Elymas found himself on his feet, though not by his own power. He began to babble.

         “I’ve poisoned the King, as well as his councilor, Fulcruchen. The Whitehair sent by the Gibbor isn’t dead but in the dungeon, last cell on the left. It drips.  He may be hurt.” It was the veriest pause, but Elymas quickly corrected, “He is hurt, worked over by Strout, Root and some others.” 

         “Your reason for assaulting one sent by the Gibbor?” 

         “The Whitehair delivered a false message and the King, as well as Fulcruchen believed him. The Gibbor said an earth child had been born and I—”

         “You lie. The Gibbor isn’t the only one who reads the stars. The Curse Blessed reads them, the Tu’el reads them, you read them and know the Whitehair spoke the truth. Your successor lives.”  

         “But I have no successor!” His windpipe had nearly been crushed, but the rise of his passion shot through. “Even now, I have a remedy, very promising, that will restore the tree and cause the flower to bloom again.”

         “Stop believing that delusion. Only the Curse-Blessed can make the flower bloom again. What you are is this: an Earth Skyll who has managed to hold his spot by murdering children.”

         He started to protest. She held up her hand.

         “I am not condemning you. It makes no difference to me if you kill one or thousands, but for this one. The Curse-Blessed wants him for his own. The babe is somewhere in Casoria, possibly in this castle. Think.”

         “Here? In this castle?” The Earth Skyll’s face sagged in disbelief.

         “I see.” His face had told it all; he’d had no clue. “ Never mind.I will find him soon enough. As for Ranald, the Dark has a use for him.”

         “He is dead.” She knew this. Elymas waited to die. 

         “No, he isn’t. I sent a minion with an antidote.”

         “There is no antidote for Lud Sellum.” Gods help him, he was arguing.

         “Ah, but there is.”

         “But Dr. Sugallus said . . .”

         “Suga?” She smirked before laughing, and in that instant, the memory that had been prodding him was complete. She was the winsome youth that he’d tried to buy. He’d been played for a fool again.