call off the bounty,” Arliss replied evenly. “I’ll tell the world that I’ve forgiven you . . . which I have.”
This statement so alarmed Christian that his legs twitched, almost in spasm. He grasped the arms of the chair and wobbled his way to his feet, staring down at Arliss. The dealer was undoubtedly a career liar, but Christian saw no lie in his face.
“You’re a poppy dealer,” he said slowly. “Why would you need to forgive anyone? Why not kill me just for spite? Or even sport?”
“Because I wish to be better. All of us can be better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than the man I was before. The past is powerful, but it need not control the future.”
The words rang a faint bell in Christian’s mind. Listening to Arliss was like listening to the frocks from the Arvath who came down to try to win converts in the Creche . . . except that Arvath forgiveness always required coin. Arliss’s words had a different ring, a ring that Christian had heard before, if he could only remember—
“Holy hell,” he blurted out. “You’re one of them. The Blue Horizon.”
Arliss said nothing, merely looked at him. And now, out of nowhere, Christian suddenly identified what had struck him strange about the room: it had slabbed stone walls, like any room in the Creche, but there was no mold sliming the stone. Not even a trickle of moisture marred the smooth surface.
“Where are we?”
“Haven’t you guessed, boy? We’re topside. Out of the dark and into the light.”
Arliss reached over to the table that sat beside the sofa. For the first time, Christian noticed that his mace sat there, still crusted with the bodyguard’s blood. Arliss offered the mace, but Christian only looked at it, thinking: Topside. Blue sky and white clouds.
But Maura was supposed to be here with him. Everything had gone wrong.
“Keep it, boy,” Arliss insisted, offering the mace again. “The man who owned it is dead, and clearly you have some aptitude for it. Maybe it will even keep you safe, though if Arlen Thorne wants you dead, you’re on a dangerous path.”
“He said he was moving into the Keep,” Christian murmured, trying to remember. The effort made his head hurt. “Or no, the witch said that. What could Arlen Thorne possibly want in the Keep?”
“I don’t know. Last I saw, he was busy expanding his business. He’s been buying children like there’s no tomorrow.”
Christian nodded, grimacing. “I saw his stable.”
“Not for his wretched stable. He’s buying pretty children, from all corners of the Creche. My man says Thorne’s paying top dollar for straight teeth and unblemished skin.”
Christian felt a sick tremor ripple through his stomach. He clutched his temples, trying to stop the pounding inside his head.
“Look at you,” Arliss muttered. “About to get sick all over my nice carpet. Webb!”
The door opened, and a man a few years older than Christian came in, his hand on his knife. He presented himself before Arliss, but his narrowed eyes never left Christian.
“Give him ten pounds,” Arliss ordered. “Then show him out. He might need help walking to the door.”
I don’t need help from anyone, Christian almost said. But that wasn’t true, because now, for the first time in his life, he owed a debt. For a moment he considered telling Arliss that he still held a grudge . . . would always hold a grudge. It was easier to murder the past than learn to live with it, and Christian wanted to be in no one’s debt. Then Arliss held out the mace again—his arm shaking the slightest bit—and before Christian knew what he was doing, he had taken it, grasping its solid weight in his hand.
“There’s a better world out there,” Arliss told him. “So close we can almost touch it. The Blue Horizon has given you your life. Do not waste it.”
Christian said nothing, not even when the bodyguard, Webb, placed a hand under his elbow and guided him toward the door, holding him up as though he were an invalid. He took Christian down a long hallway, toward a door that seemed to have about fifty deadbolts on it. At Webb’s nod, the two men on the door drew multiple bolts and pulled the door inward. Then Webb led Christian through, out the door and down a step, where he let go of Christian’s arm. The air smelled so crisp and sweet that Christian wondered how he had ever breathed down below. Water misted against his face, and