“The day of the wedding?”
“Oh,scheit. I think it is.” I laugh in disbelief. “Why?”
He pinches his nose, eyes squeezing shut. Then he recites: “‘Upon reaching seventeen years of age, any child of the empire is hereby considered an adult, and granted the full rights of an imperial citizen. They are no longer subject to the custody of their parents or guardians, nor are they subject to their custodian’s authority.’” He blinks. “It’s imperial law. You were given to Death and Fortune as a child, right?”
I stare at him. “So when I turn seventeen . . . ?”
“I think, legally, you’ll belong to yourself.” Emeric rubs the back of his neck. “Or. You should. I mean you should already on principle, but . . .”
Icannotbelieve I’m attracted to a human civics primer. A violent, electric hope sings through me. “I wouldn’t have to leave. I—I could goanywhere.”
“They’re gods, so I don’t want to promise anything,” he warns.
I barely hear. “I could look for my—”
Then the ruby teardrop gives a twinge.
“Your . . . ?” Emeric prompts.
I swallow hard, looking away as the cold reality catches back up. “It doesn’t matter. I may not even make it to seventeen.”
“You will.”
I say nothing, just shuffle the cards again as Emeric watches.
He can watch all he wants, it won’t do him any good. Sure enough, he draws the knight again, and mutters, “Unfortunate.”
I decide to lighten the mood. “So,” I say slyly. “You have a tattoo.”
His ears turn red. “Er. That is, I—not quite. It’s a mark from the first initiation. It’s not unlike the marks you have from Death and Fortune.”
I forgot he could see those. “What does it do?”
“Prefects are contracted like warlocks, but with the Low Gods at large. This part”—he taps two fingers to his heart—“binds me to the gods’ rules for us. General ‘don’t be an evil bastard’–type policies, since no one should have the other mark without them. That mark comes after the second initiation, once I’m fully ordained. It will allow me to utilize the Low Gods’ powers myself, within limits.”
“Then how the hell did Adalbrecht—” I catch myself, but Emeric is, as ever, too quick to miss it.
“I knew that horse skull in the study was anchoring something powerful, just notthatpowerful,” he says quietly. “A full-fledged prefect can’t raise mountains or the like, but I’ve seen Hubert call down fire, speak to the dead . . . He even stopped time once for an emergency. Made himself sick for a week after, though. The human body isn’t built to channel that much power, even with the second mark.”
“Please tell me you get to pick what the mark looks like,” I say. “I really want you to channel the might of the gods through a sexyloreley.”
Emeric chokes on his wine. “I do not,” he coughs, grinning. “More’s the pity. I think I’d go for a cat.”
It’s my turn to snort into my mug. Whatever Ulli Wagner gave him for the witch-ash kickback, I owe them a life debt. I’m already feeling miles better.
Emeric draws the Page of Grails next, and we drain our mugs. Poldi refills them. I splay out the cards, and the queen shows her face again. “Your first theft,” Emeric says, resting his fingers on the card. “Tell me about it.”
“The von Holtzburgs? It was a mess.”
He shakes his head. “You still could have managed your heists as Gisele’s maid. So why did you take the pearls?”
I bite my lip. This is a harder tale to tell, even than that of the ruby ring.
And he can tell, because of course he can. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to, I can ask something else.”
I slide the Queen of Roses free from under his hand, shuffle her back into mine, shaking my head. Even though it hurts, this is what I want: to bleed the poison out.
I tell him of the wolf that came to Sovabin, of the maid who was caught in his teeth. I tell him of how I was expected to walk back into the wolf’s jaws to save Gisele.
