Chapter 40: Lucan

Rage boiled over in Nathan, and he roared: "Why didn't you say that before?"

Sebastian spread his hands, the picture of innocence. "You never asked! Lots of brats these days would love for their parents to drop dead so nobody's on their case—I figured you were one of them!"

Nathan whipped a backhand fist straight at Sebastian's face, rocking the Order of the Deathless acolyte back on his heels, blood running from his nose.

The blow landed, and Nathan himself froze for a beat. Even if Sebastian had savagely struck back and cut him into eight pieces, it wouldn't have shocked him as much as one punch actually connecting with Sebastian's face.

Sebastian wiped his nose—and he was smiling. "Your mother can hold out ten days at most. After that, the loss of essence and blood does damage that can't be undone. Even if I pulled the Ironweave Grub out then, she'd still be gravely wounded, ten or twenty years shaved off her life. So hurry it up. All I want is the Phantomveil Vine."

A chill spread through Nathan's chest. The more Sebastian carried on like this, the more terrifying he seemed.

Nathan left without a word and never once looked back.

Only after leaving Elderrow did Nathan breathe a little easier. He'd never been able to feel anything before—but now he found he could actually pick up the faintest trace of the "aether" on Sebastian's body.

"Being able to tell how strong your enemy is—does that count as proof I've gotten stronger?"

In Nathan's eyes, Sebastian had metamorphosed into his third stage.

Stage one: very strong, with no idea how strong.

Stage two: very strong, but I'm not afraid of him.

Stage three—Nathan's current read—this guy is seriously strong, and I'm still far, far behind...

There Nathan stood in a bright, sunny afternoon, feeling his body go cold, every muscle trembling on its own. He clenched his fists and said quietly to himself: "No mistakes. I absolutely cannot afford a mistake..."

In the yew-wood house at the very deepest end of Elderrow, a homely old crone sat quietly watching Sebastian. The Order of the Deathless acolyte wore open impatience, and the two of just silently faced each other down for ten-odd minutes.

In the end it was Sebastian who cracked first. He waved a hand, squeezed out a sliver of a smile, and offered a greeting: "Granny Rowan, long time no see. You're looking hale as ever!"

Granny Rowan sighed. "Sebbie..."

The muscles of Sebastian's face twitched; he cut her off, barking: "Don't call me Sebbie!"

Granny Rowan ignored him and went right on: "Sebbie, are you still trying to get those things back?"

Sebastian abruptly went ballistic, smashing the window lattice with one slap and roaring: "You old thing! I've told you to stop using my childhood name! Believe me or not, I'll beat you to death!"

Sebastian had always been smooth and elegant, a master of his own emotions—yet a few sentences from Granny Rowan had him raging like this.

Granny Rowan sighed again, and this time she skipped the childhood name: "The boy Nathan is a good one. The Concord means to raise him as the next Between keystone. Don't harm him!"

Sebastian's mood swung back just as fast—one instant and he was breezy and calm again, smiling faintly: "I'm not actually going to kill him. The Concord is a colossus—one I can't afford to cross!"

Granny Rowan shook her head. "And I hope you'll stop threatening the boy through his mother."

Stolen story; please report.

Sebastian sneered. "The Concord can't touch ordinary humans' affairs. Want me to recite the treaty clause for you? Only we the Eighteen Towers may intervene in ordinary people's business—that's a longstanding arrangement."

Granny Rowan's homely face looked deeply grieved. "Even so... what you're doing is just not right."

Sebastian gave a cold laugh. "What's not right about it? Don't humans all die sooner or later? Even if I never kill his mother, one day—living as long as he will—he'll watch family and friends die off one by one, everything and everyone familiar slowly fading away."

Granny Rowan said: "That is not the same thing!"

Sebastian drawled: "How is it not the same? When my parents and my whole family died, isn't that exactly what people told me? Everybody dies eventually, so how they die hardly matters."

Granny Rowan had nothing more to say. She sighed once and dissolved into a breath of wind, gone.

Nathan stood in a secluded back alley, hesitating.

He'd meant to open the portal and enter the Hourbound Grove again, but a strange feeling had come over him—like someone was watching him—and yet he couldn't find a single trace of it.

"If anybody sees the portal, things get very bad. Better to hold it in. But besides Sebastian, who else would be watching me?"

Nathan stood there blankly for a while and decided to leave first—and right then, a lazy voice sounded abruptly behind him: "You're Nathan? I'm Lucan. Got a minute to chat?"

Nathan shouted: "Where are you?"

Lucan's voice was very young. He gave a light laugh: "I'm a descendant of the Six-Eyed Sky Wolf. I can see things a hundred and fifty kilometers away—nothing blocks my eyes. So I'm actually pretty far from you right now. Come on over to the Atlas Grand Hotel; I'll be waiting in the third-floor buffet."

Nathan jolted. The Atlas Grand Hotel was a full thirty kilometers from where he stood. He had no idea whether Lucan was telling the truth, but even if four-fifths of it was hot air, what remained was still some serious chops.

He called out loudly: "Who are you? Why are you looking for me?"

Lucan chuckled. "Better face to face! I'm quite used to this arrangement myself—but you must be finding it pretty uncomfortable."

Nathan yelled a few more times, but Lucan never answered again. He paced back and forth in the alley, and in the end couldn't stand the itch—out to the main road, flagged a cab, and made straight for the Atlas Grand Hotel.

The Atlas Grand Hotel was a landmark of Greyhaven; Nathan had never been there, but it was easy enough to find.

He got out of the cab outside the hotel, asked one of the staff, and took the elevator up to the third-floor buffet. Barely out of the elevator, a rather handsome young man greeted him warmly: "Mr. Nathan? My young lord has been expecting you for quite a while."

This young man was presumably some sort of personal assistant; he carried no vitae at all—a plain, ordinary human. He escorted Nathan graciously to the innermost table and quietly withdrew, every move well-drilled.

Only after sitting down did Nathan start sizing up the youth across from him.

Lucan wasn't many years older than him, but he had a real air of money about him—clothes and grooming far from ordinary, and a highly professional smile on his face that gave away nothing of what he was really thinking.