bought loyalty would last only so long as the shine on the coins. Your allies are opportunists all.”
Corajidin felt his stomach heave. He leaned over his desk and vomited. It was with some horror he saw blood mixed with the bile. The sour combination of tinny blood and stomach acid in his mouth was disgusting. He made the mistake of inhaling, and the scent of his own juices on the floor made him heave again. Wolfram creaked around the table to help Corajidin to a couch. The old witch’s gaze was troubled as he felt Corajidin’s brow, looked into his eyes, measured his pulse.
“You’re worse than before, my rahn,” Wolfram murmured. “Your hearts beat far too quickly, and you’re burning up. Loath as I am to say this, perhaps we need to retreat and fight another day?”
“No!” Corajidin grunted through the pain. “There is no tomorrow for me!”
Corajidin doubled over in his chair. His hands spasmed, the fingers curling against his palms. Wolfram took Corajidin’s hands and massaged the muscles until the fingers could straighten.
Belamandris strode through the door, than dashed to where his father lay curled on the couch. “Father! What is—”
“Why are you here?” Corajidin asked. “You are supposed to be holding the Tyr-Jahavān.”
“Our enemies have been industrious in our absence,” Belamandris replied. “The Tyr-Jahavān is occupied. I noted the colors of the Great Houses of Näsarat and Sûn, as well as those of the Family Bey. The chambers are well guarded and will be difficult to take.”
“You’re the Widowmaker!” Wolfram said incredulously. “Surely you’re not going to be—”
“The Feyassin are also there,” Belamandris said flatly. “And the Stormbringer. Father, I advise you to make alternate arrangements.”
“I order you to take and hold the Tyr-Jahavān!” Corajidin snarled. His vision blurred, Belamandris’s face becoming a smear of sun-bright gold. He reached out to rest his hands on Belamandris’s shoulders. His face felt numb, his words slurred, when he spoke. “Do this for me, my beautiful son. You are the only one I can trust now.”
Belamandris stood, bowed to his father. “If that’s what you desire, then far be it from me to deny you. I suggest you see to your safety until this is resolved.”
“Wait!” Wolfram held up his hand. “Can your forces take the Tyr-Jahavān? Speak from honesty, rather than pride, if you would.”
“Can I do it? Yes. Is it worth the risk or the cost in lives? I doubt it. I’d prefer to have my Anlūki take my father to safety.” Belamandris look was forthright. “Were we to take the Tyr-Jahavān, what use would it be to Father in his current state? Even with the weight of the Iphyri and the nahdi in our employ, taking the place will be bloody work, and not done quickly. Our opponents aren’t to be taken lightly.”
“Very well.” Corajidin’s voice sounded tinny in his ears. “Let the Iphyri and our nahdi assault the Tyr-Jahavān as planned. Perhaps they will be victorious. Send word for Knight-Colonel Nadir to take the best of our leadership and what soldiery he can, and fly the Art of Vengeance to the Parje-Sin estate. We will meet them there. Belamandris, you and your Anlūki will remain to protect me.”
Wolfram shifted in his seat. “What of the treasures we have in the cellars? We can’t lose them after so much effort.”
“Take what you can, Wolfram. Our future may rest in what we have found.”
“Mari?” Belamandris asked.
“She has made other choices,” Corajidin replied sourly.
“And this place?” Belamandris turned toward the door, his expression troubled.
“Burn it,” Corajidin ordered. “Let nothing remain which reveals our purpose.”
“Can you sense where Omen is?” Shar asked. They peered over the villa roof at where armored Anlūki stood guard around the burned wind-skiff. Indris smiled at the charred heap. Parts of it had fallen away, burned or broken. The Tempest Wheels in the prow did not spin regularly, the disentropy stream vague where it wove on spinning bronze platters. Frayed ropes of silken light lashed the hull, scouring it. He doubted the wind-skiff Corajidin had escaped the Rōmarq in would get far. Even now entropy slowly tore the damaged sky ship apart.
“Not sure,” he replied thoughtfully. “I can sense the presence of the witch, as well as a lot of other peaks and troughs of entropy and disentropy. Ancestors only know what’s gone on here.”
“Probably blood magic,” Hayden muttered with revulsion. He gripped his bolt-rifle tightly. “Angothic animal!”
“There’s no such thing as magic,” Indris murmured as if by reflex. He smiled an apology at his