Four Roads Cross (Craft Sequence #5)(96)

“Which is why I’ve never been able to use the rights I won, outside of as collateral.” He finished his cocktail, ate the fruit, removed umbrellas and straw and jadeite giraffes and arranged them on the sand. “I claim ownership, Kos resists. I almost got my way when he died, but it turns out he was faking.”

“Neither of you rightfully owns that sky. It belongs to Seril.”

“Who we both thought was dead. When you hurt someone like I hurt her, she tends to die, goddess or not.” He tightened his grip. The glass cracked, grimed and gritted, and slid as sand from his fingers to the beach.

“You pledged Seril’s sky as collateral for loans to develop Red King Consolidated.”

“I pledged everything to support the Concern. My soul. Others’. If not for that, this city would be a desert now.” He raised his hand. Another drink floated over from the clubhouse.

“Do you think your partners would be happy to learn you used stolen property as collateral?”

“I paid off those loans long ago—not that I accept your characterization of the property as stolen. If you want to argue that point in court, send my people a date, and I’ll schedule my countersuit of libel for the same day so we can get all this over with at once. Is this the best you can do, Ms. Abernathy?”

She felt the same anger she’d seen in Shale, and squelched it. “A fight wouldn’t be good for either of us. I have a thousand years of documentary evidence on my side. And you’re—you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Where does it end? You’ve killed my client, and your own gods, and your own people. You just tried to goad Shale into suicide by Craftsman. How long can you keep this up?”

The glass settled in his hand. “I’m a Deathless King. I can keep this up forever. Sort of in the job description.”

“Why don’t your old friends visit you anymore?”

The sky cracked and blackened and split with lightning. The earth opened, and fangs of fire jutted up. Black thorn-vines curled around Tara’s limbs, growing as they pierced clothes and skin and meat. Far away, everyone screamed.

Then she stood unharmed on the white beach beneath the blue sky as the sun crept to apex. Waves rolled. The world endured.

She remembered it ending. It had, a second ago.

The King in Red swirled his drink. Pink alcoholic slush churned beneath paper umbrellas. His laugh sounded like the rasp of sandpaper over fingernails. “You do speak your mind, Ms. Abernathy.”

She did not trust herself to move, but she could speak. “You’re long in Coulumbite bonds. If Kos falls, you lose millions of souls. Give Seril back the sky, and your stake’s safe.”

“Or I could swallow the loss and watch your self-righteous mistress die, because it amuses me to do so.”

“My client,” she corrected. “Not mistress. And with all due respect, if you wanted to do that, you’d have joined Ramp.”

He sipped his cocktail, and damn him if he didn’t make her hold her breath.

“I’m afraid,” he said, “you’re speaking with the wrong guy. I donated my aerial rights to Alt Coulumb when Kos returned from the dead.”

“Donated?” The word felt strange in her mouth.

“Gave them away. Like a sacrifice, only no gods involved. We’re supporting a spinoff Concern of, I guess you’d call them paladins—heal the broken world, protect the innocent, all that crunchy granola stuff. The sky rights don’t move the needle for RKC anymore, but they’re a key asset for the Two Serpents Group’s portfolio.” He snapped his fingers. A white business card appeared and floated to her hand. “Their team’s up north, dealing with a mining disaster in Centervale. My office has the details. Have fun telling the do-gooders they should stop feeding orphans to save your goddess. I’d watch, but your five minutes are up, and I want you out of my nonexistent hair.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He grinned, not that he had a choice. “Tell Elayne to drop by when she’s ready to talk. We’re neither of us going anywhere.”

“Come on,” she said to Shale. “We have work.”

The King in Red waved to them, then settled back into his chair to watch a view that seemed no more or less perfect to Tara than it had five minutes before.





48

Stone walls narrowed the sky over Claire’s head to a slit. “You’re sure the woman we want lives down here?”

“‘Sure’ is a funny word,” Ellen mused from farther down the alley. Scratches and graffiti marred the stone higher than human hooligans could reach. “It’s not spelled like it sounds, and in plays when someone says they’re sure of something, you know they’re wrong.”

Claire slipped in something she hoped was mud and caught herself against balloony painted letters that read BEWARE LEOPARD. That morning before dawn she’d sat beside Matt for a grim ride through the fog during which they’d both failed to think of things to say. He’d gone silent after their chat with Ms. Abernathy the day before. He didn’t know what to tell Claire to do.

As if she needed telling.

Which didn’t mean she was eager to do it. Last night, on the moonlit roof, offering Ellen help seemed a way to make a difference without returning to that cold hospital room where her father lay. This afternoon, rubbed raw by coffee and hoarse by shouting after customers in the market, she felt less sure. “You can’t trust folks in the Ash.”