Murdok smiled back. “Make my day.”
At the other side of the room, Zeth murmured something under his breath, blew out the tealight, and stood up. He folded the diptych and placed it inside one of the pockets of his vest. When he saw Rona and Murdok, he smiled.
“Good morning.”
“Morning,” Rona replied. “I didn’t realize you were so religious.”
Beside her, Murdok snorted. “You kiddin’? He’s an Almalexian. They’re all superstitious as hell.”
“I take it you don’t pray,” Rona said.
Murdok looked genuinely hurt.
“Course I do. But I pray to my dead ancestors like a normal fucking person.”
Zeth chuckled softly. “The problem with that,” he said, “is that my ancestors aren’t particularly forgiving. And after what I did last night, I am in dire need of forgiveness.”
“Why?” Rona asked. “You think what we did was a sin?”
Zeth smiled mysteriously.
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
He walked over to where Rona was standing and kissed her deeply on the mouth. It felt so good, she almost dropped the sheets she had bundled around her body.
“Better be careful,” Murdok said. “She’s got her knife back.”
“I see that,” said Zeth. “Which reminds me… I also have a gift for you, Rona.”
He took the knife out of her hand and set it back down on the table. Then he took something out of his pocket and pressed it into her palm. Something small, hard, and smooth.
“What’s this?” Rona asked.
“Take a look,” said Zeth.
Rona looked.
And screamed.
She dropped the thing and jumped back, shaking her hand as if to rid it of some nonexistent slime. The thing landed on the carpet and lay there, staring up at her.
“Zeth, that’s a fucking eye!”
“Well,” he said, “anartificialeye.” He picked it up off the carpet and held it up in front of his own eye. “Look familiar?”
“No,” Rona said. “Why would it look familiar? I don’t know anyone with an artificial—”
She stopped.
And looked closer.
The blood went cold in her veins. Whoever the artisan had been, they’d done an amazing job. Not only had they gotten the color right—a dark, dirty shade of green—but they’d captured something of the man’s soul as well. The greed. The violence. The utter lack of concern for any human being besides himself.
“Tulliver,” Rona breathed.
Still holding the false eye up in front of his real one, Zeth beamed a smile.
“The one and only,” he said.
