A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(60)

“Not more gin.” I made a pained face.

“Don’t you want hair on your chest?” He held it up to the light, where it glinted red. “A very fine Bordeaux. Come. Celebrations are in order.”

Good lord, how much drinking could I do in a day?

He flung his coat around me, and a whirling instant later we stood on the roof, staring down at the street below. I pulled my wrap tighter about my body, shivering in the near-autumn air.

“Here, this’ll warm you.” Mickelmas thrust the bottle into my hand. Oh, what the hell. I took a swig, wincing. “Here we are, drinking responsibly on a rooftop after a hard day of fighting monsters. It feels like old times,” he said.

“Funny. I said something similar earlier.” I smiled as Mickelmas looked out over the city. “Blackwood thanked me, but really our victory’s due to you.”

“One day, the Imperator will agree.” He stroked at his beard. “He’ll welcome your army with gratitude.”

My army. Heavens. The wine lit a fire in my stomach, making me bold enough to ask a question. “Do you think my father would be proud of me?” It was idiotic, really, to crave the approval of a man who’d never wanted to meet me. I frowned at my feet, which were already turning blue. “Did—did he know about me?”

“He did,” Mickelmas said. He paused, then said, “He wanted to be a father.”

That made it worse somehow. “Why did he leave?”

“Hard to say. Don’t hog the bottle.” He snatched the wine back. “I don’t know what your father would think of what you’ve become, but he’d be proud of the person you are,” Mickelmas said. Odd distinction.

“Thank you for being an excellent replacement,” I said softly.

He shook his head. “I’m not much of a father figure. But you’re a fine apprentice,” he murmured. And then he drank.

—

MY HEAD WAS SPINNING WHEN I got into bed and blew out my candle. The air about me felt chilled as I bundled under the blankets. When I closed my eyes, the darkness sloshed about. Perhaps I’d had too much to drink today.

Mouth fuzzy, I struggled to wake one last time—I felt I’d forgot something—and then slipped into sleep.

Dense gray fog swirled about my ankles, but I didn’t feel the chill of it. I tried to get my bearings. Where in God’s name was I? The astral plane? But how—

Fenswick’s sachet of herbs. I was supposed to put it under my pillow, to keep from coming here. Cursing my stupidity, I tried to force myself awake by pinching my cheeks. Panic thundered through my veins. I had to wake up. I had to, because if I didn’t, he could find me.

And then, by my ear, I heard a voice whisper, “Miss Howel. What an unexpected delight.”

R’hlem gazed down at me.





Wake up. Wake up. I stumbled away from him, my vision lopsided. How had I been this stupid?

But R’hlem did not attack. In fact, there was astonishment written upon his skinned face. Evidently, he could hardly believe my stupidity any more than I could. He was dressed in a well-tailored dark blue suit and white linen shirt. At least, the shirt would have been white if it weren’t soaked in gore. He wrung out his bloody sleeves, a casual gesture.

R’hlem bowed low, bending deeply at the waist. Under any other circumstance, he might have resembled a gentleman asking me to dance.

“I’m surprised you’d return, after all these months of shielding yourself.” There was interest in his gaze. He thought I’d done this deliberately. Telling him I’d got drunk and fallen asleep would make me sound even more pathetic than I already was, so I kept silent. As he advanced, I lit myself on fire in warning. “Ah. Yes, your power.”

He smiled wider than before.

Make him think you planned this. Act. Now.

“I thought we might talk. After all, you did ask for me by name,” I said, doing my best to sound casual and fearless. “I couldn’t help but wonder why.”

“I’d like to hear your own theories on the subject.”

I shrugged. “Mine are bound to be incorrect.”

“Very likely.” He walked about me in a circle, and I always made sure to face him. Church bells rang out through the mist, a bit muted but still distinct.

I prayed that the bells would wake me, but there was no such luck. R’hlem stopped to wring out his sleeves once more. Dark droplets of blood disappeared into the undulating mist.

“What I told you the night you destroyed my beautiful Korozoth remains true. You interest me greatly.” His gaze was intense, mercilessly scrutinizing.

“My talent with fire, you mean.”

R’hlem laughed. “Yes, quite a peculiar ability. But the fire isn’t all that fascinates me. You’re surprisingly resourceful, my dear. Those new weapons of yours are most original. I feel ashamed to have overlooked them.”

I wondered how he knew about the weapons. Was it seeing Callax’s wounds, or had the Familiars reported back to him? And if so, how on earth did they go about it?

“You’re picking apart everything I say. Tell me, was our meeting tonight your idea or were you sent by Horace Whitechurch?” He sniffed, which, considering he had no nose, was an unpleasant sight. “I imagine it was your own. The Order would never allow a common magician’s brat to use her powers in such an overt way.” He tsked.