Alas, that meant that I still had no battle plans for Sigmund, and so I preemptively appeased him by letting him set the time and place for our next meeting. He, naturally, erred on the side of caution and drew on his inexhaustible list of discreet Silkshore restaurants – and then showed up even earlier than I did, just to make sure no one would see us enter together.

Sequestered in reasonably soundproofed private room, I waited for the waiter to serve our food and leave before I turned to serious matters. “Have you thought more about staying?”

Sigmund had been prodding the thick, greenish soup with his spoon. “But if I stayed,” he pointed out without looking up, “what would become of the House?”

“We have a lot of cousins” – any number of whom were probably scheming right now to supplant him. “What do you want?”

Dropping his spoon, he heaved a long sigh and met my eyes. “I want to go home, Signy, but…I also want you to be there.” He paused, leaving me an opening to swear that I’d find a way to make that happen. When no such vow was forthcoming, he confessed, “And if I can’t have both, I don’t know which one I’d prefer.” He darted a hopeful glance at me, but I stayed impassive. “Because I need you, but I really hate it here.”

“So did I, when I first got here.”

He wasn’t really listening. “And besides, I don’t – I can’t – sooner or later, Ixis expects me to be the Patriarch.”

That was a problem, but how far did a Demon Prince’s powers extend anyway? The vast majority of Ixis was imprisoned in black crystal on a different isle, after all. “What can he do if you’re here?”

Sigmund responded with a meaningful look, which I couldn’t decipher until he reminded me, “My soul is inextricably tied to him.”

“What does that even mean?” I complained, hearing the whine in my voice but unable to suppress it.

Much in the same way Andrel had groped for words when Faith ordered him to identify Ascendent blood, Sigmund fumbled for the proper explanation. “It’s…hard to describe. I – I just don’t think that I could defy his will forever.”

A horrible image of his soul wrapped like tattered lace around a pulsing, black, demonic tumor flashed before me, but I banished it. After all, Faith was not a servitor of a Demon Prince but the (most likely defective) product of the Church’s Ascension ritual – a ritual that, as Ash had reminded me, ended with a dead demon. Ixis, as I knew all too well, was very much alive and talkative, both in his spire and in Grandfather (which I hadn’t brought).

“There has to be something we can do,” I insisted. “Have you tried talking to Ixis? Maybe we can convince him to let you go.”

“Maybe,” replied Sigmund, in a tone that said he didn’t believe it. “And then what? We stay here?”

I’d never even considered leaving. “I mean…there are nice places here. Like – ” Well, the Leaky Bucket, but I wasn’t going to bring that up. The Red Sash Sword Academy wouldn’t appeal to him either. “Jayan Park is quite beautiful.” We’d had a nice stroll under the toxic, glowing trees that one time.

“It is,” he allowed, not sounding overly charmed by lethal foliage.

What else did he like? We had lived apart for nearly three years now, and our estrangement had begun even before that. “And…you have to admit that there’s something about the Void Sea. The black waves, the stars in the water – it has a dark beauty to it.”

“It does,” he repeated in that same noncommittal tone. “It’s weird looking down at the stars instead of up.”

“But the mystery is part of the appeal.”

For all his learning, however, Sigmund was not a Vaasu scholar, and the theological implications of stars under the waves instead of in the heavens held only passing interest for him.

I tested yet another argument: “And there are interesting people here, from all over the Imperium. It’s not like back home. Doskvol is so much more cosmopolitan, and no one looks at us funny because we’re half-breeds.”

The bitterness of the last, ugly word struck the right chord at last. “It’s true,” he conceded. “I have not been impressed by most of the Doskvolians I’ve met, but I will admit that I’m not necessarily interacting with the most…exciting strata.”

Since this tack was working, I pressed my advantage. “What about Ian Templeton?” As far as I could tell, Sigmund had genuinely enjoyed the playwright’s company.

“Okay, I do like Ian. But Ian is a special case – ”

“And Odrienne Keel?”

Sigmund shook his head, dismissing them as outliers. “They’re different. I meant the people at every single party I’ve attended since I arrived.”

Unfortunately, as long as he lived in Brightstone, those were the people he’d mingle with on a daily basis. “If you stay, maybe that’s not the right social circle for you,” I suggested, concealing my dubiousness. Somehow, I could not picture my elegant brother bedding down in a flophouse in Crow’s Foot.

Luckily, he already had his own idea for what social circles might suit him. Striking a dreamy pose, he half-joked, “I wonder if I could be of use to the House as a Silkshore bohemian.”

I laughed outright, as much from relief as at the image. “I’m sure you would make a very convincing Silkshore bohemian,” I assured him.

Grinning right back, he promised, “I will ask Ixis if he will allow it.” Then all traces of amusement vanished from his face. “But – I still think that our highest priority has to be stopping the invasion.”

Well, obviously. Was he accusing me of neglecting affairs of state to dwell on my own selfish fantasies? I shot him an annoyed glare. “I was talking about after.”

So preoccupied was he that he actually sidestepped a good fight. “It’s hard to think about after,” he confided instead. “It’s such a monumental thing.”

With Ash’s trademark breeziness, I dismissed his concerns. “We’re working on things. We’ll make this work.”

My brother still failed to lose his temper. “I hope so. I’m not sure what would happen to all of us who are bound to the Demon Princes, if they did some weird ritual to the Demon Princes.”

Oh. That revelation knocked all the glibness out of me. Of course a Demon Prince’s death would…reverberate through his servitors. Completely sober now, I told him, “We’ve concluded that most of the impetus for stealing the spires is coming from the Church – from Preceptor Dunvil in particular. He is on our list. I’m not certain that removing him will be enough to stop the entire invasion, but at the very least, it will end the push to take the Demon Princes.”

After slotting that intel into his mental map of the crisis, Sigmund nodded as Father did at his agents. “All right. Good, then. That would certainly help. And who knows? Maybe Akoros will be too consumed in its own problems to deal with us.”

That was the strategy I’d been promoting all along, but if he wanted to believe that he’d just devised it himself, I wasn’t going to complain. Instead, I gave a little shrug that blended Ash’s arrogance and Faith’s flippancy. “We’ll just have to come up with the proper distraction, won’t we?”

Raising his eyebrows, Sigmund fished (at least, I thought he was fishing, although it was entirely possible that Hutton had already reported his encounter with a blonde half-Iruvian swordswoman on the Nightbreaker), “Like the death of the City Councilman?”

I raised my eyebrows right back at my brother. “I think you’d agree that it’s a pretty good distraction for the Akorosi.”

He looked torn. “It is, although they’ve also sent an Inspector,” he pointed out, and reached across the table to take my hand. “Listen, I know I don’t have to tell you this, but be safe, Signy.”

I mulled over what I knew of the Inspectors, who were basically the Immortal Emperor’s personal fixers, and wondered just how big a threat they posed.

Covering Sigmund’s hand with my free hand, I reassured him, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Remember Michter?”

Nearly three centuries ago, Inspector Michter had been dispatched to investigate the anomalously high death rate connected to the construction of a lightning barrier around U’Duasha. In response, the Houses had presented one of their rare unified fronts and pulled every string in the Imperial Senate to force his recall. Shortly thereafter, the Lord Governor had announced plans to build a lightning around the Imperial Ward only. Even though my little crew lacked the political clout of the Houses of U’Duasha, we did have powerful allies all over Doskvol. I thought we could handle our Inspector.

Sigmund, however, looked less convinced. “I remember Michter.” Lacing his fingers through mine, he squeezed my hand. “I just don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t. I’ll be careful,” I vowed, seriously this time. “And you’ll talk to Ixis?”

“I will,” he promised. “After I get home. Just because I’m bound to him doesn’t mean that I can talk to him anytime.”

Although I had a very easy way to remedy that, I opted not to mention it.

After poking halfheartedly at our now-cold food, we departed the restaurant separately.

When I returned to the railcar, it was empty except for Sleipnir, who, from the way he leaped about on his three good legs, had been waiting and waiting and waiting for someone to come home. Leading him into my compartment, I boosted him onto my bunk, where he curled up and promptly fell asleep, and seated myself in front of my desk. Then I drew Grandfather, laid the blade across the table, and took a deep breath.

Grandfather?

At once it was there, filling my head with billows of smoke. Yes, child?

I struggled to phrase my question. How…what does it mean to be a fragment of Ixis?

Grandfather’s voice held perfect calm and patience. Just what it sounds like. I am Ixis, but I am also only a piece of Ixis.

And such a useless answer was Ixis’ punishment for asking the wrong question. Does that mean you know what the rest of Ixis is thinking? Does the rest of Ixis know what you’re thinking? If you made any bargains, would the rest of Ixis honor them? As soon as the words were out of my (imaginary) mouth, I regretted them.

The smoke swirled, as if stirred by a chuckle. Of course. Are you seeking a bargain, Signy Anixis?

I shook my head vigorously, frustrated at myself. No, I’m merely trying to understand.

Yes, came Grandfather’s response, so quick and direct that it took me a moment to realize it had answered my question. A bargain with me is a bargain with all of me. The mass of smoke shifted, coiling in anticipation.

Oh dear. Why did conversations with Grandfather always feel like, say, fencing with a Hadrakin who brought a gun to a swordfight? I strove to push the smoke aside and clear my mind. Have you ever unbound someone from you?

An orange glow pulsed through the dark clouds. I’d amused Ixis. How would I unbind you? You haven’t been bound in the first place.

Not me! Someone else.

There was a long pause. The smoke roiled, considering. Not in this millennium. Another pause. I don’t know if I can necessarily recall. Grandfather sounded entertained by its own lapse, or feigned lapse, of memory.

Is it possible? I pressed.

It is not im-possible.

But? There had to be a “but.” With Ixis, there was always a “but” lurking in the shadows.

But I really don’t see how that would benefit me at all, it observed with refreshing bluntness.

Grasping at the opening, I coaxed, But what’s the point of having an unwilling servitor? Wouldn’t it be better to have someone serve you with all their heart and soul?

Subsiding back into tolerant patience, Grandfather remarked, I’ve never forced anyone to bind to me. As if in illustration, the clouds of smoke transformed into ashes that pattered gently around my feet.

Unfortunately, I believed it. Ixis didn’t need to force anyone. All he had to do was talk to them and he could twist their desires. But what if they changed their minds afterwards?

I believe that all of my servitors understand that this is best for everyone. After all – persuasiveness oozed into Grandfather’s voice – I can protect them.

Was that how he’d ensnared my innocent, idealistic, sixteen-year-old brother? The Immortal Emperor intends to invade and subjugate Iruvia and enslave everyone you love, including your sister. Do you want to see Signy in chains? I can help you save her…. Given his noble streak, that argument would work all too well on Sigmund.

What if one of your servitors decided that they’d rather take their own chances?

The ashes leapt back up into tendrils of smoke. Child, are you asking me what would happen if you bound to me and then changed your mind – or are you asking on behalf of young Sigmund?

Would implying that Sigmund was having second thoughts strengthen my hand at all? Could Ixis punish him, from an isle and half away? I vacillated for so long that Grandfather figured out the answer itself.

Sigmund and I have an agreement, it informed me. If I were to lose him, I would need someone to take his place.

We have many cousins, I said into the smoke. Many, many, crafty, bloodthirsty cousins.

You do have many cousins, agreed Grandfather, mimicking me in an entirely unreassuring way. Crafty, bloodthirsty cousins. A long pause, just long enough to allow me hope – and then it pronounced: They lack audacity.

An Anixis? Lacking audacity? I named all the cousins I suspected of plotting against my brother in his absence. You have a House full of Anixises. Surely Sigmund can’t be the only one who fulfills all of your criteria.

Oh, no, Grandfather replied at once. Sigmund isn’t. A cloud of smoke hovered right in front of me, expectantly.

I named a few other cousins, then threw in some aunts and uncles for good measure.

Grandfather just sighed, half-amused and half-exasperated by my deliberate obtuseness. Signy, you know what I’m driving at.

I did, unfortunately. Like I said – what’s the point of having an unwilling servitor?

But we want the same things. A tendril of smoke curved around my waist.

I batted at it, dissolving it. We don’t, I told Grandfather passionately. Just because our interests temporarily align doesn’t mean we want the same things!

Another tendril spiraled up before my eyes, forming into a mirror that reflected my face, overlaid on something darker, something ancient and distorted. But we both want to see the House do as well as it possibly can. My features warped and shaded towards black and orange, smoke and burning embers. We both prefer to work slightly indirectly.

Shaking my head to dispel the vision, I cried aloud, “But I don’t want to be heir!”

Why not?

“Because – ” I cut myself off. Then, in a tiny, anguished voice, I offered the true answer like a sacrifice: Because then I couldn’t stay here.

Grandfather accepted the offering, tested it, tasted it, and inquired, You’ve determined, then, that you wish to stay in Doskvol – forever?

Because I was calculating whether I could ever persuade Bazso to immigrate to Iruvia – and whether it would be fair to do so – I hesitated far too long.

Long tentacles of smoke wrapped all around me in a soothing embrace, drawing me in. Because there is no reason that my heir would necessarily need to be in U’Duasha. After all, Sigmund isn’t.

But he’s supposed to return – he was supposed to return after just a few weeks – he’s already well past that deadline –

That’s true, Grandfather agreed, rubbing my shoulders and stroking my hair and leaving wisps of smoke all over me. But he’s doing good work here.

I struggled to break free. But eventually the heir has to be in U’Duasha.

Eventually, yes. But ‘eventually’ could be a long time from now.

From a human perspective, that was even true. Although the Patriarch wasn’t young, I could expect him to live another twenty years – as long as no one assassinated him first.

Look, Grandfather, I said, trying to regain control of the conversation, I don’t think Sigmund knew what he was getting into. I think he got thrown into a situation where he felt that the only way to save Iruvia was to accept the mantle of heirship.

Well, you know, child, he’s not necessarily wrong.

I shook my head again, clearing away some of the tendrils, and burst out, “It wasn’t fair for you to do that to him!”

The tendrils re-formed a little ways away. Child, he wanted to save Iruvia. I wanted him to save Iruvia.

“And we’ll save Iruvia, and then those arguments will be gone!”

Grandfather went silent for a very long moment. Behind the smoke, the orange light throbbed. When the sword spoke at last, there was finality in its voice. My heir will be one of the two of you, Signy. It is up to you which one.

I refused to accept that. Why does it have to be one of the two of us? I’m not arrogant enough to think that we’re that special.

But you two are the only ones who are willing to defy the Patriarch, it pointed out in a completely matter-of-fact tone.

My breath caught. “And you like that?” I demanded. All those assassins my family had sent after me, the way they dogged my steps until they nearly killed me and forced me to flee to Doskvol, and then, in the ultimate betrayal, ordered my own brother to track me down to murder me – “You wanted me to steal you and run away?”

It was not displeasing.

My voice rose. “Have you been manipulating me this entire time?”

All the sacrifices I had made. Abandoning everyone I loved to steal Grandfather so I could free my family from its influence, at least. Hiding and struggling and scraping by as an exile in a foreign city, just to keep the sword away from them – only to find that in the end, I’d played right into Ixis’ hands.

Child – Grandfather reproved.

“Did I run away because I wanted to run away, or because you wanted me to run away?”

Only you can answer that.

I fought back an insane urge to fling the sword across my pitiful, ramshackle, derelict-railcar compartment. “Get out of my head!” I shrieked.

Above me, my three-legged mutt jolted awake mid-snore. His spiky snout peeked over the edge of that thin, flimsy, stained mattress pad I’d salvaged from a dump.

The smoke and embers vanished as if extinguished, but I didn’t trust my own senses anymore. I didn’t trust my own thoughts anymore.

Locking the sword away, I hauled Sleipnir off my bed and went on such a long, tortuous walk through the city in the icy rain that I wore him out and wound up carrying him back.