Page 101 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“He is,” I say, and wonder if I should add a title or sir.

“I watched you during the first round. A fine performance.” He looks back out over the garden, all nonchalance, but there’s something false about it. A genuine attentiveness he’s trying to hide. “Star is not made from standard parts, is it?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Bold. But standard parts, as they say, produce standard results. Who did the custom work?”

I have no idea if I should be telling him anything, no clue if the truth will impress him or convince him of my barbarity. But I decide fuck it. I’m proud of Star, whatever anyone says.

“I did,” I say. “I built him from scrap.” Truth compels me to add, “Mostly scrap, anyway. A few things I bought.”

“Hmm.” To my slight disappointment, Alzimyth doesn’t immediately profess disbelief. “It’s clearly fine work.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a pause. The knight stares at the fountain as though he hopes to learn something from it, tapping one long finger gently against his chin.

“If I can ask—” he says eventually.

But I never find out what he wanted to ask me, because at that moment we’re interrupted by a sound like a hundred windows shattering.

THIRTY-ONE

It turns out to be only one window, but it’s a big one, one of the huge panes that looks onto the veranda. People scream and back away from the glass shards, which lie like a spray of silver foam across the tiles.

Ky—of course it’s Ky—is framed in the broken outline. She’s panting, having just thrown something heavy, her hand groping at her side for a sword that isn’t there. Her sublime silver dress is bunched and slipping and her face is an ugly red.

Opposite her is a tall man in a formal guard’s uniform, the colors matching the livery of the Dreikin servants all around us. It takes me a moment to recognize the mop of brown hair, and then my heart clenches; Gestian, who’d tried to kill us back on Malkuth.

“My, my,” he says, and clicks his tongue. He is wearing a sword, and his hand rests casually on the hilt. “Maybe you spent too long in the lower tiers, Kycilea. Their manners have clearly rubbed off on you.”

Ky seems speechless. I start heading toward her, but I have to push through a ring of onlookers.

“Not the only thing that has, I’ll warrant,” Gestian says. “You didn’t even stop at Malkuth, did you? You went all the way down. Is it true that in the undercity they rut in the street like feral dogs? It must make it easier to sell your cunt—”

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Ky growls. “How dare you.”

“How dare I?” Gestian looks around. “I’m only saying what everyone’s thinking—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you say,” she snaps, straightening up. “How dare you wear that uniform? How long did you wait before putting it on? Was my father even cold when you jumped to suck at Devon Dreikin’s fat teats?”

His lip twists. “I don’t appreciate your tone. Especially from someone of such lax morals she brought her barbarian lover to a civilized party.”

“Better a whore than a traitor,” Ky grates. “At least a whore is honest about what they do.”

“Is that an accusation?” Gestian looks around, playing to the crowd. “Miss Tranto, if you believe I’ve wronged you, then make your challenge as honor demands. If not, then I’ll thank you to restrain your slander.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Ky’s face is scarlet and her jaw is set. She’s going to do it if I don’t stop her.

I fight my way free of the last rank of spectators and dash across the gap to her side. I make a grab for her arm; she tries to shake me off, but I pull her close and hiss into her ear.

“Don’t give him what he wants.”

“He killed him,” Ky whispers. “He killed Father, and he’s laughing—”

“Because he wants you to fight him!”

She tries to pull away. “What the fuck do you know about it?”