Kestrel reminded herself that there are ways to lose even if one holds the highest hand. She played her tile.

Helpless, Arin watched the arrow slice a low, true path toward Verex. It struck him, glancing off his metal armor. Undaunted, the archer nocked another arrow.

Get down, Arin willed as he tried to force his way to the edge of the road. He’d never reach Verex in time. Use your horse as a shield. But Verex, who now saw how the cloud of danger around him had condensed to the point of an arrowhead, froze.

Arin’s gaze swiveled back to the archer, whose face underwent a curt shift of emotion just after she loosed the arrow. Her expression slackened with horror.

Arin saw what she saw: Roshar, hurtling toward the Valorian prince and into the path of the arrow.

Roshar flattened Verex into the mud. The arrow sailed over his shoulder.

Then Risha’s brother raged at the stunned Valorian, dragged him out from under the horse, and hauled him toward the cover of the trees.

They were both silent now, playing in concentration. The emperor reached for a second shiny tile.

The stained-glass windows glowed, and something eased open inside Kestrel. As color seeped into the room, she felt an unexpected wish.

She wished her father were here.

You, who seek your own father’s death.

But she didn’t, she found that she couldn’t, no matter how he had hurt her. She wished that he could see her play, and win. That he could see what she saw now.

A window is just a window. Colored glass: mere glass. But in the sun it becomes more. She would show him, and say, love should do this.

And you too, she would tell him, because she could no longer deny that it remained true, in spite of every thing.

I love you, too.

After Roshar and Verex had vanished into the trees, Arin stopped thinking. He rarely did, in battle. It was easier to give himself over. The pressure inside was a good one. His body obeyed it.

The staves had ruined the Valorians’ strategy. It was impossible to flank Arin’s army, which became a solid column that thrust up the road. The edges of Arin’s vanguard began to work forward, fighting to reach the unprotected, muddy sides of the road on which the Valorians stood. With a little luck, Arin would flank them.

When his sword cut an enemy open, Arin thought that he would have chosen no other god to rule him, that none of the hundred could please him so well.

A gift, he thought.

This is nothing, death said. Did I not make you a promise? Have you not kept faith with me, in hopes of this very moment? See, see what I have for you.

Arin looked.

Just a few paces away, unhorsed, helmet gone, stood General Trajan.

This was taking too long.

It was full dawn. The stained windows were wild now, lurid with color. Kestrel had reached the end of her line of play. She held a worthy hand, yet dreaded exposing her tiles to the emperor.

It didn’t matter what tiles she held. All that mattered was that the game was over, and that the emperor appeared relaxed, lids half-lowered in anticipation, his dark eyes liquid.

“Show me,” he said.

Arin spurred his horse forward. The general saw him and stood tall. Arin’s mind went blank, he heard nothing, not even death, and he should have been listening, because at the last possible moment, the general fell to one knee and drove his sword deep into the chest of Arin’s horse.

As slowly as possible, Kestrel turned her last tile.

Four spiders.

The emperor didn’t smile. She almost wished that he had. He closed his eyes once, and when he opened them their expression was even worse than his smile.

He displayed his winning hand.

Four tigers.

Arin was thrown from his shrieking horse. His head rang against the road.

And rang, and rang.

Perspiration glimmered on the emperor’s upper lip. He touched it, glanced at his fingers strangely, then returned his attention to Kestrel.

She scraped her chair back.

He swept her dagger from the table and had it up to her throat in one swift movement. He pricked the skin; a tiny trickle of blood.

She’d been stupid, her plan had been stupid, a fool’s gamble, yet her mind kept scrabbling for an idea, something else, anything else that could reverse her mistake or make happen what should have already happened.

“Don’t take defeat too badly,” he said. “If it’s any consolation, I had no intention of ever fulfilling my agreement, even if you’d won. But the plea sure of the game was great. Now. Sit.”

Her legs gave out beneath her.

“Let’s discuss what you owe.”

Arin felt the hum of metal in the air.