This was real. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best they could do. This was what it was to be Godking. Besides, if he and Jenine simply ran away, one of the Vürdmeisters would rule with even more brutality than Dorian’s father had. Every relationship, every marriage, had its little lies. He was king. A king made choices for other people based on information they didn’t have. That was the burden of rule. Dorian had weighed Jenine’s choices, and he’d chosen.

“I’m sorry for laying this at your feet when you’ve got so many other concerns, but I promised myself when we married that I’d never lie to you, and silence was starting to feel like a lie. I’m sorry. I made my decision. I did marry you. I do love you. I just—it’s just hard to be an adult all the time. You’ve trusted me to be your queen, and I still keep acting like a little girl. I’m sorry for being such a disappointment.”

“A disappointment?” Dorian asked. “You’ve done better than I could have imagined. I didn’t even begin acting like an adult until I was much older than you are. I’m so proud of you, Jenine. I love you more than anything. I understand you’re confused. This is a confusing place. I understand you have doubts. We’ve been married for two months, and you’ve realized that you’re committed to something for the rest of your life, and that’s scary. Yes, it hurts me a little, but our love is big enough to take a few scratches. Thanks for telling me the truth. Come here.” They hugged, and he felt her unreserved relief. He wished she would feel his hesitation, wished she would ask him what was wrong. If she asked, he would tell her about Logan. He would tell her everything.

After a few more seconds, she released him. He let her go, and the moment passed. “I love you, Dorian,” she said, looking him in the eye and not seeing him.

“I love you too, Jenine.” I still don’t call her Jeni. Why is that?

*     *     *

Kylar opened his eyes slowly. His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. His whole body was a chorus of complaints from sleeping propped against a tree. Working his jaw to clear the cotton feeling, he sat up. He touched his cheek where Durzo had smeared the poison. The new skin was tender, but there would be no scarring: Durzo was right. The bastard was always right.

It was dawn in the woods. Kylar was about to curse aloud when he became aware of a presence in the wood. He filled his lungs with a deep, slow breath, willing his senses to come alive. There were no animals in the forest this morning, but whether all the birds had migrated and the squirrels were hibernating or if the reason was more sinister, Kylar didn’t know. He slowly flexed the muscles in his legs and back, judging whether they would cramp if he tried sudden movement. He scanned the forest, turning his head slowly. The sound of his fresh beard grinding against the collar of his tunic was the barest whisper. The length of his beard confirmed that he’d only been unconscious overnight.

There was nothing in the forest. No sounds out of place. He thought he could trust his body to respond. Wind sighed through the big oaks, the few remaining leaves whispering secrets against him. But something had woken him. Kylar was sure of it. Instinctively, he reached for the ka’kari to cloak himself in invisibility, but the ka’kari was gone. Kylar reached instead into his sleeves, loosening the daggers there. He scanned the trees.

A puff of air hit the top of his head.

Kylar threw himself to the side as he buried a knife in the tree above his head. He rolled once, threw himself to his feet and jumped backward a good ten paces, daggers in his hands.

Durzo laughed softly. “I always did like watching you jump.” He was clinging like a spider to the tree Kylar had slept against.

“You bastard, where’s the ka’kari? What have you done?”

Durzo kept laughing.

“Give me the ka’kari,” Kylar said.

“All in good time.”

“Wait, why am I asking? I can—” Kylar extended his hand to call the ka’kari to him.

“Don’t!” Durzo barked.

Kylar stopped.

“The Hunter’s nocturnal,” Durzo said. “Its sense of smell is better than any tracking dog, its hearing is acute, and its vision rivals an eagle’s, even when it’s running full speed. If I timed things right, you’ll have until dark before it starts hunting you.”

“What—”

Releasing one hand from where it gripped the oak, Durzo unlimbered a black sword from his back. He tossed it to Kylar.

“Whatever you do, don’t take the ka’kari off Curoch. Everything magical that goes into the Wood is marked. It’s given a scent, so if it’s taken out of the Wood, the Hunter can find it. The ka’kari can mask that scent, but I couldn’t figure out how to erase it with the time I had. So the second you take the ka’kari off Curoch, the Hunter will come. I don’t know exactly how fast the Hunter is, but if you really need to use Curoch, take the ka’kari off, use it, and then get the hell away from it. It might be minutes, it might be hours, but the Hunter will come. It will risk everything to get this sword.”

Durzo had saved Kylar’s life again. Kylar had known that his chances of making it into Ezra’s Wood were dismal, and his odds of stealing Curoch and making it back out were even worse. Durzo had known it, too. In his typical way, Durzo wouldn’t say anything to tell Kylar what he meant to him, but he’d do anything to show it.

“You old bastard,” Kylar said, but his tone said, thank you, master.

“I can give you magic for the run. If you don’t push too hard, you should get there in time and still have energy to fight. I’m going to Cenaria. This way, the Hunter has to follow us in opposite directions. It should be enough. Don’t run flat out like you did when Sister Ariel gave you power, got it?”

“Got it,” Kylar said. That was why Durzo was clinging to the tree. It made him harder to track. Plus, Kylar suspected the ground had all sorts of traps.

Durzo wasn’t done. He spoke quietly. “Kylar, the fact Curoch was in the Wood tells me Neph’s using Iures to break Jorsin’s and Ezra’s spells on Black Barrow. It makes Elene’s talk of a Titan plausible. It also means that you’re taking the thing he wants most straight to him. If he takes Curoch from you, he could break the world. I don’t mean that metaphorically. For seven centuries I’ve done all I could to keep artifacts of such power out of the hands of men and women who will use them unscrupulously. If you fail, he’ll undo everything I’ve spent seven centuries doing.”

“You trust me this much?” Kylar asked.

Durzo grimaced. “Come here, you’re wasting daylight.”

Kylar stepped close.

“When Jorsin Alkestes commissioned me for this task, Kylar, he bound me with an oath he claimed was as old as the Night Angels themselves. If you so desire, here it is.” Durzo’s back straightened, his voice deepened, and Kylar knew Durzo was remembering his friend and king Jorsin Alkestes. “I am Sa’kagé, a lord of shadows. I claim the shadows that the Shadow may not. I am the strong arm of deliverance. I am Shadowstrider. I am the Scales of Justice. I am He-Who-Guards-Unseen. I am Shadowslayer. I am Nameless. The coranti shall not go unpunished. My way is hard, but I serve unbroken. In ignobility, nobility. In shame, honor. In darkness, light. I will do justice and love mercy. Until the king returns, I shall not lay my burden down.”