‘Oh, I know they’re not random. They only seem that way. You delight in tragic failure, which leads me to wonder what you want with me? We are not well suited, you and I.’
‘What have you been up to lately?’ he asked.
‘Why should I tell you?’
‘Because I have information to impart, which you will find… well suited to your nature. And I seek recompense.’
‘If I deny it you will have made this fraught journey for nothing.’
‘It will only be fraught if you attempt something untoward, Menandore.’
‘Precisely.’
Her unhuman eyes regarded him steadily.
He waited.
‘Sky keeps,’ she said.
‘Ah, I see. Has it begun, then?’
‘No, but soon.’
‘Well, you are not one to act without long preparation, so I am not that surprised. And which side will we, eventually, find you on, Menandore?’
‘Why, mine of course.’
‘You will be opposed.’
One thin brow arched.
The Errant glanced around. ‘A pleasant place. What warren are we in?’
‘You would not believe me if I told you.’
‘Ah,’ he nodded, ‘that one. Very well, your sisters conspire.’
‘Not against me, Errant.’
‘Not directly, or, rather, not immediately. Rest assured, however, that the severing of your head from your shoulders is the eventual goal.’
‘Has she been freed, then?’
‘Imminent.’
‘And you will do nothing? What of the others in that fell city?’
Others? ‘Mael is being… Mael. Who else hides in Letheras, barring your two sisters?’
‘Sisters,’ she said, then sneered as she turned away, walked to one edge of the glade, where she crouched and plucked a flower. Facing him once more, she lifted the flower to draw deep its scent.
From the snapped stem, thick red blood dripped steadily.
I’ve indeed heard it said that beauty is the thinnest skin.
She suddenly smiled. ‘Why, no-one. I misspoke.’
‘You invite me to a frantic and no doubt time-devouring search to prove your ingenuousness, Menandore. What possible reason could you have to set me on such a trail?’
She shrugged. ‘Serves you right for infringing upon my place of refuge, Errant. Are we done here?’
‘Your flower is bled out,’ he said, as he stepped back, and found himself once more in the empty, flooded corridor of the Eternal Domicile’s fifth wing.
Others. The bitch.
As soon as the Errant vanished from the glade, Menandore flung the wilted flower to one side, and two figures emerged from the forest, one from her left, the other from her right.
Menandore arched her back as she ran both hands through her thick red hair.
Both figures paused to watch.
She had known they would. ‘You heard?’ she asked, not caring which one answered.
Neither did. Menandore dropped her pose and scowled over to the scrawny, shadow-swarmed god to her left. ‘That cane is an absurd affectation, you know.’
‘Never mind my absurd affectations, woman. Blood dripping from a flower, for Hood’s sake-oops-’ The god known as Shadowthrone tilted a head towards the tall, cowled figure opposite. ‘Humblest apologies, Reaper.’
Hood, Lord of Death, seemed to cock his head as if surprised. ‘Yours?’
‘Apologies? Naturally not. I but made a declarative statement. Was there a subject attached to it? No. We three fell creatures have met, have spoken, have agreed on scant little, and have concluded that our previous impressions of each other proved far too… generous. Nonetheless, it seems we are agreed, more or less, on the one matter you, Hood, wanted to address. It’s no wonder you’re so ecstatic’
Menandore frowned at the Lord of Death, seeking evidence of ecstasy. Finding none, she eyed Shadowthrone once more. ‘Know that I have never accepted your claim.’
‘I’m crushed. So your sisters are after you. What a dread-ful family you have. Want help?’
‘You too? Recall my dismissal of the Errant.’
Shadowthrone shrugged. ‘Elders think too slowly. My offer is of another magnitude. Think carefully before you reject it.’
‘And what doyou ask in return?’
‘Use of a gate.’
Which gate?’
Shadowthrone giggled, then the eerie sound abruptly stopped, and in a serious tone he said, ‘Starvald Demelain.’
‘To what end?’
‘Why, providing you with assistance, of course.’
