CHAPTER 69

After a few good further attempts, which I note down as practice rather than actual potion making, I’m left with one more broken flask, a few mugfulls of a foul brown mixture that certainly isn’t a strength potion, and a single vial of a dull, rocky gray, unappetizing but not completely off from the desired results.

Potion of Armor. The recipe book describes it more precisely than I can, but even never having seen one, and definitely never having seen its effects, Alchemist supplies me with the decided and expected result: to coat the user’s skin with a hardened substance, strong and yet supple enough to move around in. Possible setbacks: too much hardening and not enough suppleness resulting in immobility for the duration; hardening not stopping at the skin and impeding vital processes for the duration, which would result in a major case of being dead. I eye the potion with a critical frown. Too many things that can go wrong.

A knock at the door brings me out of my reverie. Cautiously, I ask who it is, and Ged answers with his customary joviality.

“Hope you had a productive day,” he says when I unlock the thick door. “Because it’s time to get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To find food. How did it go?”

Before I can conceal the day’s haul, Gedden spots the two little vials. He raises an eyebrow.

“Is that it?”

I feel myself redden slightly as I scoop the glass containers into a pocket, muttering something about it getting used to things. Thankfully, Ged doesn’t insist, and instead leads me down the corridor with a carefree spring in his step.

I stop in front of Hilde’s door. It’s closed shut, and I fancy that I can feel the press of the darkness on the other side. I’m about to knock to ask Hilde if she wants to come with us when Ged stops me.

“Wait.” Ged points to a barely visible rune etched close to a hinge. “That’s an alarm spell. Do you know the owner? Because someone, somewhere will know if this door opens.”

That robs me of my momentum. The spell is probably how Meriana found out about Hilde helping me. A surge of hate for the Godtouched, her abuse of Hilde, throbs against my temples. But the last thing I want is to cause the dwarf more problems. I let Gedden guide me out into the light of the aboveground, talking all the while about his day collecting intelligence among Black Sword guild members.

“…spent a couple hours with Kevran and his gang, but there’s not a lot going on there. They’re betting against you, but that’s just because of the immortality thing. Incidentally,” he adds. “Have you come up with a solution to that?”

“Killing a Godtouched? No,” I answer flatly. And then what he just said hits me in full. “Wait. People are taking bets on who wins or loses?”

“Is that very surprising? People bet on everything here. It helps to pass the time. There’s a weekly pool about how many Untouched bodies will turn up in Red Harbor’s alleys. The bigwigs officially disapprove of that sort of thing, for obvious reasons, but that doesn’t stop a few coins from exchanging hands every week.”

Godtouched insanity. My father’s words echo in my mind.

Gedden leads us through the keep’s peaceful galleries, nodding to the few Godtouched we pass, whose eyes seem be trying to bore holes into the side of my skull.

“Don’t mind them,” Ged says gently. “They’re only curious. The buzz about you in the past week has been pretty wild.”

We walk beyond the galleries and into the bowels of the keep through a confusing shortcut that leads us closer and closer to the loud din of plates, clanking mugs, and conversation. Emerging into another large and well-illuminated corridor, we follow a flock of Godtouched to a large hall with several blazing hearths, tables laden with food, and a flurry of servants dashing from one end of it to the other, asking after the smallest of the sitting Godtouched’s requests. Upwards of a hundred people are busy talking over their dinner mates, stuffing themselves on rich meats, and spilling mead and wine in outrageous quantities. The noise of each loud conversation mixes with bouts of raucous laughter and yells for service and it all builds up to an impressive wall of sound.

I must look surprised, because Gedden is watching me with a sardonic smile.

“Are we eating here?” I ask. The thought is a little daunting, especially because I already see a few heads turning in my direction.

“Impressed, are you?”

“More like amazed. Does this happen every night?”

“Every day for lunch and dinner, though this is the busiest period. Come on, I see a couple of spots.”

He walks quickly to the closest table, where he snags a seat next to a group of Godtouched after an exchange of nods. I catch the seat in front, right beside a barely-touched plate of mutton and a heap of roast potatoes that all but manages to completely conceal Gedden.

“Dig in,” he says, already piling food in his plate.

I’m spoiled for choice and my appetite is a snarling animal come alive with the smell of roasted meat, yet now I find the visual meal more appetizing. All races of sapient life seem to be present in this hall, and every representative is different from his fellows. Each skin has a different hue, each hairstyle asserts itself with bold colors and shapes, and each voice is modulated with its own contours, starkly distinct from the rest. A single Godtouched is a puzzling mixture of styles, moods, and capricious otherness, and all together those differences become a wild, colorful tapestry in which a thousand details beg for my attention.

“Eat up, kid,” says a wheezy voice next to me. “It won’t wait around for long.”

Next to me, nearly camouflaged against the giant human behind him, is a goblin. At least I think he’s a he, and I think he’s a goblin. I’m no expert on goblindom, but I’m fairly certain this is the first I’ve seen with a long line of feathers coursing down from his air until it disappears among his leathers.

“Oh, hey, Nough,” Gedden says. “Didn’t see you there.”

The goblin, who has to stand on the long bench to reach the table, shoots him a look.

“That a comment on something?”

“Yeah,” Ged answer, offhanded. “That they forgot the smallfolk seats again.”

Nough’s smile is green and sharp and dangerous. From his nose and the floppiness of his ears, I realize I’ve seen him before, in the courtyard, standing behind Valkas while the guildleader passed his judgement.

“Feckin’ disgrace, the way they treat us,” he says. “I wonder how tall the seats are at Lysander’s place, huh?”

“Oh, you’d be amazed,” Gedden says offhandedly without taking his eyes from his food. “Delos almost scrapes the ceiling when he sits down. Does that mean you’re considering my offer?”

Nough sucks out a morsel from between two fangs and gives me a look up and down, as if considering a tricky question. Just then, his eyes over my shoulder and his vestigial eyebrows, just wisps of hair, raise in surprise.

“What timing,” he says.

Rao and his friends have just entered the room, talking among themselves in loud and piercing voices. The reaction to their entry is much like the one I got, with some heads turning to see the people who had made such a show of Valkas’ little court, Rao’s name sounding out in the large room repeated by various mouths. He looks like he’s enjoying his time in the sun, flashing the room a cocky smile before finding a seat. None of them notice me.

“Lotsa variables there, Ged,” the goblin says as normalcy reasserts itself, shaking his head and his floppy ears with it. “Lotsa talk. People are saying very unkind things about your boss.”

“Saying he’s an idiot,” supplies the big man next to the goblin. “He’s gonna lose his Challenger and his standing in the guild.”

“Yeah, Ged,” says Nough. “Y’know Valkas is gonna enforce the ‘Godtouched don’t really die’ loophole. Did Lysander find a way around that?”

“Maybe so, maybe not,” Gedden says. “Maybe you shouldn’t be talking that shit in front of the kid.”

The big man looks at me, his shaved square chewing impassively as he lifts his mug.

“Here’s to you, kid. We salute those who are going to die.”

Gedden’s cutlery clatters onto his plate and he points a finger at the big man.

“I’m gonna be down on that ring as well, you asshole, and if anyone’s going to die, then—”

“Ged?”

He stops, glancing at me and my own raised mug. I raise it, looking the big man straight in the eye.

“Thanks. I salute those who can’t.”

The taste of beer still makes me gag, but as soon as I stop tasting the liquid it flows painlessly for a long, deep drag. I let out a satisfied burb, the alcohol swirling in my stomach and making a bee-line for the brain, before looking around. Gedden’s shit-eating grin spells approval as much as the big man’s silence. In fact, the silence spreads farther than just him: both sides of the table eyeing me with a certain hostility, unamused by my comment. A cackle of a laugh sounds to my right, and the enchantment is dispelled when Nough lifts his oversized mug.

“I’ll drink to that. Hear hear!”

And he does, happily and noisily.

Gedden stands, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth before gesturing for me to get up as well.

“As you see, gents, our fighter here is motivated and roaring to go. If you think we’re just going to roll over you’ve got another thing coming. Come on, Mal. We got better places to be.”

On our way out the room, a snicker sounds over the general din. Rao is watching me over his shoulder, his shock of pure white hair just another dab of difference in a hall filled to the brim with it. With an easy, practiced movement, he slides a knife from his belt onto his palm and spins it there. His lips move soundlessly, but Observant makes his words clear as Summer.

Remember this?

“Come on,” Gedden’s hand closes around my shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“I’m thinking of getting to him, actually,” I mutter. “Just a little fire spell.”

“Nah,” Ged says, leading me away. “You’d only be doing his bidding. Keep your aces hidden up your sleeve until the moment is right. Plus,” he adds with not a little mirth. “He’s up for a surprise as well.”

I look up at Gedden, who seems for all the world like a child waiting for a sweet to be handed to him.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Just a little basic spell from the Illusion tradition.”

“Illusion? What does that do?”

“A lot of useful stuff,” he says, urging me forward at a quicker pace. “Messes with the senses, mostly. Intermediate spells can make full images appear, make you think you’re being attacked, make a person invisible… Basics aren’t that good. They can make you think you saw something that isn’t there, that you heard a noise.” He’s beyond containing his smile now, it shines on his face like a beacon. “Make something taste like something else…”

“You really…?”

“Oh yeah,” he answers. “His dinner is going to turn very shitty very soon.”

Even though we’re some distance from the hall, the sudden visceral sound of disgust is still plainly audible, followed by a chorus as the entire room erupts into laughter. Rao’s irate screams follow us as we speed down the corridor, and a moment later we turn, walk past a line of guards, and emerge into the night.

Red Harbor stretches in front of us, a well-lit avenue spearing into the heart of the city crisscrossed by an enormous amount of passersby, even at this hour.

“Come on,” says Ged, the humor still cleat and alive in his voice. “We’re going for a spin.”