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groaned Biagio. He went to the chair that Nicabar had vacated and fell into it, exhausted and angry. All his efforts had been for nothing. Nicabar was obsessed with Liss and would never forsake that struggle. Nicabar didn’t care if Tassis Gayle and his henchman Leth were plotting against the throne, and he didn’t care if tyrants like Angoris murdered people by the thousands. He just wanted Liss. Biagio laughed. Once he himself had bargained away his humanity for power. It was what the drug did to men.
    “Malthrak!” shouted Biagio suddenly. “Get in here!”
    Within a moment the parlor door opened and Malthrak stuck his swarthy head inside. “My lord?” he queried. “Are you all right?”
    “Find me Captain Kasrin, Malthrak. Find out where he is and bring him.”
    Malthrak looked puzzled. “Kasrin?”
    “Of the ship
Dread Sovereign
. He’s in a harbor somewhere north of the city. I want to see him. And I don’t want anyone finding out about it, understand? Secret things, Malthrak.”
    Malthrak grinned. Secret things were what he was best at. “I understand, my lord. I’ll find him.”
    “Go quickly,” said Biagio. “And shut the door.”
    The little Roshann agent sealed his emperor into the parlor. Outside, Biagio could hear him murmuring to his brother. Malthrak would find Kasrin quickly and bring him to the Black City. And Donhedris had an errand of his own. According to Dakel, Elrad Leth’s ship had been sighted nearing the city.
    The emperor took a deep breath. He thought of Nicabar and all the good times they had enjoyed together. But that was the past. A year ago, when Biagio was still addicted to the drug, killing had been easy for him. He never felt anxious or afraid, and he never felt remorse over any of his orders, no matter how bloody. Withdrawing from the narcotic had changed all that, and sometimes he yearned for the old harshness again.
    “Forgive me, my friend,” he whispered. “I will miss you.”

TWO
    A lazrian looked out over Nar City. He was higher up than he had ever been in his life, seemingly higher than birds fly, and he was mesmerized. This was his own balcony, part of his private room, and the Tower of Truth was a dazzling structure. Alazrian had seen it from the hills around the city, twinkling bronze and orange in the sunlight. It had one twisting spire and countless balconies, and it pointed heavenward like a needle, skewering the smoky clouds. To Alazrian, who had never seen a city, it was like something from a dream.
    “My God,” he whispered, smiling to himself. “It’s beautiful.”
    The slave who had escorted Alazrian to his room seemed pleased. “It is to your liking then, my lord?”
    “My liking? Oh, yes.” Alazrian turned from the stunning view to face the servant. He was a middle-aged man with tired eyes and taut skin who looked as though he had been bringing people up and down the tower’s stairs for decades. “It’s incredible,” Alazrian said. “And it’s all mine?”
    “Yes, my lord,” replied the slave. “For as long as you stay in the tower. The minister made it very clear. You and your father are to be his guests.”
    Alazrian knew that the “minister” was Dakel himself. Popularly known as the Inquisitor, his real title was Nar’sMinister of Truth. Dakel was master of the tower, one of the city’s highest ranking lords, and the extravagance of his home bespoke his station.
    “It’s not what I expected,” Alazrian confessed. “When we were summoned here I thought, well …”
    The slave smiled. “A lot of people don’t expect the minister’s hospitality. Please be at ease. I am at your command. My name is Rian.”
    “And you’ve been assigned to me?”
    “You and your father, yes.”
    Alazrian was less pleased to hear that. He didn’t like the idea of sharing the servant with his father, who would no doubt run poor Rian ragged. And his father already had his bodyguard Shinn for company. Shinn went everywhere with Leth. They