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“She used me for her magic.”

“How. Exactly?”

Lyr swallows and forces himself to speak as evenly as he can. “She spoke to her Gods, through me. She performed scrying rituals using my body. She made these marks so I could be a vessel they could use to communicate with her.” He extends his arms and shows the swirling scars. He remembers Jareleezi’s knife. He remembers the cold pain as he was held down by her leather straps and marked with her blade. “She used my blood and my seed too, as well as my skin. She never told me what she meant to achieve,” he finishes.

Pershel steps forward. She looks at Lyr’s arms, then lifts his shirt to reveal the runes there. “I see,” she says. “Could you remove your cloak, please?”

It’s a very calm command. Lyr feels uneasy, but he drops the cloak. He stands bared in the hip cloth so Pershel can see every mark. The circular brands on his shoulders, the tiny runes burned into his back and the four runes across his chest.

Pershel runs a long finger across the four marks. She says, “I saw these when you were presented for your justice. These are in Ur-Ambolk, the old tongue of the Amber Forest. The most ancient language we know.”

Lyr nods. “I know.”

“Do you know what these runes on your chest say?”

Lyr nods again. “I do, yes.”

Pershel turns to Vindar. “These marks on his limbs were made first, as he said. To create the vessel. This is body scrying. Work with prophecy. The marks on his back and chest are messages sent by the demons. Tales of the future. The ones on his chest are one thing, their meaning is clear. The ones on his back,” she turns Lyr around, “these are very detailed, they must have taken many moons to complete. It will take time to translate it all but they speak of demons, dark Gods, a great threat to the world. This one here,” she presses a finger to Lyr’s shoulder blade, “is the name of Emperor Selim.”

“Why do you have the name of our Emperor written on your skin, slave?” snaps Vindar.

“I don’t know,” says Lyr. “It’s on my back. I cannot read it.”

It had hurt, when the messages came. It had taken a long time. Night after night of fire and chanting and slow burning on his skin.

“This is serious,” says Pershel. “This slave is a deeper part of all this than I anticipated. I must consult with Zai privately.”

Vindar says, “He is to be sent to Sanvicta in the morning. Into exile.”

“Then you must stop it. You must insist Selim orders he is to be kept here.”

“No,” Lyr says, with a jolt of panic. “No. I must go with Damon. He will die from his injuries.”

“This is of far more importance,” Pershel says. She turns Lyr around again to face her, with cool hands on his skin. She looks Lyr in the eyes. “What Jareleezi did to you was pure Hevelikar filth,” she says. “I am sorry that you are a part of it.” And she sweeps out of the room.

Lyr looks at Vindar. He smiles a slow and nasty smile. “Interesting,” he says. “Did Damon Darekul know about this when he took you?”

Lyr shakes his head. “Damon had nothing to do with this.”

“I see,” says Vindar. “He is being taken to his exile in the morning. He will be left on Sanvicta. Your assertion is correct, if you remain here, he will not survive alone with those injuries.”

Lyr cannot think of anything he can say.

He is allowed to cover himself with his cloak and returned to his cell. He sits in the corner hugging his knees.

That woman, Pershel, she read what was written on his chest. And on his back. But Lyr does not know what is written there in hundreds of tiny symbols. The words the woman said, demons, dark Gods, mean little to him. But the four symbols on his chest, he knows what they say. He knows what she read.

He’s thinking this over and over when the cell door opens again. A man stands in the doorway. At first, he thinks it is Vindar, but no. It is another man of similar build, but he doesn’t wear Vindar’s fine purple robes of state. He wears priest’s robes. Lyr looks at his face. He looks like Vindar with a longer beard and less neatly kept hair. He was there at the Justice.

He says, “Lyr of Klish, keep silent and listen to me. At dawn, Damon Darekul will be sent to Sanvicta with bread and water for forty days. Gelen the Green decreed that you would be sent into exile with him. But tonight Chancellor Vindar has asked Emperor Selim for permission to keep you here.”

“I know,” Lyr says.

“I believe Selim will grant the request.”

“Then Damon will die.”

The man nods. “They will poison his well if they can, but there are streams and springs on Sanvicta.”