SIX
IVALYS
“My brother is alive,” I say. “You know where the Ledger Master keeps what he claims. You’ve been his enforcer for—how long?”
“Longer than you want to know.”
“Then you can get me to him. To Gror. To wherever the Ledger Master is holding him.”
“It’s not that simple. The Ledger Master’s domain is defended. Warded. The only approach that doesn’t end in immediate capture is through the tunnels beneath the city—the Debt Crypts. And those tunnels are filled with things that hunt the living.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“I don’t.” I let go of the ring. Let it fall back against my collarbone. “Tell me what we need to do.”
Rathok is quiet for a long moment. The silence has weight—the weight of centuries of service, of loyalty being shed like dead skin, of a decision that can’t be undone.
“The contract on your arm. It gives you seven days. There are rules within the magic. Loopholes. A debtor’s collateral canrenegotiate terms during the settlement window. Can form new agreements that modify the original.”
I stare at him. At the massive, scarred face close to mine in the cramped darkness.
“You’re saying I can make a deal.”
“I’m saying we can bind ourselves together. Your service for my protection. Contract magic understands bargains—it’s the foundation of everything in Gravebind.” He lifts his hand. Holds it between us, palm up. “If the city witnesses our agreement, the Ledger Master can’t separate us without breaking terms he wrote himself.”
“My service.” I taste the word. “What does that mean?”
“It means the magic sees you as my claim for the duration. It means I have a legitimate reason to keep you from the Ledger Master—I’m conducting an assessment, evaluating the collateral, fulfilling the contract’s requirements.” Something that might be dark humor crosses his expression. “Bureaucracy. Even monsters have to follow their own rules.”
I look at his hand. At the scars mapping his palm, the calluses from decades—centuries—of gripping axe handles. At the hand of a weapon asking to become a shield.
“Seven days of service. Complete obedience within the contract’s terms.” I keep my voice steady. “In exchange, you help me find my brother. You keep me alive. You tell me everything about what I am and why the Ledger Master wants me.”
“You’re giving me terms.”
“I’m making a bargain.” I lift my marked palm and press it against his.
The contact hits like lightning.
Not pain—something else. Heat and pressure and magic flooding the space between our joined hands, wrapping around our agreement with invisible threads that pull tight and hold. I gasp. The sigil on my palm blazes, brighter than it’s been sincethe branding—white-gold light that fills the crawlspace and turns shadows to nothing.
I feel the city notice. Feel the magic that built Gravebind stretch out from beneath us, from the ink and stone and bone foundations, andwitness.
The marks on my arm shift. I watch them move beneath my skin, rearranging, adding new terms. When the light fades, new words have appeared below the original:
BARGAIN WITNESSED.
TERMS AMENDED.
COLLATERAL: CONDITIONAL.
Rathok pulls back. The sudden loss of contact leaves me unsteady, breathless, my skin humming where his palm pressed against mine.
“It’s done.” His voice has gone hoarse. Strained. “The city witnessed. The magic accepted. For the next seven days?—”
“I’m yours.”
