“You tell me,” says Ronan, already bored with Seth’s games.
Seth returns Ronan’s stare emotionlessly. Of everyone I’ve ever known, he has to be the least impressed by Ronan. Even Adria is able to acknowledge his charisma and effectiveness in winning people over, as much as she hates him. But Seth has nothing but disdain for Ronan for reasons that seem entirely invented, or at least that exist somewhere in his mess of a mind far beyond my comprehension.
“It’s no secret that I despise you. And there’s a significant part of me that would revel in watching you fail just for the sheer joy of it. It could become such a wonderful memory, watching you hand over your crown and surrender. It would sustain me for the rest of my days.”
More than one person begins to object. Taran, usually the picture of calm, even reaches reflexively for his sword.
Seth continues, completely unperturbed. “And yet it seems that you’re part of something I’ve wanted to understand since childhood. The gods must be punishing me for something, but for what I have no idea.” I have some ideas. “The mystery that has captivated me for decades, that I’ve spent years trying to understand, and here you are at the center of it. What a cruel mistress fate can be.”
Ronan shifts in his chair uneasily. Cyrus looks at him, a question in his piercing blue eyes.
Unfortunately for Ronan, Seth picks up on this exchange. “You haven’t told anyone else you’re shadowbound?”
Cyrus’s disarming gaze shifts to me and then to my brother. “What do you know of that word?”
“Very little, other than it was something someone didn’t want anyone to know about. Why, what do you know?”
“Only its association with forbidden alchemical research. Tell me, did you know our late former Guild Mistress, Zara of Eki?”
“Zara of where?” Seth says with his mouth full. “Why would I know your alchemist? We had our own, right up until my sister here got him killed.”
“They kidnapped me and tried to steal my blood.” I slam my hand on the table. I’m so sick of hearing Seth talk, I don’t care whether he helps us or not.
“Maybe you should eat the rest of this. Put some more weight on. It seems like you’re too easy to kidnap.” Seth pushes his bowl over to me, and Ronan must sense me getting ready to pour it into Seth’s lap because he grabs onto my arm and gently coaxes me to stay in my seat.
“Can we stick to the matter at hand? Are you going to help us or not, Seth?” asks Ronan.
Seth stands and looks at the map. Then he takes his latest orders from Taran and flips through them, muttering to himself as he compares numbers, moving some of the Nithyrian figurines around. “Damn. I did a pretty good job. You don’t have a lot of options.”
“We fucking know that,” says Quinn. “I say we throw him in the dungeon. See if he has more to say after a couple of nights on the floor.”
Seth’s eyes flash to her dangerously. “Put me in the dungeon, and I’ll make sure the city falls.”
Taran rises to his feet, his shoulder muscles tightening with tension. “Enough of this. Sir, I believe we’re wasting our time here.” I’ve never seen him so incensed. It’s even worse than the way he looked at me when I finally came clean about Nithyria’s plans. “He’s not going to give us anything. He can’t be trusted.”
Seth rounds on Taran, his hand rising. The smell of smoke hits my nose, but I see no flame. I move to stand again, but Ronan holds me still. “Wait,” Ronan whispers softly.
Seth seethes for several long moments, his chest rising and falling as he breathes heavily, locked in a staring contest with Taran. It’s unbelievably tense, whatever battle of wills is playing out before us.
Part of me wants to ask Ronan what they’re feeling, and part of me really doesn’t want to know, especially after Quinn mutters something that I swear sounds like, “Hot.”
Then Seth cracks his neck, stretches, and turns back to the map without a single word to Taran. “The supply lines are the obvious choice. A small force of a couple dozen could stall the shipping routes through the Machair Wastes where they’re most vulnerable. And of course, you can use the same proven strategy of using one of our captured vessels to travel up the river since apparently no one thought to create any kind of signal system to recognize friendlies. An egregious oversight, but in fairness, I’ve never been responsible for a navy. Then you launch a covert operation to poison the existing supplies, which are held centrally here.” He points to an icon on the map, some kind of monument near where his camp is currently located. “Having Guild access, you can use one of the more potent poisons. A bottle or two of arsenic or cyanide—hell, even belladonna or yew—any of those could decimate our forces. It would ruin our numbers advantage immediately and force Adria to retreat back to Nithyria for resupply before she could attack again.”
Seth’s plan is met with stunned silence. He’s actually suggesting poisoning thousands of our own people—his own people.
“How many dead would you estimate if we—” begins Cyrus before Ronan cuts him off.
“No.”
“The stew is distributed in the evenings. If you went with one of the slower-acting poisons, more would eat before they realized—”
“No,” says Ronan again, slamming his hand on the table. “No one is getting poisoned.”
“But sir,” says Cyrus. “You have to consider what he’s saying. If the city is as vulnerable as he says, thousands will die—”
Quinn shakes her head. “I’m with you, Ronan, I am. But maybe it doesn’t have to be a deadly poison. If we could just make them sick enough that we could overwhelm them—”
“Or if the guild were able to make progress with the magic suppressants—” interrupts Typhon.
