The Final Strife

He dropped his voice. “Sylah, don’t do this.” Fayl’s concern was strong enough for him to warn Sylah against his husband.

“No other choice.”

“None?”

“No.”

The big man looked unhappy, but he eventually went down the stairs.

Jond watched Fayl’s retreating back. “What’s so scary about a favor, Sylah?”

She shrugged, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Loot’s favors tend to be a bit…” She was at a loss for words. “Creative.”

“Creative?”

“Yes, often pointless, always dangerous, sometimes deadly. He can call in his debt at any time, and it lasts until he says it does.”

“Essentially you become his slave for an immeasurable amount of time.”

Sylah’s mouth twisted, her hand slipping toward the top of her neck where her braids used to be. “What’s new?”

Fayl reappeared, and from his resigned look Sylah knew the barter had been successful.

Jond was silent as Sylah turned them left, left, right, middle, through the Intestines. It wasn’t until the amber glow from the runelamps began to brighten that he spoke.

“We don’t need to do this, Sylah. You don’t need to do this.” He reached out and grasped her shoulder.

“Oh, stop your whining, we both know I’m going to do it.” Sylah continued a touch softer. “Don’t make my sacrifice worthless.”

They entered the Belly, flanked by Gummers on either side. Sylah gave them a wide smile, denting their menacing facade.

“Ah, Sylah.” Loot stepped into the runelight. “Nice to see you, and you’ve brought company.” Loot smiled at them both. Not one speck of blue dust marred his yellow suit. It was so bright it was hard to look at.

Jond’s eyes widened, whether from Loot’s opulent attire or the vast array of books, Sylah wasn’t sure.

“Hi, Loot.” Sylah’s heart was beating a little faster than usual. She felt the prickling of a spasm and tried to slow her breathing.

“Come, have some tea.”

Jond walked stiffly beside Sylah as they took a seat. The poisoned tea was poured by a silent Ghosting servant, their shaved head a replica of Sylah’s. The handle of the teapot was large enough for their limb as they carefully poured the hot liquid into flowery teacups.

“Nice headscarf.” Loot tipped his head in her direction.

“Thanks, trying a new look.”

Loot’s eyes sparkled like the spider pin he wore on his breast. He knew, somehow, he knew.

“So, Sylah, I’ve heard you’re interested in entering a contract with me?” He crossed his legs, keeping perfectly balanced on his stool.

“Yes, well, if you can get me what I want.” Sylah sipped her tea again, keeping her eyes level with Loot.

“Does this have something to do with your tight-lipped stepbrother here?”

“No, well, yes, a bit.”

“Oh, do tell.” Loot leaned forward, his long nails clicking against his teacup.