Dust of Dreams

however, somewhat
more
than that.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he was my love.’
    His gaze shied away and he nodded. ‘There is a version of the Tiles, consisting of Houses, a kind of formal structure imposed on various forces at work in the universe. It is called the Deck of Dragons. Within this Deck, the House of Shadow is ruled, for the moment, not by the Tiste Edur who founded that realm, but by new entities. In the House, there is a King, no Queen as yet, and below the King of High House Shadow there are sundry, uh, servants. Such roles find new faces every now and then. Mortal faces.’
    She watched him, her mouth dry as sun-baked stone. She watched as he wrung his hands, as his eyes shifted away again and again. ‘Mortal faces,’ she said.
    ‘Yes, Acquitor.’
    ‘Trull Sengar.’
    ‘The Knight of Shadow.’
    ‘Cruelly abandoned, it would seem.’
    ‘Not by choice, nor neglect, Acquitor. These Houses, they are engaged in war, and this war escalates—’
    ‘Trull did not choose that title, did he?’
    ‘No. Choice plays little part in such things. Perhaps even the Lords and Ladies of the Houses are in truth less omnipotent than they would like to believe. The same, of course, can be said for the gods and goddesses. Control is an illusion, a deceptive one that salves thin-skinned bluster.’
    ‘Trull is dead,’ Seren said.
    ‘But the Knight of Shadow lives on,’ Bugg replied.
    The dread had been building within her, an icy tide rising to flood every space within her, between her thoughts, drowning them one by one, and now cold fear engulfed her. ‘Our child,’ she whispered.
    Bugg’s eyes hardened. ‘The Errant invited the murder of Trull Sengar. Tonight, Acquitor, the Deck of Dragons will be awakened, in this very city. This awakening is in truth a challenge to the Errant, an invitation to battle. Is he ready? Is he of sufficient strength to counter-attack? Will this night end awash in mortal blood? I cannot say. One thing I mean to prevent, Seren Pedac, is the Errant striking his enemies through the child you carry.’
    ‘That’s not good enough,’ she whispered.
    His brows rose. ‘Acquitor?’
    ‘I said it’s not good enough! Who is this King of High House Shadow? How dare he claim my child! Summon him, Ceda! Here! Now!’
    ‘Summon? Acquitor, even if I could, that would be . . . please, you must understand. To summon a god—even if naught but a fragment of its spirit—will be to set afire the brightest beacon—one that will be seen by not just the Errant, but other forces as well. On this night, Acquitor, we must do nothing to draw attention to ourselves.’
    ‘It is you who needs to understand, Ceda. If the Errant wants to harm my child . . . you may well be a Ceda, but the Errant is a
god.
Who has already murdered the man I loved—a Knight of Shadow. You may not be
enough
. My child is to be the new Knight of Shadow? Then the High King of Shadow will come here—tonight—
and he will protect his Knight!
’
    ‘Acquitor—’
    ‘Summon him!’
    ‘Seren—I am enough. Against the Errant. Against any damned fool who dares to come close,
I am enough
.’
    ‘That makes no sense.’
    ‘Nevertheless.’
    She stared at him, unable to disguise her disbelief, her terror.
    ‘Acquitor, there are other forces in the city. Ancient, benign ones, yet powerful nonetheless. Would it ease your concern if I summon
them
on your behalf? On your unborn son’s behalf?’
    Son. The red-eyed midwife was right, then.
‘They will listen to you?’
    ‘I believe so.’
    After a moment, she nodded. ‘Very well. But Ceda, after tonight—I will speak to this King of Shadow.’
    He flinched. ‘I fear you will find the meeting unsatisfactory, Acquitor.’
    ‘I will decide that for myself.’
    Bugg sighed. ‘So you shall, Seren Pedac.’
    ‘When will you summon your friends, Ceda?’
    ‘I already have.’
     
    Lostara Yil had said there’d be eleven in all not counting Fiddler himself. That was madness. Eleven players for the reading. Bottle glanced across at Fiddler as they marched up the street in the wake of the two women. The man looked sick, rings under his eyes, mouth twisted in a grimace. The darker roots of his hair and beard made the silvered ends seem to hover like an aura, a hint of chaos.
    Gesler and Stormy clumped along behind them. Too cowed for their usual arguing with each other about virtually everything. As bad as a married couple, they were. Maybe they sensed the