Larkwood, A K - The Serpent Gates 02 - The Thousand Eyes by A. K. Larkwood

Author:A. K. Larkwood [Larkwood, A. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

18

The Fallacy of Sunk Costs

SHUTHMILI WAS WOKEN by the creak of a floorboard next door, in her study. Nobody else should have been in her chambers—she had managed to terrify the latest maidservant away—but she was pretty certain who it was.

She pulled on Csorwe’s coat over her nightdress and went to see. As expected, the body that no longer belonged entirely to Keleiros Lenarai was standing at the desk in her study.

“What brings you here?”

“The palace opens to me,” he said. “I’ve been exploring.” He had arranged Keleiros’ ringlets into a fetching cascade, which just happened to conceal the diadem, and outlined the boy’s eyes with his usual fine line of kohl. The eyes were as bright and open and friendly as ever. It was only the power of the imagination that added a knowing glint. For that matter, Shuthmili’s own eyes were the same undistinguished dark brown that they had always been.

“Well, I hope you’re doing a convincing job as Keleiros,” said Shuthmili. His features might be unchanged, but his posture was visibly different, relaxed and authoritative. She might not have noticed unless she’d been looking for it, but someone who knew Keleiros well might spot it.

“People aren’t very observant, really,” he said, shrugging. “But you’ve really made a name for yourself. I’ve only been here three days, and I’ve heard all about you. People fear you as much as the Empress.”

“I do my best,” she said. “Do sit down.”

Shuthmili’s study was built of the same intricate black fossil-stone as the rest of the Lignite Citadel, but the walls were hardly visible between the bookshelves that rose from floor to ceiling on every wall. There was a high narrow fireplace whose iron chimneypiece was in the shape of a cobra’s hood, and two deep leather armchairs.

She snapped her fingers and lit a fire in the grate. A languid blue flame sprang up halfheartedly, casting only a shadow of warmth. It was always cold in the Lignite Palace, regardless of the desert sun outside. The fossil-stone seemed to drink up light and heat and swallow them down.

Shuthmili boiled water and made tea and porridge. There was something unpleasantly vulnerable about cooking in front of him, but it would be worse to have to deal with him on an empty stomach.

“Ah, the tyranny of breakfast,” he said, as she set down the tray on the table between them. “You and Csorwe were well matched. Although that coat is too big for you.”

He was only probing her defences. She ignored him and ate her porridge. It was, as usual, grainy and slightly burnt.

“So,” he said, when they had eaten. “You want her back. The question is, what is left of her?”

Shuthmili nodded. Belthandros was not to be trusted. He was not her friend, not her colleague, not her ally. She had to keep that in mind. And yet, all these years with nobody else to share her plans …

“She is still there,” said Shuthmili.

“The mortal apparatus is not designed to sustain two minds,” Belthandros went on.

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