“This place is poison,” Lhean said.

“The etherea? It is . . .” She recollected the way it had been explained to her. “It is from Blackveil, filtered.”

“The air, the land, everything,” Lhean replied. “The mechanicals destroy etherea.”

“That’s not true,” Dr. Silk said. “There is plenty of—”

“Not outside this place,” Lhean snapped. “It is dead. And what you have here, poison.”

Lhean was just stating fact, Karigan knew, but she could sense anger building in Dr. Silk. She did not know what would happen if Dr. Silk erupted in fury. He may wish to keep Lhean “pristine” for the emperor, but that would not necessarily forestall some rash act.

“Chocolate,” she interjected. Both Dr. Silk and Lhean glanced at her in surprise. “Chocolate,” she repeated. “It . . . it has some sustaining quality for Eletians.”

Dr. Silk raised an eyebrow but did not argue. When he turned to order his guards to locate some chocolate, Karigan whispered so very low she herself could not hear it, knowing how keen Eletian hearing was. “I will try to find a way home,” she said. “I will need your help.”

Lhean nodded his understanding and touched his chest in the spot where the winged horse brooch rested on hers. “Thresholds,” he whispered, but said no more as Dr. Silk turned his attention back to them.

In short order, several varieties of chocolate were brought in on a rolling tray and presented to Lhean—fudge, solid bars of dark chocolate, truffles, lighter chocolates oozing with cordial, chocolate molded into soldiers, turtles, and gold-dusted leaves. There was even a pitcher of warm, thick sipping chocolate and a tiny mug to drink it from. All of this, but no Dragon Droppings. Lhean chose the solid bar of dark chocolate. The scent of all of it concentrated right in front of Karigan almost made her swoon, and she realized they had probably passed suppertime quite a while ago. She was starving. Dr. Silk did not invite her to try any of the chocolate.

Lhean was delicate in his eating, and Dr. Silk watched closely. “Yes,” he murmured. “I can see it helps. There is improvement in the colors around you.”

Lhean glanced sharply at him but said nothing.

“What prizes you both are,” Dr. Silk said, “and the emperor will reward me greatly.” He left instructions with the guards that the Eletian should be given chocolate whenever he desired, or any other food at his request, then with a gesture, his other guards grabbed Karigan and dragged her away.

She got in one last glimpse of Lhean who had risen to his feet to watch after her. Thresholds, he had said. He must believe she had the power to take them home. As she was jerked and jostled out into the corridor, she wished fervently he was right, but at the moment, her hope was flagging.

“I am done with you for now,” Dr. Silk told her, “and must attend to other matters.”

He simply discarded her and went on his way, leaving her with the guards who shoved her in the opposite direction. He’d better be keeping his word, she thought, and use his influence to help Cade, but he’d already shown himself to be untrustworthy. If he did not keep his word, she would show him no mercy.

POTENTIAL

The bluish haze was peaceful and healing. Cade felt as though he were floating, and the encounter in Webster Silk’s chambers only a nightmare. No gun, no wound. Unless he were dead, and this was what death was: all this peaceful floating.

A stab into his shoulder made him cry out, pain spidering along every nerve, the peace shattered. Cade realized he hadn’t had nightmares, he was living one.

“That’s right, Mr. Harlowe, let’s wake up.”

Cade shook his head. His vision was blurry at first, but then resolved into sharp, harsh lines. The portly man from Silk’s office, Mr. Starling, loomed in front of him, suitcoat off, sleeves rolled up. He wore an apron and gloves. The gloves glinted with metal knuckles. Mr. Starling seated himself before Cade. He appeared to have a plate of cakes and a teapot on a table beside him, along with a tray of shiny and sharp implements. Just beyond him stood a young man in blue robes.

Cade tried to move, but his wrists and ankles were cuffed to a chair, which, he discerned, was bolted to the floor. A single lamp hung overhead. There were no windows, and the rest of the Inquisitor’s room was left to the shadows and imagination.

“Very good,” Mr. Starling said. “Glad to have you back with us. It took a while, I must say, but Marcus here has brought you back.” He indicated the young man in robes. “He is not just a mender, Mr. Harlowe, but a true healer, and he stopped your bleeding and healed your shoulder.”

Like a viper, faster than could be believed of so stout a man, Starling’s hand struck out and jabbed where Cade had been shot. Once again the shocking pain burned through Cade’s body, and he cried out and jerked involuntarily. “Well, mostly healed,” Starling amended. “We didn’t remove the bullet. It makes for a very immediate point of contact, don’t you agree?” Without waiting for a reply, he popped a teacake into his mouth and chewed vigorously. “Must keep my strength up.” He patted his lips with a napkin and cleared his throat. “Now Marcus here is very good at fixing any damage I may inflict upon your body, but as I told you earlier, it is only so I can hurt you some more. Do you understand?”

When Cade did not respond, Mr. Starling sighed, then struck again, this time pinching the flesh around Cade’s wound and twisting it. Cade started to fade out from the pain.