“We need help,” she told the Calopus as she cradled the armor gently in her hands. The beast whined in what sounded like agreement.
“But first, I have to go to the bathroom.”
She left the armor on the table and went through a door on the opposite side of the bedroom. It was disguised by some gauzy Arabian Nights drapery and made to look exactly like the wall except for the handle sticking out of it. Inside was an enormous closet the size of her apartment and full of all sorts of clothing. It smelled of Ilanion and musk and clove sweetness. She went through into a huge bathroom. It was all carved from rock. There was a bathtub big enough to hold eight people and deep enough to dive into. She supposed that bathing with wings required a lot of space.
Past it was a kind of shower. The top was a rotunda, sort of like the top of the White House. It was nacreous, like the inside of an oyster shell, with nothing that resembled a shower head. There were no spigots to turn on water and no walls to contain it, but there was a series of gold-colored drains. Or, knowing Ilanion, they were probably real gold. Max couldn’t resist waving her arm under it. Instantly, a rain of steaming water cascaded down. Outside it was a light sprinkling, and in the middle it came down like a waterfall. She pulled back her wet arm. Tutresiel and Xaphan would totally love this.
The toilet was in its own small room, with small being relative. It was twelve feet across. The toilet itself looked a lot like a throne. It was set in the center of the room, and it had steps leading up to it, no doubt to also accommodate Ilanion’s wings. It had no tank at all and no obvious way to flush. It was also made of gold, and the seat was padded. The bowl swirled with white mist. Max wrinkled her nose but was too desperate to look for someplace else.
She climbed up and did her business with a groan of relief. There was no sound of water, and the mist in the bowl was warm. When she was done, she looked around for toilet paper. Nothing. Then she became aware that the mist had gone from wet to drying and realized that there was a built-in cleaning system. She sat frozen for a long moment, wondering when she should stand up. Finally, she got impatient and pulled up her pants and hopped down off the pedestal. She eyed the toilet, half expecting a loud flush, but there was nothing. She turned on her heel and went looking for a sink.
Once she’d washed up, she returned to the bedroom and picked up the armor. She opened the outer door. This time, no one was waiting outside. Where was Ilanion? She didn’t want to have to waste time searching this mausoleum. She sucked in a breath and yelled, “Hey! Anybody there?”
The words echoed up and down the halls. She hollered again, then went back inside Ilanion’s room to look for some kind of bell pull. She had about given up and was returning to the hallway to go hunting when one of the gargoyle servants appeared. It looked at her impassively. Pretty much the way a statue would. It was annoying.
“Where’s Ilanion?” she demanded.
“He comes. You are to wait here,” came the gravelly voice.
Max’s chin jutted. “Bite me. I’m going to the kitchen. You can show me the way, or I’ll find it myself.” A scent of something incredibly mouthwatering clung to the gargoyle and brought home to Max just how hungry she was. Her stomach cramped painfully. She needed to calorie-load, anyway.
The gargoyle watched her with electric blue eyes. The seconds ticked past, and still it didn’t move.
“Well?” Max said finally, and when it didn’t answer, she shrugged and started to shove around it.
It grabbed her arm in its surprisingly hot stone grip. She froze.
“Are we about to have a problem?” she asked. Knocking the stuffing out of a hunk of stone wasn’t going to be easy, but she was willing to try.
Instead, it tugged her in the other direction before dropping its hand. “This way.”
Slightly mollified, she fell into step beside it with the Calopus at her heels. From time to time, it nosed her leg as if to remind her it was there. She shook her head. Another fucking stray. She reached down and scratched its ears, wondering if it would snap at her hand. It didn’t.
She eyed her escort. There was nothing to indicate if it was male or female. No obvious breasts or penis. Its clothing, such as it was, was utilitarian. It wore a vest with leather pants. No shoes. A short sword was belted to its waist, along with a dagger. Dangling from a strap on its left side was a small crossbow. There was a thick quiver of bolts on its back and, of course, the band of servitude around its wrist.
“Has there been trouble?” she asked, wondering if the compound had been attacked.
The gargoyle shook its head. “Not yet. Soon.”
How did it know? She’d have to ask Ilanion. The gargoyle didn’t seem to want to chat. But Max couldn’t resist the urge to poke at him and make him talk.
“Where is Ilanion?”
The gargoyle slanted an annoyed look at her. “He is on his way.”
“Do you get good punch on that crossbow?” she asked, gesturing at the weapon.
That warmed him up some. “It pierces most armor. The bolts are tipped in magic.”
She frowned, thinking of the armor. “What about poison?”
The creature nodded. “Usually. We all use different varieties.”
“You don’t know what would do this, do you?” She stopped and held out the armor with its growing black rot and then showed him her shoulder. The wound hadn’t closed yet. Her healing spells were having to work overtime.
It examined both closely, careful not to touch any of the infected area. “It is similar to some that I’ve seen before. Quite deadly.”
It looked at her again, and Max thought maybe she saw dawning respect. Or not. Who could tell what a statue thought? But it meant that Master Goldilocks had better show up soon, or the armor was going to be in trouble.
The kitchens were down two flights of stairs and just below Ilanion’s chambers, if she was judging things right. It was a big place, with a high ceiling crisscrossed with heavy beams carved in intricate tracery and painted with bright gingerbread patterns. It felt a little like being in Hansel and Gretel’s kitchen. Bunches of herbs and cured meats hung down from them. There was a wall of ovens, each radiating heat. There was also a wall of stovetops entirely covered with bubbling pots and sizzling pans.
Another long wall held a set of sinks and what could have been a magical dishwasher. Lined up in rows in the middle were five long marble-topped tables. Three doors led away, one clearly into a pantry containing foodstuffs, another into a dish room, and another probably into some sort of dining room.
The place bustled with activity. Gargoyles in aprons dominated, but there were a few different creatures, too. One was tall enough to pluck whatever he wanted from the ceiling stores. He was stick-thin and looked like an oversized grasshopper with a narrow hatchet face, a Pinocchio nose, and square yellow horse teeth. He also had four arms and a brown, hairless tail that he kept wrapped around one leg to keep it out of the way.
There were some brawny dwarf types, hulking, with broad shoulders, shaved heads, humped backs, and hairy feet. They were kneading bread while singing something that sounded a lot like rocks rolling down a mountain.
A few of the kitchen’s denizens glanced curiously at Max and her gargoyle but otherwise ignored them. Her escort motioned for her to go through the dining-room door. It held long rows of trestle tables polished by years of use. The floor was slate, and the walls were hung with tapestries. High above, the ceiling was coffered wood. Witchlight gleamed down, and thick white candles flickered along each table.
A handful of gargoyles were eating and talking in low voices. She saw that they were armed and ready for battle.
Max sat where the gargoyle pointed, and the Calopus leaped up onto the bench beside her and sat down, curling its tail neatly around its feet. Max smiled. So it was hungry, too. She had an urge to peek and see if she could tell if it was a male or a female, but she resisted. It wasn’t polite, and she had a feeling the Calopus would tell her so.
; “I will have someone bring you food,” the gargoyle said.
“I appreciate that. Will you tell me a name to call you?” she asked before it could walk away.
For a second, she thought it would refuse, but then it relented. “Drida.” It walked away.
A few minutes later, one of the dwarves brought her a steaming platter of meat, bread, vegetables, and some sort of grain pudding. It also set a bowl of chunked raw meat in front of the Calopus. It ignored Max’s thanks, retreated, and returned with a bowl of water and what appeared to be an entire pitcher of beer. Good beer, as it turned out. It tasted of honey and orange and went down smoothly.
The food was delicious, even though she had no real idea what she was eating. As soon as she was done, her plate was refilled, along with her glass. The Calopus had seconds, too. Ilanion joined them when Max was half done with her fourth serving. With her intake of calories to boost her healing spells, her wound had finally closed, although it was still puckered and red.
She didn’t bother greeting him. She shoved the armor across the table. “Can you fix that?”
He picked it up and examined it, turning it in his hands. He was already looking grim, and his expression didn’t improve. “I can’t afford the power right now,” he said, and sat down. “You were gone longer than I expected.”
“What’s going on?” Max asked, ignoring the accusation in his voice. She wasn’t ready to explain that she’d spent twenty-four hours hanging in the air like a side of beef.
“I have received an offer from the Korvad. Or an ultimatum, depending on your point of view. They have declared what they will pay for Nayan and demand that I turn him over within the hour.”
“How is he?” Max asked, swallowing down her sudden nausea.
“Fading,” Ilanion said tightly. “He has very little time. Perhaps as long as a day, though I doubt it.”
“I tried to get the horn,” Max said, and told Ilanion of the trap. “I have no idea how to get to it without traveling through the abyss, and that clearly isn’t going to work. I don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas about where it actually is or where the silk is?”
“There are only four other members of the Korvad beside Asherah. The horn and the silk will be with two of them.”
“That’ll take too much time.”
He nodded. “They’ll attack here long before you could snatch them. If you could. The trap you’ve described sounds more than formidable. In addition, whoever has the horn and the silk will have boosted their defenses as soon as you stole Nayan’s heart.”
Max’s lips tightened. “You’re saying it’s hopeless.”
He looked away.
“There is a way, isn’t there?” she said, studying him. Judging from his expression, it wasn’t going to be easy. “What is it?”
He didn’t speak for a long moment, as if he weren’t sure he wanted to say anything at all. Max tapped her fingers on the table impatiently. Finally, he blew out a breath.
“There’s a tradition in Chadaré. You may challenge someone, and if they accept, then there’s a battle in the coliseum. Whoever wins takes the previously agreed-upon prize, and the loser becomes a bond servant to the victor, along with anyone who might fight alongside him.”
“So I can challenge the Korvad, and if I win, I get the horn and the silk?”
“If they agree to the challenge.”
She sat forward. “What’s the catch?”
“Isn’t it enough that if you lose, you’ll become a bond servant and they would have both Nayan and his heart? You would have to pledge both if you want them to put up the silk and the horn.”
“I don’t intend to lose.”
“That’s because you don’t know what you’re up against.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I have a choice, now, do I?”
He looked like he was trying to swallow a rotten egg. Max glowered. “Come on. Whatever you’re trying not to tell me, spit it out.”
“As the challenger, you have no choice in the nature of the battle. If the Korvad accept—and they will—then they decide how many fighters will be allowed in the arena. For this prize, they might even step into the ring themselves. Word is Asherah has declared she won’t rest until she kills you.”
“So they can say they’ll bring fifty fighters to the party and I’ll have to do the same?”
“Of course not. You may have up to fifty, but you can use as few as you like.”
Max shook her head. “Dammit.” She had no army and no way to get one. But she also had no choice. “I have to do it, no matter what they throw at me.”
“Shouldn’t you consult Nayan? It’s his life and body you’re risking.” Ilanion flicked an eyebrow up at her.
“And mine. Besides, if I ask, he might say no, and then he’ll die, and I break my promise to save him or die trying. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. Just do me a favor. If I lose this, incinerate him with your magic.”
Ilanion stared at her. “If I survive. But I plan to die before I become slave to the Korvad.”
“This isn’t your party,” Max said, surprised. “No one expects you to hit the piñata with me.”
His handsome face went hard, his lips pulling down. Gold swirled in his eyes, and curls of magic spun across his skin. “I will take part as I see fit,” he said loftily.
“What happens to your . . .” Max waved in the direction of the seated gargoyles and company. “Your . . . bond servants . . . if you are taken by the Korvad?”
“As you said, I don’t intend to lose.”
“So you’d risk them, too?” She shook her head, her stomach churning. How had she managed to hold so many lives in her hands? “You can’t do that. It’s selfish. This is my problem. I’ll deal with it.”
“It’s not just your problem. I choose to fight, and that is the end of it.”
“If they want more than a one-on-one duel.”
“They will. They will want to draw out your co-conspirators, and they will want to crush us. No one is permitted to challenge the Korvad and walk away.”
“All the more reason for you to stay out of it.”
“It’s my choice, and I’ve made it.” He stood abruptly. “I’ll go send the challenge. They’ll answer quickly. You’ll have to fetch the heart. All of the artifacts will need to be present.”
“Artifacts? Scooter isn’t an artifact.”
“To them, he is. Are you going to tell him your plan?”
She shook her head. “Let’s wait until it’s done.”
“He’s having trouble staying conscious. If you wait much longer, you won’t be able to speak with him.”
Max sighed. “Lucky him. He’ll wake up either free or dead.”
He stared at her in surprise and then gave an unwilling chuckle. “Together, we might pull this off,” he said.
She eyed the puddle of poisoned armor. “Too bad it’s broken. It would have been a nice help.” She looked back at him. “What are we likely to be up against?”
He folded his arms, scraping his bottom teeth over his upper lip thoughtfully. “Asherah will certainly take to the ring herself. The others—it’s difficult to say if they’ll be willing to risk themselves, though whoever does participate in the battle will certainly earn a bigger piece of the winnings, and that’s a strong motivation. After that . . . They have many servants. My Enay, however, are fierce fighters and nearly impossible to kill.”
Max scowled. She hadn’t thought about who would be going to battle for Ilanion. She didn’t like the idea of dragging the gargoyle critters into this. They didn’t get the choice of saying no. But who else was there?
If you get into trouble, if you need help, you come get me.
Max’s stomach churned. No. She wouldn’t bring Alexander into this. But . . . He wouldn’t forgive her if she didn’t. And his help could make the difference.
She drew a shaky breath. “I’m going to get help,” she told Ilanion. “How long are we likely to have before this showdo
wn begins?”
“Hours. Four or possibly five. Long enough to establish terms and send word through the city.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She unbuckled her swords and laid her guns and knives on the table top. Now she had the attention of the other diners. She grimaced. Apparently, a strip show got you attention whether you were on earth or not.
“What are you doing?”
“May as well leave these here. I’ll be bringing more guns.”
“They are not legal here.”
“Because the Korvad says so, and it’s better for them if nobody is shooting at them. I don’t plan to listen. You said it yourself: in Chadaré, might makes right. I’m planning to have more might. If you have a problem with that, you don’t have to use them.”
“The only problem I have is that none of my people knows how to shoot.”
“Shooting an Uzi is simple,” Max said. “It’s point and spray and kill whatever’s in front of you.”
He snorted. “Somehow I doubt it’s that easy.”
“For this, it’s going to be.”
She scratched the ears of the Calopus. “I’ll be back,” she told it. It licked her hand.
Ilanion shook his head. “How did you end up together?”
“I have a bad habit of picking up strays,” Max said.
“It tried to kill you. Can you trust it?”
“I was trying to kill it. Can it trust me?” Max asked with a shrug. “It got me out of that trap. That’s all I need to know.”
Ilanion narrowed his eyes at her. “You are very unexpected, do you know that?”
“Is that your way of calling me stupid?” she asked wryly.
“If the glove fits,” he said.
“It fits all too well sometimes,” she said. “I’ll be back.” With that, she dropped into her fortress and stepped out into the abyss.
ALEXANDER WOKE ON THE FLOOR. HE HURT. Layer after layer of pain cocooned him. He blinked at the rock ceiling above, unable to make himself move.
He heard the muttering of voices and the wheeze and whistle of tortured breathing. There were whimpers. He smelled charred flesh and death.
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