Even though Eli felt weak and feverish, the sparks remained steady, showing him a bright, comfortable room with large windows and dozens of garish paintings on the walls. Doorways opened into a bedroom and a hallway but Chivat Lo dragged Eli in the other direction.

Only a few steps, before he knelt on Eli's back and bound his wrists with a strong cord. While he checked the knot, the sparks watched the girl lock the heavy--clearly reinforced--apartment door. Then she stepped aside and opened a small sliding panel in the landing-facing wall to reveal a little niche with an incense burner and a bowl of fruit.

The stench of durinberry grew stronger, but as she fiddled with the incense burner, Eli thought he detected another scent, too. Something fainter and more medicinal ...

Then he lost track of the incense and the girl as Chivat Lo dragged him across the floor. His mind spun sluggishly, disoriented, but the sparks tracked him along a hallway into a nook with a settee and a hookah and a tapestry.

In the darkness of the sack, Eli closed his eyes and breathed. Inhale, exhale. Trying to center himself, trying to find his strength while Chivat Lo tucked the tapestry behind the settee and unlocked a concealed door.

"The antechamber is secure?" the man asked.

"Yes, master," the girl said.

Chivat Lo dragged Eli through the hidden door into a larger room. A workshop, with a bookshelf and a workbench and a counter with alchemical-looking devices. A tailor's dummy stood in one corner, past a clear space with a weapon rack and a dresser and--

And the dizziness passed.

Eli's mind cleared, the poison flushed from his eyes in a stream of tears. He felt strong again, watching despite the sack over his head. He subtly tested his bonds while the girl joined them. Tight. Too tight to break, even if he'd been a full-blooded troll.

So that wasn't good.

The girl closed the door and chewed her lower lip, toying with the knit bag--the knit mace--at her hip.

The man toed Eli's limp form on the ground. "Now we need answers."

"Yes, master."

"This isn't the place for interrogation, but given the marquis's situation ..." He set his rapier aside and moved to the counter. "We'll dose him first, then gag him. When we let him speak, he won't be able to stop telling us everything."

"Yes, master."

"Don't use that tone with me," he snapped at her.

"I'm sorry, I'm still--"

"You're still soft, Mulch." He lifted a glass jar of green liquid from a rack. "Kick him in the face."

When she stepped toward Eli, he didn't let himself brace for the blow. Then she kicked him in the face and he didn't let himself react with more than a shudder.

"Harder," Chivat Lo said.

She kicked him harder.

"Two drops will suffice," he told her, approaching with the jar. "Or three, considering how he resisted the fumes and darts."

"Yes, master."'

"Expose his mouth--then bring me a gag."

She tugged the sack upward, around Eli's eyes, into a makeshift blindfold. She stepped toward the weapon rack and cabinet--for the the gag--while Chivat Lo crouched toward Eli with the jar of green liquid.

When he grabbed a fistful of Eli's hair, Eli bucked and drove his forehead into Chivat Lo's nose.

The bone snapped and Chivat Lo screamed and fell backwards. Not all the way, though. Despite the surprise, and the pain, he managed to catch himself with a hand on the floor behind him.

Eli rolled sideway, guided by the sparks, and kneed Chivat Lo in the ear with all his fear and anger and strength.

That time the other man sprawled to the ground and Eli rolled onto his stomach, spreading his legs until he was braced on top of Chivat Lo, pinnin ghim. He tried to headbutt him in the face again but the angle was wrong so he just smashed his face into the other man's broken nose--and he caught a blur of motion behind him.

He flattened desperately, barely avoided the sword biting deeply into his neck.

With his focus on Chivat Lo, he'd missed the girl grabbing a sword in a two-handed grip and swinging at him like a woodsman at a tree trunk.

When he ducked, the flat of the blade caught the side of his head.

The impact stunned him for a second and Chivat Lo gurgled and the girl shifted her stance for another swing. For another killing blow--and that first one would've ended him if it caught him right. Which it would've done against anyone who wasn't watching from two directions at once.

Despite her earlier hesitation, she was not holding back.

Eli arched the top half of his body upward to meet the second swing before the sword gathered too much force. The blade slashed his back instead of chopping his neck and he grabbed it with his bound right hand. The edge sliced him to the bone and he cried out in pain but still managed to twist hard, using the weight of his body to lever the sword from the girl's surprised grip.

Which was great, except that when he cried out, Chivat Lo threw the entire contents of the jar into his face.

Into his mouth.

He kept twisting, though, and kicked the girl's legs out from under her. She crashed to the ground and his tongue burned from the liquid and he couldn't help himself: he gulped as he struggled to his knees and then to his feet.

He dropped the sword from his ruined right hand. With a spark's help, he caught the grip with his left. Then he squatted backward like he was doing some idiot dance, to thrust the sword into Chivat Lo's heart.

The sparks granted him impossibly good awareness behind himself, but it was still awkward enough that he slowed for a moment to aim--and the girl threw herself across Chivat Lo, to block the sword with her own chest.

The liquid he'd swallowed made him feel swollen and overheated, and his voice sounded wrong when he said, "Wait your blessdamn turn."

He pivoted slightly and fell backwards. The sword point missed the girl by inches and drove into Chivat Lo's mouth and through the back of his head and Eli kept falling for what felt like a long time.

When he hit the floor, everything hurt.

Everything hurt and he'd lost the sword and he couldn't move because of his slashed back or the drugs he'd swallowed or--he didn't know why, but he couldn't move as the girl rose above him, brandishing the sword like an avenging celestial.

He needed to move, though. For the trolls, for himself. He'd promised Yellow. He'd vowed to end the marquis so he needed to move but he couldn't.

Blood stained the blade above him and rage burned in the girl's eyes.