PART III
LORD OF WRATH
FROM THE LIBRARY OF MOUNT OTAVOK:
We hold sacred that the highest truths are unknowable. Our holiest temples exist in total darkness, not to teach us to see through faith alone, but so that we might become comfortable without a guiding light.
The gods of Zivora would take the sun. They cannot make us fear the dark.
—HESAYA NAL TERSERO, DISCIPLE OF THE GATE, 460 A. C.
34
SACRIFICE
YSIRA
While Jacen stood in a useless state of shock, Ysira did not give herself space to think. She ran at Seth as he twisted and wrenched his sword from Eneva’s guts, eviscerating her.
Urien ran past Seth. Not fast enough. Urien would have been beheaded had Ogden not shoved him forward and stepped into the path of Seth’s blade. Metal screeched against metal as the blade stuck in Ogden’s arm. It bought Urien enough time to stagger upright, clumsy in his suit, and disappear out the door.
The two Disciples reached Seth next. He pivoted, throwing Ogden in front of him as he pulled his blade free. Ogden crashed into the table and crumpled to the floor. With expert precision, Seth slipped beneath the first Disciple’s guard and stabbed him in the back. He locked the other’s blade overhead, drew a dagger from his belt with his free hand, and slashed her throat.
Ysira backed away, reconsidering, holding her knife in an under-hand grip across her chest.
“Get behind me,” she ordered Neri. He scrambled under the table.
Seth faced them. His expression was utterly blank. “Allow me to leave with the boy, and I will consider letting you live.”
That tone, that change in demeanor. Ysira had witnessed its like now in three different bodies. Iyelekirin squirmed, finally recognizing what must have been lying in wait for days.
“Tharanoth.” Her voice trembled. This had to be his doing. He had found them, just as he threatened he would.
“Tharanoth?” Seth exclaimed. “You wound me. He’s still far above.
He doesn’t know you roaches like I do.” He licked his lips. “Iknow how to follow you down inside all your darkest little hiding places.”
From where he slumped against a chair, clutching his ribs, Ogden whispered, “Turil.”
Seth turned his gaze on Ogden. A slow smile split his face. “Generous of you to keep that man in your clinic for so long. Did you know I used his body every night to watch you sleep? I wondered if you knew, deep down, that it was me. Did youmissme?”
Ogden’s eyes bulged. He couldn’t speak. Ysira had not thought him capable of such fear.
She addressed the goddess—the demon. “I’m going to kill you.”
Turil, Lady of Pain, considered her through Seth’s eyes. There was no warmth there, that red-brown color gone flat and cold as the depths of outer space.
“So you’ve said.” Seth leveled his sword at Ysira. “You won’t defeat me. Even if you could, you don’t have the will to kill this vessel.”
Ysira stood her ground and lifted her blade. She told Neri, “Run,” and barely got the word out before Seth attacked. Hestruck at her with all his legendary skill and none of his restraint. He fought like he meant to kill her.
With her short knives, she couldn’t match his reach. She overextended. He kicked her legs out from under her. She caught herself on one hand, impact rattling up her arm, and slashed his calf. When he screamed, he sounded like himself. She faltered. He kicked her in the chest, hard enough to splinter ribs. She collided with a shelf and toppled backward with it in a hail of trinkets and parchment. Her head struck stone. Spinning halos of light obscured her vision as the room flipped around her.
When Iyelekirin had done its job and her senses returned to her, Ysira smelled smoke. She tried to lever herself up and hissed as broken glass sliced her palm. A shattered sconce. Seth had vanished, Neri with him. Fire bloomed in their wake. All around, priceless manuscripts sparked and burned.
Ysira swore. To her left, Jacen was on his knees, in some sort of trance. She shook him. “Wake up!”
He blinked foggily at her. She didn’t wait for a response. She found Ogden leaning against the table and taking short, shallow breaths.
