krystin looked away, something in Lord Sixx’s words seeming to strike home.

“Where are the others?” Myrmeen asked.

“Bring them,” Lord Sixx said as he raised his hand, slapping his fingers against his palm as if he were summoning a waiter in an expensive dining establishment. The crowd of monstrosities parted and the two remaining Harpers were brought forth. Myrmeen could tell from the fresh cuts and contusions lining their bodies that they had struggled bravely before they were subdued, but they were only flesh, and the members of the Night Parade were much more. Ord refused to walk of his own accord and had to be dragged. Reisz held himself with a quiet dignity, despite the roughness of the talons and claws that shoved him forward. Both men had been gagged with sashes of black silk.

“Let them speak,” Myrmeen commanded.

“No,” Sixx said lazily, “I’m tired of their ranting.”

Myrmeen looked at him, stunned to have been refused.

“Let me explain,” Lord Sixx said as he lowered his head like a snake inspecting its latest kill. “You are not in control here. You breathe because I wish it and for no other reason.”

“Do not anger him,” a voice said from behind Myrmeen, “It will only make it worse.”

The fighter turned, recognizing the voice of the mage she had presumed dead. When she saw his pallid skin, drawn lips, and blood-drenched smock, she knew something was terribly wrong with him. “Lucius?”

“Shandower is dead,” the mage said, his voice appearing to have emerged from the base of a tunnel, as if he were speaking from a nearly unreachable distance. “I helped them kill him, Myrmeen. They threw his gauntlet into the pit, with his bones.” He turned to Lord Sixx. “Please release me. My time is done.”

“In a just world, perhaps,” Lord Sixx said. “When you reach such a place, you will have stories to share with the other complainers, those who suffered unnatural ends. Now be quiet or I’ll loll them all.”

Lucius felt a trace of his old strength flow into him as he said, “You promised to spare them if I cooperated.”

“True,” Sixx said and laughed, “but your involvement is not yet finished and their lives are still in the balance.”

Myrmeen could not believe what she was hearing. “Lucius, you must not help them. If you give them what they want, they’ll have no reason to keep any of us alive. What happened to you, that you could betray us like this?”

The mage hesitated. “I am dead.”

The fighter drew a sharp breath and suddenly identified the smell of rotting flesh among the putrid odors of the monstrosities gathered near the pit.

“They have trapped me here between this world and the next,” Lucius said. “Cyric’s emissaries call to me, screaming curses because I will not come, but I cannot, though I am dead.”

Myrmeen spun on Lord Sixx. “What do you want of him?”

The Night Parade’s leader glanced at her as if her intelligence had suffered an instant, rapid decline. “He must retrieve the apparatus, of course. Shandower was not a powerful mage. He merely employed them. His skills would have been useless in sorting through the puzzle box of wards surrounding the apparatus.”

Lucius shook his head. “You have denied me use of my spells. There is nothing I can do.”

“What I made you forget, I can make you remember,” Sixx promised.

Krystin hugged herself so tightly at these words that she forced blood to leak from the wound in her arm. A figure burst through the crowd of abominations, a flaxen-haired youth who leapt to her feet and licked her blood from the floor.

“Alden,” she whispered. When he looked up in response, she saw that he was no longer human. His eyes gleamed bright red and his teeth had become wolflike canines. The lower half of his face had lengthened, jutting straight outward to accommodate his snapping jaws. Alden’s features had shortened, his brow becoming considerably more brutish. His hair stood out in wild patterns, matted in tangled clots near his sopping mouth. He latched onto her leg with a single hairy claw, and Krystin screamed.

“Child!” Lord Sixx shouted.

Alden’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with fear. He panted like a frightened dog.

“Do not embarrass me before our guests,” Lord Sixx said as he struck Alden on the back of the head, causing him to release Krystin and scamper into the recesses of the crowd. “You must forgive him. He was just happy to see you.”

“What have you done to him?” she whispered.

“He is becoming,” Sixx said with a touch of pride.

Krystin waited for him to finish the statement. When it was clear that Sixx felt he had answered sufficiently, she asked exactly what Alden was becoming.

Lord Sixx opened his hands. “Who knows? Perhaps his father, Dymas, will have an idea when he arrives. For now, we have other matters to consider.” He looked at the mage. “What is your decision, Cardoc?”

Lucius whispered, “I am weak. I cannot help you.”

“Then everyone dies and we are delayed slightly longer until we find someone who can.” Sixx shrugged. “I’ve only chosen this tack because I am impatient.”

“You said you did not want me to use my magic against you,” Lucius said.

“I would still prefer that to be the case,” Sixx said honestly. “I am the only one who can release you from your torments, and the lives of all you care about are in my grasp. The decision, however, is yours.”

Myrmeen touched the dead mage’s arm and immediately drew her hand back in disgust at the cold flesh her fingers encountered. Lucius looked at her sadly.

“I must do as he asks,” he said.

“I know,” she said, trying to clear her mind of the idea that was forming. “But you said it yourself, you’re weak. You’re going to need help. Let me help you.”

He nodded and trained his gaze on Lord Sixx.

“I don’t care how you do it, just get on with it,” Sixx said, annoyed. He gestured, and Krystin was thrown to the creatures guarding Ord and Reisz. “Try to betray me, and their deaths will be works of art that we will talk about far into the future.”

Myrmeen looked to Krystin, who was trying to control her fear, then turned her gaze to Sixx. “I understand.”

Lucius stared into the pit and said, “Let us begin.”

The mage gave a short list of objects he would need, stressing that the most important items were a silver mirror, a box that Sixx felt was large enough to contain the apparatus, and two lengths of extremely strong rope, so that he and Myrmeen could be lowered into the pit, where the apparatus waited. In the time it took to fulfill the mage’s requirements, Lord Sixx had released the dampers he had installed in the sorcerer’s mind, allowing Lucius full memory of the battery of spells he had memorized over the years and constantly replenished. The mage considered the spells he could use to gain vengeance on Lord Sixx and the creatures near the pit: he could rain acid upon them, draw their breath from them, or use a spell of wilting—but all these evocations would harm those he was trying to protect as well.

Soon a pair of makeshift harnesses was fashioned with the ropes. Several of the Night Parade’s strongest members held the ropes as Myrmeen and Lucius crept backward, yanking as hard as they could to test their protectors’ mettle. The ropes might as well have been secured to boulders. Lucius backed to the edge, then leapt into the darkness, his boots catching the upper rim as he tugged on the rope and was gradually fed enough line to make his descent. Myrmeen quickly followed him, disturbed by the leer of the first monster that held her rope. She restrained herself from making an impolite gesture and quickly vanished into the pit.

“Zeal, you simpleton, don’t just stand there. Give them some light,” Lord Sixx roared. The fiery-haired man flinched at the insult, then proceeded to follow his master’s command, crouching at the lip of the pit and allowing his hands to be consumed by twin suns of flame that lighted the shaft for a depth of nearly thirty yards.

“They’re fifty feet down, but I don’t see any niche,” Zeal said.

“We don’t need a commentary. Let the humans accomplish their task,” Lord Sixx chided.

Within the pit, Lucius and Myrmeen descended another twenty feet before the mage motioned for the fighter to stop.

“It is here,” he called as he clapped three times, indicating that no further rope should be given.

Myrmeen saw a section of smooth rock that looked no different from the rest of the shaft. Suddenly she realized what was different about this patch of stone: On its surface were the mummified remains of several dozen insects, a few roaches, and even a butterfly that might have been pinned in the album of a collector.

“Do not touch the stone,” Lucius warned.

“Have no worries,” she responded.

Lucius appeared to be no longer listening; he was casting a spell. Suddenly a glowing, silver ball of light materialized over their heads. A cloud of blue flame burst from the surface of the stone and was absorbed by the spell trap, which also provided all the illumination they required.

Above, Imperator Zeal allowed the fires consuming his hands to fade and he returned to the crowd, standing well apart from Lord Sixx.

In the pit, Lucius touched the newly polished rock surface and spread his fingers upon the stone. Uttering a few simple words, he dispelled the magic holding the small section of wall in place. The burned umber stretch of rock disappeared and was replaced by the niche Shandower had mentioned. The box containing the apparatus was in plain view, three feet inside the hole into which a man could comfortably fit, provided he remained in a crouch. Myrmeen resisted the urge to reach inside and snatch the box, which was large enough to house a crossbow. The box they had brought with them was black and plain, the steel container used to protect maps and scrolls in the event of a fire. Myrmeen found it strangely comforting that these unnatural creatures could get lost as easily as any human.

The box housing the apparatus was bright gold, with arcane runes etched upon its surface. The grooves were filled in with tiny, crushed rubies. Representations of men and women suffering the torments of the damned rose from its slightly dull surface, and, when viewed from a distance, the figures meshed together to create a face that was screaming in terror. One of the eyes looked as if it had been put out. A sky-blue marble flecked with crimson had been placed in the remaining socket. The box’s sides had strange figures that gave the overall impression of hands that had been fused to the metal by touching a red-hot surface.

Her instincts told her that this was far too easy. Lucius looked over at her and nodded, as if confirming her thoughts.

“The easier it looks,…” he said, his voice trailing off sorrowfully. He cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps you should go back.”

“My place is with you,” she said.

Lucius turned away and said, “What will you tell my children of how I met my end?”

“That you died to save others.”

He nodded, then completed another spell. Myrmeen shuddered in surprise as her field of vision took on a crimson hue. She looked down to see a glowing field of energy surrounding her body, an aura of protection.

“Spirit armor,” she said angrily. “This spell steals some of my life’s essence!”

“It may be worthwhile if it saves your life later.”

“Or you may have just taken a few precious days, a month, or more, for no reason. Next time, ask me first.”

“You would have refused,” he said dryly.

“I notice you didn’t cast this spell on yourself.”

Lucius shook his head. “I have no life essence to utilize. I am a dead man walking.”

Myrmeen had no reply. The damage was done. All they could do was get on with the task at hand.

The gaunt mage took a handful of loose stone from the edge of the niche and threw them at the box. The stones crackled, and a blinding flash of light consumed them as the rocks were vaporized against an invisible wall of force.

“Get back!” Lucius shouted as he shoved at Myrmeen, forcing her to swing out of the niche as the spell trap’s small, glowing orb rushed in and collided with the unseen wall. The explosion sent each of them hurtling toward the opposite wall of the shaft, where they groaned with the impact, then found the area once again wreathed in darkness. Myrmeen could no longer see her red aura, and wondered if the spell had saved her already. Her body drifted in a pendulous motion, swinging back to the alcove where the box had been stored. A hand gripped her arm and she allowed herself to be dragged into the small niche.

“Hold out your hand. This won’t hurt you,” Lucius said.

Myrmeen did as the sorcerer asked. She heard him whisper in the darkness, then jumped as a flaming sphere appeared in her hand. Her head struck the hard ceiling. Lucius had kept a tight grip on her arm, and she quickly calmed herself, realizing that the flames were not harming her. “Whatever you do, keep away from the box.”

Myrmeen nodded. The mystical blast from the destruction of the spell trap had left the mage shaken, his flesh burned, lacerations visible beneath his shredded white smock. Myrmeen could see the wounds that had killed him, and turned away in disgust from the sight. She once had desired this man, had suffered through her life.

She had been betrayed.

During her career as a politician, betrayal was an accepted factor in her day-to-day existence. She had come to expect it and knew precisely how to deal with a certain lack of integrity on the part of her associates. That had been tolerable only because she had been trained to rely on no one but herself; as long as she decided well in advance that no one could be trusted in a given situation, she was never hurt by their unscrupulous actions. Give someone an opening and invariably they will hurt you.

From the moment she had summoned the Harpers, Myrmeen had been forced to surrender her trust, and had paid dearly for the mistake. Lucius, with whom she had been emotionally and sexually intrigued, had revealed a loyalty to his family and a fear of eternal torment that had caused him to hand their lives over to the creatures from whom he had sworn to protect them. Eyen Varina’s sacrifice was difficult for Myrmeen to accept. To spare her husband a worse death, she had taken Burke’s life, then given her own to help her friends escape. Myrmeen knew that on the surface her sacrifice was noble and heroic—but a part of her could not help regarding Varina’s actions as cowardly and selfish. Varina did not want to face life without her husband at her side and so she chose to have no life at all. Myrmeen was ashamed of her feelings. However, she could not deny that she was angry.

Everyone goes away, a taunting voice whispered in her mind. You can trust no one.

Not everyone, she thought desperately. Reisz would take me back. He still loves me. He always will.

But you don’t love him, and you know it.

She thought of the woman-spider and its unexpected generosity, sparing Myrmeen’s life when the beast easily could have taken it.

Perhaps that was the point, Myrmeen thought. This way I know it can have me at any time. I live or die by its wishes.

No, that was not it. The look on the woman-spider’s face before it retreated had revealed that it had been as confused by its own decision as Myrmeen had been.

Thinking about the mysterious woman-thing caused Myrmeen to recall her strange dream, then she moved beyond such unpleasantness, to gentler memories of her parents and their life before that fateful morning that her father was convinced would change all their lives forever. He had been correct, but not in the manner he had anticipated.

Suddenly she remembered the lonely nights after his death, when bizarre nightmares plagued her and she woke up screaming. Don’t abandon me! Don’t go away! Don’t leave me for the shadow people to come crawling up from the floor when the lanterns are blown out! Father, please don’t—!

“I am finished,” Lucius announced.

Myrmeen looked up in shock, glancing away from the pulsing, hypnotic fires that were dimming in her hand. She looked at the pair of boxes on the ground, darted forward with the speed and ferocity of an animal, and clutched the sides of the arcane box holding the apparatus. Before Lucius, who was trembling with fatigue, could stop her, Myrmeen hurled the box over the edge, into the pit.

The lazy sound of swords scraping against one another rose from the darkness outside the niche. Myrmeen had heard the sound only a few hours earlier, in her room, when the woman-spider had tried to kill her. The creature appeared on the opposite wall, the box clutched in two human hands. Myrmeen looked over the edge of the niche and saw that, fifty feet below, the monster had spun an intricate web. When she turned her gaze back to the box in Tamara’s hands, she saw that white, sticky strands clung to its sides.

“Sudden movement,” Lucius said, horrified.

Myrmeen spun in his direction to see the second box flaring with a rainbow of colors. The mage covered his mouth, his brow furrowed as he rifled through his vast mental library of spells, hoping to find one that would purchase their lives.

“The spell,” he whispered, “was not yet fixed. No sudden movement, or it would all be undone.”

“By the gods,” she whispered, suddenly aware of the cost of her actions. The flames in her hand flickered out and several strands of lightning reached from the second box like newly awakened hands eager to explore. “Lucius!”

Myrmeen was aware of nothing but the feel of powerful hands on her back as she was dragged back from the niche, into the darkened shaft. She was quickly carried upward as an explosion sounded from where Lucius had remained.

The walls of the pit shook and Myrmeen looked up to see that she was in the woman-spider’s arms. Tamara desperately tried to hold on as clouds of light and smoke billowed up from beneath them. Suddenly they were at the rim, over the top, stumbling forward. A beautiful shaft of greenish white light shot up from the pit and licked at the cavernous theater’s ceiling, charring the stone black before the stream of light faded abruptly and was gone.

There had been no sound. Lucius’s body had been destroyed, and he had not even issued a scream. Myrmeen scrambled to her feet and clutched at Lord Sixx. He held her at bay with ease.

“Help him!” she shouted. “Release your hold on his soul, before it is too late.”

“It is too late,” Lord Sixx said with genuine regret. “I prefer to keep my word, but there is nothing to be done.”

My fault, Myrmeen thought. It’s my fault he’s gone, his soul wandering forever in torment. Lucius, I’m sorry.

Behind Myrmeen, Tamara had regained her human form. She approached Lord Sixx, the box containing the apparatus in her hands. Before she handed the box to her leader, she glanced in her husband’s direction, hoping for a sign that he would be willing to take the box instead. Imperator Zeal stared at her in displeasure and angled his head in Sixx’s direction. Tamara felt her arms grow heavy as she presented the box to Lord Sixx and withdrew quickly. Myrmeen stood beside the dark man.

“Now,” Sixx whispered as he held the ornately designed gold box high over his head, intoxicated by the end of the quest and the security this object brought him: No challenger would dare usurp him. “Now we may begin again.”

A roar sliced through the theater surrounding the pit as the Night Parade creatures cheered Lord Sixx. Myrmeen ran to Krystin and embraced her. Tamara watched them, her arms folded over her breasts. She was the only member of the Night Parade whose gaze was not riveted to the object Lord Sixx held out to his subjects. Her husband, Imperator Zeal, glanced at her and hoped that Sixx would not become aware of the woman’s distraction.

When he was certain that the moment had passed, Lord Sixx allowed his people to break off into smaller groups, friends and allies congregating to discuss in hushed, excited tones the importance of this event to each of them. Although the conversations were diverse, many conducted in languages spawned by cultures that had not originated on this world, the content of each was invariably the same: With the apparatus back in their leader’s possession, the long delayed Festival of Renewal finally would be held.

Lord Sixx went to Myrmeen, who held Krystin tightly against her. “You may live.”

“And my friends?” Myrmeen asked.

“Yes, whatever. I’m feeling benevolent, and you’ve certainly done me a service.” He gestured grandly. “Zeal, Tamara, take them outside. Make sure they get what they need for their journey, wherever they wish to go. Any who harm the humans will answer to me.”

The fiery-haired man and his wife brought Reisz and Ord forward. Zeal gestured, and the creatures that had followed him in the hallway retreated from the corridor.

“Wait,” Krystin said, surprising Lord Sixx and Myrmeen equally. “You owe her more than that. You should tell her the truth about her daughter.”

Lord Sixx’s many eyes narrowed uniformly. “Why don’t you do that, child? You know as much as I do.”

“What’s he talking about?” Myrmeen asked, despite her instincts, which told her to leave this place before Lord Sixx changed his mind and slaughtered them.

Krystin turned to face Myrmeen. “I’m not your daughter. I never was.”

Myrmeen swallowed hard. “When did you learn this?”

“Days ago, in Calimport. It’s my fault they’re here,” Krystin said, watching Myrmeen’s features grow hard and cold. Despite this, she could not bring herself to stop. “I led them here.”

“You didn’t,” Myrmeen said flatly, becoming numb.

“ Alden followed the traces of blood I left behind.”

Myrmeen felt as if she were about to pass out.

“In the beginning, all they wanted was for you to think I was your daughter and take me away,” Krystin said. She wrung her hands and explained in full the deception that Lord Sixx had perpetrated and the part she unwittingly had played in his schemes. Then she told Myrmeen of how the locket had related to her stolen and bastardized memories. Finally she spoke of the deal she had made with Lord Sixx to save all their lives in Calimport.

“You’re a fool,” Lord Sixx said, aghast at the child’s stupidity. He wondered how he could use it to his own advantage.

Tears soaked Krystin’s face as she said, “Myrmeen, forgive me, I’m sorry—”

“What she’s told you is true,” Lord Sixx said, “but it’s not the whole truth. For example: What happened to your true daughter? I can tell you that.”

Myrmeen shook her head and said with a quavering voice, “I don’t want to hear any more lies.”

“You don’t understand,” Lord Sixx said as he motioned for Zeal and Tamara to come closer. “I also don’t have any reason to tell you a damned thing. Give me some incentive,”

Myrmeen almost laughed. “I’m not playing any more games.”

“You’re not?” Lord Sixx asked quietly. “Do you mean to say that you have traveled so far, been through so much, lost friends to horrible deaths, seen living nightmares that will scar your dreams until you die, and now that the truth is before you, you would turn away?”

“Yes,” Myrmeen said. A part of her wished to hear Lord Sixx’s words, even if they turned out to hold only a glimmer of truth, because now she was left with much less than she had before entering the city.

“All I ask is a favor now and then, nothing of great import,” Lord Sixx said, his delivery powerful and seductive.

That was his mistake. Myrmeen had dealt with men who had tried to use her all of her life. She knew how to resist them. “I’m not interested.”

Lord Sixx frowned. “Fine. If you ever wish to find me, you will not have difficulty. And if you ever wish to know the truth of what happened to your child, the price will be the blood of this one.”

His hand moved quickly, a dagger shaped like black lightning slapping into his palm. He pressed the knife against Krystin’s throat as Zeal grasped her arms from behind. Tamara’s arm’s already had transformed, and the point of a steely spider-arm suddenly was pressed against the hollow of Myrmeen’s throat.

Krystin’s hand brushed hers, and Myrmeen realized that despite what the girl had revealed, she still meant what she had said to Krystin earlier that night. Losing her would be like losing her daughter a second time.

“Go to hell,” Myrmeen said.

“Only if you’ll join me,” Lord Sixx said as he held her with his dark-eyed gaze. He then withdrew his blade and instructed Zeal and Tamara to lead the humans to safety.