Page 111 of Fortune's Blade

Because he shook his head at me before going back on watch.

I looked back to find that Claire had gotten things set up to her satisfaction, because the blood was flowing again, this time downward into Antem’s arm. She had the little squeeze ball in hand and after a moment or so of intense scrutiny of the line, began using it. Only not as fast as any of us would have liked.

“Lord Rathen talked about something called Fortune’s Blade,” I said, less to clear tension and more to keep from jumping at every sound from outside. “You seemed to know what he meant?”

He inclined his head. “Ah, yes. The greatest experiment of them all. An old legend.”

“About Dorina?”

He shook his head, holding a little cotton bandage over the wound that the needle had left, even though I’d seen it close up already. But he wasn’t going to argue with Claire. He was no fool.

“About Tyche,” he said. “Also known as Fortuna, a minor goddess of luck who believed that the gods were harming the worlds they interacted with, and harming themselves in the process. They had become greedy, war like and cruel. Having unlimited power and the worship of millions was not enough. For them, nothing was ever enough.

“It is said that Fortuna wanted them to go back home, and dwell as they once had, in peace. But the greatest of them could not go, for they had grown so powerful that to return would be to starve. They were energy beings, and having unlimited power for so long had fundamentally altered them in a way that was not reversable. For her and the others, there was still time, but not for the rest.

“So, if any were to be saved, the greatest must die, or else all would eventually succumb to the lure of power, and shut the door behind them. Something that would ensure their doom, and ours. She therefore made, not an army like the greater gods were doing, but a single being, one that she hoped would be powerful enough to fight a god—and to kill him.”

“How?” I asked. “How do you kill a god? I thought it took another god to do that.”

“It does. And therein lay the beauty of her plan. She used a variety of strands in her creation, one of which was a rare demon trait to be able to take on the form of another, for a short while. It was fitting for her—she ruled fortune, the flip of a coin, an even chance for any contest. And that is what she gave her warrior.

“After all, if you are your opponent’s equal, then the odds will always be even.”

“Even doesn’t guarantee success,” I pointed out uncomfortably.

“No, but with a god, it’s as good as you are ever going to get.”

I thought about that, and about my mother, and couldn’t take it in. Had she really been just another fey experiment, another failure? Because Fortuna’s experiment hadn’t worked. Not until the supposed uber assassin hooked up with Mircea, and the birthed something that maybe, just maybe . . ..

But then what about Dorina? Was she the fullness of a goddess’ wish, as Nimue had seemed to think, Fortune’s Blade? And if she was, what did that mean for her, in the middle of a war against the gods?

Everyone would seek to use her, and few if any would care what price she paid for it. She would be merely another weapon, more powerful than the others, but just as disposable. And with that thought, everything in me rebelled, to the point that Claire had to speak to me sharply, as I had unconsciously lowered the bag.

I held it back up, but all I could think of was: No. Not my sister. Not Dorina. Not now, not ever.

I had to find her.

And as if on cue, Antem woke up.

But the one thing we hadn’t counted on was that, after everything, he might be a little . . . disorientated. Okay, make that a lot disorientated, I thought, as he looked around at us wildly. There was no recognition in those eyes even for his father, assuming that he noticed him.

Because his gaze had quickly become fixed on the red line running into his arm, or as far as he was concerned, running out of it. It guessed that it could look like we were draining him, I realized belatedly. And that seemed to be where his mind had gone, because his eyes narrowed.

“Ah, shit,” I said, right before Claire went flying.

She’d been bending over him, trying to reassure her patient, but Antem didn’t need reassuring. Antem didn’t need anything, because the next moment, a massive black and yellow dragon had destroyed my tent. And, goddamnit, I somehow always forgot how huge these things were!

“Shit!” I said again, and couldn’t even hear myself, because I couldn’t hear anything. Not over the enraged bellow that the crazy bastard was giving off, which pierced my ears like an ice pick. And there was no way that anyone else was missing it, either.

“Dory!” I somehow heard Louis-Cesare yell my name, possibly because he was right beside me. And then we were both bending backwards almost to the floor to avoid the enormous tail slamming through the air where we’d just been.

A second later, the tail’s owner was airborne, taking off into the night sky. And I guessed that Regin had been right, because there was nothing wrong with his son now. But there was about to be.

But Regin had a head start on everybody else, and he scooped us up and deposited on his own broad, hoary old back, having changed in an instant. Before following Antem into the night sky, although why I didn’t know. Because Rathen and company could kill him there just as easily as on the ground.

And it wasn’t like anybody could miss us absconding with their prisoner.

I dared a glance behind, and saw the camp looking tiny and lost amid the vast forest, and a bunch of minuscule people streaming out of Lord Rathen’s tent. They were pointing and running about, but in a weird sort of way. Darting a few yards ahead and then stopping, before doing it again and again.

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