“You know what, Jana, I actually don’t think I will.”

  Rook’s hands didn’t so much as twitch on the crossbow, which was quite something considering Latham had a massive broadsword poking at the back of his head. Nevertheless, despite that handicap, the Threshold Guardian’s stance remained solid, and his mana-powered breath was entirely slow and measured.

  There was absolutely no sign that he was feeling any fear. There was no uncertainty in his posture. Even at the end, it seemed that he would be the consummate professional. And, in these sort of circumstances, Lowe didn’t like professionals. . . .

  “Okay, mate. Well, how about I put it another way for you and see if you can get on board with this instruction,” Lowe said. “Either you put the crossbow down right now, or Latham is going to cut your head off.”

  The pressure of Latham’s blade against Rook’s neck increased ever so slightly. Not enough to do real damage. Just enough to absolutely promise it. No blood ran down from the small cut that appeared at the nape of his neck because, of course, as a Threshold Guardian, he didn’t have any of that running through his body, did he?

  “You could do that,” Rook said. “But then you’ll never find where I left the bodies of all your poor friends. I know you, Jana. You’ll go mad with grief, wondering where their mortal remains lie. If I die here, you’ll never get a moment’s peace wondering about their final moments.”

  “Wow! Well, doesn’t that sound shitty?” Lowe said. “‘Never a moment’s peace.’ My word, what an awful outcome that would be for me. What do you think about that, Mylaf?”

  “I agree, sir. And, frankly, I’m quite shocked about the whole thing. That does indeed sound like a quite horrible thing to experience. To be honest, sir, it is almost enough to make me not feel quite so bad to have put all that poison into his gingerbread.”

  “What?” Rook went to turn, but Latham pressed his sword a touch deeper. A good inch of the blade vanished beneath the skin.

  “How about you, Latham? Does that threat never to know about Hel’s ‘final moments’ get your knees knocking?”

  “Sort of. But, you know what?” Latham said, “I reckon that sort of creepy ultimatum would sound pretty fucking persuasive for us to let him go. Well, that is if we didn’t already know where he was holding them.”

  Rook’s body didn’t move any further, but Lowe thought there was a new set to his shoulders now. Was that a flicker of doubt? Of uncertainty buried under all those years of hard-earned control. If there was, he continued to hide it well. “Bullshit,” he said.

  “I’m afraid it’s the true word, mate,” Lowe said. “Well, true acronym, anyway. Oh,” he said as Rook seemed to shiver slightly, “are you starting to feel the poison work on you yet?”

  Rook made to turn again, a flicker of intention in his stance, but Latham pressed down even harder, and this time, a thin line of goo spurted out of the wound to trace its way down his neck. Was that . . . embalming fluid?

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Lowe said, taking a step closer to the Black Knight. “I need to be clear that you should be very careful about making any sort of sudden moves right now. My Templer Warder friend here is experiencing all sorts of vengeful, dare I say, deeply homicidal feelings right now. It might be best for you not to give him any more of an excuse to do you catastrophic damage. Especially as you’ve got a metric fuckton of . . . sorry, what did you say you’d put in the gingerbread, Mylaf?”

  “I made the dough for the loaf Mr Rook has been eating this evening from with Aqua Mortis, sir. Which is, of course, more commonly known as Deathwater. A rather overly dramatic name for a distilled alchemical toxin that binds with necrotic energies, severing the force keeping the undead animated. When ingested, it calcifies necrotic tissue and forces the undead body to, really quite rapidly, collapse into inert matter. Now, I know that Mr Rook is not technically one of the undead, but I do think that my Legendary Skill might have . . . oh, how did you put it, sir? Henched the impact the fuck up.”

  “You snuck Deathwater into me?”

  Lowe’s grin became even wider. “Damn straight. I finally got around to reading up on Threshold Guardians, and it was clear that, without a little something, something to even the odds, even Latham was going to struggle to take you down - especially once you hit Level 50, killing Synchler. Now, though? Well, now I reckon you’re probably just a few minutes away from turning to goo all on your own. Which sounds like a pretty shitty way to go, but, you know what, I’m not feeling all that empathetic towards you right now.”

  Rook still didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, come on, mate. Surely this is the time for some good old fashioned villain monologuing. Speak now or forever regret it as a puddle of gingerbread vomit. For example, you’re probably dying to know where you slipped up. And I tell you, it’s a doozy. In other circumstances, it would probably really make you laugh. Let me tell you about Hel’s new hairstyle.”

  “What are you talking about, Jana?” Rook said, head starting to swim as the effects of the Deathwater bore down on him.

  “GNROLLG,” Lowe said, drawing out the letters in the air like a schoolteacher leading a slow child through his lessons.

  “What?!”

  “The Grand Necropolitan Rest of Our Lady of the Lingering Glance,” Lowe said watching Rook’s hand on the crossbow carefully. He was fairly sure that his ex-friend hadn't positioned a remote-release bolt this time like he had used to wipe out Drefleck, but he wasn't absolutely certain. And he wasn't really sure how Rook was able to trigger it anyway. That was a sort of uncertainty that ramped up a person's paranoia. Well, no plan was foolproof. “You know, the place where the two of us, after such a long hiatus in our friendship, accidentally bumped into each other once again. Right after the Black Knight apparently came back.” He let that hang in the air for a second. “That’s where you’re keeping them, right? In one of the tombs at your place of work.”

  Silence.

  “I’m going to take your awed, dumbstruck silence as an eloquent ‘fuck! You got me.’” Lowe tapped the side of his head. “Too late to try to mask it now, mate. I see you.” He turned slightly, glancing towards the district of Soar that held the graveyard. “And, as we speak, I’m sure Commander Staffen will be busy breaking them free. You see, that’s the good thing about having a Guardian of the Wall on your side. There’s precious little that woman won’t stomp into dust given half a chance. I’m sure you’ve got all sorts of epic and suitably nasty traps rigged up for when poor little old me goes stumbling through the door. I’m not sure how much cop they’ll be proving against her, though. So sorry about that.”

  Now, that was a lie. A massive, gaping, reality-defying, absolutely unverified lie. Although he’d eventually managed to get a message to Staffen, he had no idea if she’d done anything about it yet. The attempted murder of the Mayor kind of took precedence over pretty much everything else. However, Lowe was putting the house on Rook not being sure of that. And, right now, that was all that mattered.

  Rook’s body remained frozen for three whole seconds. The sound of a round of applause for the Mayor drifted up from the chinless wonders below. Somehow, no-one down there was noticing the drama being enacted above them. Which, once again, didn’t speak especially highly for the effectiveness of the Justicars on full ‘assassin’ watch. If they all got out of this alive, Latham and the rest of those who worked at the Celestial Temple were going to be able to do quite the gloating. Maybe.

  More embalming fluid slipped down Rook’s collar, spurting from the wound Latham’s blade was gouging in the back of his neck. Finally, he spoke up. “You know what, Lowe? I think you’re bluffing.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, I dunno, mate,” Lowe said. “That would be a hell of a bluff, wouldn’t it? Especially for someone like me who has all sorts of, you know, feelings for other people. Obviously that’s not your thing, but some of the rest of us bother about details like that. It’s the only reason you still have a head, for example.”

  Rook’s lips parted slightly, but no words came.

  Lowe took another step forward. “This is not really going your way, is it? Why don’t you drop the bow and then we can have a chat about old times.” Rook’s grip tightened slightly on the crossbow, which made Lowe sigh.

  “Okay, fine. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I am bluffing. That Staffen isn’t right now, at this very moment, kicking in the doors of that little tomb you’ve got them stashed in. That she isn’t already marching their very pissed-off selves to safety. What’s actually your plan here?”

  Rook laughed at that.

  A big, booming laugh that rang around the Council Chamber.

  The sound caused all sorts of people to look up and point towards them. Someone screamed and then the Mayor was being bundled out of the room. Rook raised his arms in the air. “Fine. You win, Jana. Can I turn around?”

  “Drop the fucking bow,” Latham said, “and I’ll think about it.”

  Rook did so, the crossbow clattering over the balcony edge.

  "And release any 'oh, it can't be me, I was standing right here when it happened' magic fucking bolt' that you might have floating around."

  A bolt smashed from nowhere into the ground at Lowe's feet. Sometimes, it was nice to be right. And sometimes, it absolutely sucked.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  When Rook turned around, Lowe was struck by how much the man he had thought his friend had changed. And he didn’t think that was just the Deathwater and the partial decapitation.

  “Oh don’t look so fucking disappointed in me, Jana. It’s pathetic. Is this really so much of a surprise to you?”

  “That you are the Black Knight? Yeah. Pretty much.”

  “Of course I was the Black fucking Knight, you moron! Did you really think poor Coda had it in him to pull that all off?”

  Lowe didn’t know what to say to that. He’d been rehearsing how this conversation was going to go ever since Latham and he had hatched this plan, but he still couldn’t decide what he wanted to say first. “But . . . why?” Well, that seemed to be a solid catch-all way to go.

  “Jana, you look like you’re about to cry. Pull yourself together., mate. This is your big moment, don’t spoil it by being all tragic. Why? What a moralistic way of looking at the world. Why? You know what? To begin with, the why was just because it was so fucking exciting! Ah, there’s that disappointed face again. Look, Commander Cenorth himself asked me to do some little ‘off the book’ jobs for him. Can you imagine what a rush that was? Well, actually, I’m sure you can. Because you were his good little Golden Boy, too, weren’t you?”

  “Little man, I’m not sure we have time for this right now, there’s a couple of Justicars down there looking pretty pissed . . .”

  “Oh, do be quiet, Temple Warder. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.” Rook said, and then turned back to face Lowe “Yeah, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? You got to be Cuckoo House’s White Knight. So many plaudits for Jana Lowe. All of those commendations. Did you know how much the rest of us hated you? It was so obvious you were the favourite. And then there was me. I was the one getting my hands properly dirty for the boss. And where was my thanks?

  “There’s a big difference between ‘getting your hands dirty’ and slaughtering people, Rook. Don’t pretend to me that you don’t know there’s a line.”

  “Fuck’s sake! When did you become so sanctimonious, Jana? Did I kill people? Sure. And I got very well paid for it. Very well for it, indeed. ” Rook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You better believe that the Mayor was a very generous sponsor. All he needed Cenorth to do was thin out his competition a little. And I was happy to take my cut in doing that. But I got my fucking comeuppance, didn’t I? Or did you miss the part where Cenorth blew my fucking chest out?”

  Behind them, the door they had exited from shuddered under the impact of heavy, motivated bodies slamming against it. The Justicars were seeking to force their way through. The frame groaned as Latham ran to brace himself against it, his bulk absorbing the subsequent impact. “Wrap it up, little man!”

  Rook swayed again, then dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. “In your heart of hearts, tell me you don’t think I did the right thing, Jana.” His voice was lower now, but it carried across the roof. “We talked about it often enough, didn’t we? How the rich in Soar were getting fatter, hungrier, more powerful, while the rest of us were left choking on their scraps. Tell me you didn’t feel it—just a pulse, just a flicker—every time you found the next body. Another rich twat, brought down a peg.”

  “We don’t take the law into our own hands.”

  “Don’t we?” Rook let out a rasping chuckle. “Ha. Tell that to the shade of Cenorth. You took a whole lot of law into your hands there, didn’t you? I read all about that. What’s good for thee is not for me? To be honest, I should thank you. It was only with him gone that I was able to get back to my work.”

  Lowe’s hands curled into fists. “What happened with Cenorth wasn’t—”

  “Wasn’t what? Vigilante justice? Bloody retribution?” Rook grinned, dark fluid flecking his teeth. “It was the same thing. It’s always the same thing. It’s just a matter of who writes the story afterwards. White Knight or Black Knight. It just depends upon where you sit. And what your own, private score is. Well I don’t have one. And I don’t care.”

  The doorframe cracked, and Latham dug his heels in. He was doing sterling work, but it clearly wouldn’t last.

  Rook tilted his head, looking past Lowe, out over the city. The lights of Soar stretched in every direction, flickering like dying stars. “You want to know what I think, Jana?” Rook’s voice softened, becoming almost wistful. “I think you did feel it. The joy. The rush. You just don’t like what it says about you.”

  “I didn’t enjoy it, Rook,” Lowe said. His friend had always been able to find where the hidden bruises were.

  A final impact against the door sent Latham stumbling forward. The appearance of the Justicars to proceedings was just moments away.

  Rook dragged himself to his feet, wiping a smear of bubbling liquid from his mouth with the back of his hand. He was starting to lose this physical composition. Mylaf’s Death Water was doing its worst. The Threshold Guardian turned his gaze back to Lowe and studied him for a long moment. “Perhaps you’re telling the truth. You were always the best of us,” he said, voice almost gentle now. “But you know the thing about being a White Knight, Jana? It might make you feel better about things, but you’re still just another piece on someone else’s board.”

  “Rook—”

  But Rook had already moved. One step, two, onto the edge of the railing. The wind caught his coat, sent it billowing like a torn flag. He swayed, just a little, and gave a lazy salute, the half-smile still playing at his lips, like all of this was just a joke he’d been waiting to tell.

  “All the defensive Skills in my tomb are tagged to my Core. Once I die, they’ll switch off, and your friends will be able to walk free on their own.” With effort, he breathed in, tasting the night air. “So that’s one good deed for the record, at least. I never meant that child to die, Lowe. Please believe me on that one. That was all the Boss. He knew I’d never stand for anything like that, and you—” a low chuckle, almost fond “—you’d already turned him down as my replacement, hadn’t you? He knew you were never gonna play his game. Neither was I, not on that one. He left the gold in my tomb, you know? As a ‘sorry’. But you know how it goes. You stand still long enough, and someone moves the pieces around you.”

  The wind tugged at his hair, at the edges of his words, fraying them into the dark.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened in the park. The best I can make sense of it is that it turned out we weren’t Knights at all. Just Pawns to be sacrificed. But when you took Cenorth down, I thought, maybe, I could cause Arkola to finish the job with the Mayor. To wrap it all up nice and neat.” A pause. A wry smile. “Turned out I was wrong. Hey ho.”

  For a second, just a second, it looked like he might say something else. Something final. Something that would help Lowe make sense of it all. But then he just gave a little shrug, an easy thing, like a man stepping off a train at his stop.

  And then he jumped off the edge.

  Lowe lunged forward, but it was too late. He caught only air, and then, with no hesitation - just insane instinct - he dived off the Tower after him.

  The wind tore the breath from his lungs as he plummeted. Rook was below him, a dark silhouette against the glow of Soar’s endless sprawl, his coat flaring like the wings of a broken bird. A cuckoo making its last call. And then their eyes met.

  And then, Lowe wasn’t falling any more. He suddenly became weightless, suspended in a universe that had seemingly been waiting for him all along. But then, of course Arkola had known this moment coming. Maybe not the details, not the when or the how, but certainly the feeling of it. The inevitable pull of a conclusion they had spent too long pretending didn’t have its hands around all of their throats.

  He supposed Rook had known, too.

  The look in his friend’s eyes wasn’t fear at the imminence of death. It wasn’t even surprise. Just complete and total understanding.

  Soar rushed up to meet them.

  And then—

  It can end here, should you so wish.

  The voice was not a voice. It had no sound, no shape, nothing for the ear to catch. It was simply there, sliding into Lowe’s mind as effortlessly as breath. Arkola.

  The city below blurred, the glow of lanterns and flickering arc-lights stretching into smears of colour, distended and dreamlike. Even the howl of the wind softened, became something almost intimate. Lowe suspected this had become a very different kind of descent.

  Not so long ago, you were given a gift, Inspector. The Blood of the Phoenix. The chance of return, where none should be given.

  Lowe’s fingers spasmed. His coat twisted around him, catching the slow drag of the air.

  But gifts can be refused. Arkola’s voice was patient. Unhurried. As if this had always been a conversation waiting to happen. You can choose to let go, should you wish.

  Lowe’s heart hammered. He could feel the strain in his body. The pull of gravity. The pressure in his skull. The crush of it all exploding in his chest. But any pain was oddly muted, like some afterthought. It was Arkola’s words that interested him, though. This could be it. Lowe could choose not to come back. To not crawl out of yet another grave.

  After all the tumult of the last year. . . All the pain and tumult and effort. He could choose to accept the silence. Because it was so tiring, wasn’t it? Getting up. Again and again. Carrying the weight of things that never changed. That never got better. That just turned to shit in different ways. He’d done everything he needed to do since his Classtration, hadn’t he? Recovered his honour. Avenged the death of Highberg’s kid. Finally defeated the Black Knight.

  He looked at Rook, who was still smiling up at him. Just a little. A knowing curve of his lips. A flicker of something behind his eyes. That man had never expected to make it out alive. That had been the difference between how they had played this game. Lowe had fought to survive. Rook had known he wouldn’t.

  You were never supposed to exist this long after losing your Class, Arkola’s voice buried into him. Should you choose to step away, this would be just a return to the nature of things. The balance would be restored by this fall. Should you so wish.

  Lowe closed his eyes. And in the dark, he thought about the possibility of letting go. Of there being no more waking up with blood on his hands. No more dragging himself through another day in a city that ate its own. No more wondering if anything he did really mattered. Just . . . The end.

  No more pain.

  The wind pulled at him again. He could feel the weight of his body. The approach of terminal velocity and the inevitable, crushing end. It would be so easy to accept it. Rook had already let go, hadn’t he? Why shouldn’t he? They could leave this game together. Yes, he’d like that.

  Lowe opened his eyes. Decision made.

  But then he saw that Rook was still watching him. And in his gaze, Lowe thought he recognised something unexpected. Not resignation. Not triumph. More something like . . . disappointment. And that made him angry. Something old and defiant inside him roared to life. He was still here. And if he was still here, then it wasn’t over. He wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

  You hesitate to leave this life. Why?

  “Because ‘fuck you,’ that’s why. You and the whole pack of them.”

  A blur of stone and metal approached, shifting light and waiting dark. Lowe met Rook’s gaze and saw something flicker there. Understanding? Maybe. Or something like it.

  “See you soon, mate,” he said.

  Rook hit first. And then Lowe.

  Then, the world went white.