But now their foes lay broken at their feet, and he and the Par’chin stood to show them the sun.

If Jardir lived to be a thousand, he would never tire of the sight. The demons’ skin began to char instantly, glowing like hot coals before bursting into bright fire, casting a flush of heat over his face. It was a daily reminder that, no matter how dark the night, Everam would always return in strength. It was the one moment of every day when hope overpowered the burden of his task to free his people of the alagai. It was the moment when he felt as one with Everam and Kaji.

He looked to the Par’chin, wondering what his faithless ajin’pal saw in the flames. His crownsight was fading as shadows fled, but there was still a hint of his ajin’pal’s aura, and the hope and strength of purpose that filled it in that moment.

“Ah, Par’chin,” he said, drawing the man’s gaze. “It is so easy to remember our differences, I sometimes forget the similarities.”

The Par’chin nodded sadly. “Honest word.”

“How did you find the lost city, Par’chin?” Jardir asked.

Arlen could not read Jardir’s aura in the daylight, but the sharp, probing look in his eyes told him this was no random question. Jardir had been holding it, biding his time, waiting until Arlen was relaxed and unsuspecting.

And it had worked. Arlen knew his face in that instant told Jardir much he would have preferred to keep secret. His thoughts offered up a dozen lies, but he shook them away. If they were to walk this road together, it must be as brothers, honest and with trust, or their task was doomed to failure before it even began.

“Had a map,” he said, knowing it would not end there.

“And where did you get this map?” Jardir pressed. “You could not have found it out in the sands. Such a fragile thing would have long since crumbled away.”

Arlen took a deep breath, straightening his back, and met Jardir’s eyes. “Stole it from Sharik Hora.” Jardir’s nod was calm, the act of a disappointed parent who already knows what his child has done.

But despite his posture, Arlen could smell his mounting anger. Anger no wise person would ignore. He readied himself, wondering if he could defeat Jardir in the light of day if it came to blows.

Just need to get the crown off him, he thought, knowing it sounded far simpler than it was. He’d rather climb a mountain without a rope.

“How did you accomplish this?” Jardir asked with that same tired tone. “You could not have penetrated Sharik Hora alone.”

Arlen nodded. “Had help.”

“Who?” Jardir pressed, but Arlen simply inclined his head.

“Ah,” Jardir said. “Abban. He’s been caught bribing dama many times, but I did not think even he could be so bold, or that he could have lied to me for so long without being discovered.”

“He ent stupid, Ahmann,” Arlen said. “You’d have killed him, or worse, done some barbaric shit like cutting out his tongue. Don’t you deny it. Wasn’t his fault, anyway. He owed me a blood debt, and I wanted the map in payment.”

“That makes him no less accountable,” Jardir said.

Arlen shrugged. “What’s done is done, and he did the world a favor.”

“Did he?” Jardir asked. His calm façade dropped as he glared at Arlen, striding in till they were nose-to-nose. “What if the spear was not meant to be found yet, Par’chin? Perhaps we were not ready for it, and you denied inevera by bringing it back before its time? What if we lose Sharak Ka over your and Abban’s arrogance, Par’chin? What then?”

His voice grew in power as he went on, and for a moment Arlen felt himself wilt under it. Stealing the scroll had never seemed right, but even now, he would do it again.

“Ay, maybe,” he agreed. “And it’s on me and Abban if it’s so.”

He straightened, leaning back in and meeting Jardir’s glare with one of his own. “But maybe our best chance to win Sharak Ka was three hundred years ago, when humanity numbered millions, and your ripping dama kept the fighting wards from us by locking those maps up in a tower of superstition. Who bears the weight of arrogance then? What if that was what denied Everam’s ripping plan?”

Jardir paused, losing a touch of his aggressive posture as he considered the question. Arlen knew the sign and stepped back quickly. He stood arms akimbo, offering neither aggression nor submission. “If Everam’s got a plan, he ent shared it with us.”

“The dice—” Jardir began.

“—are magic, and no denying,” Arlen cut him off. “That don’t make them divine. And they never told Inevera to have you stop me going to Anoch Sun. They just told you to use me when I got back.”

The anger further left Jardir’s scent as he considered this new possibility. His old friend could be a fool over his faith, but he was an honest fool. He truly believed, leaving him forever hamstrung as he tried to reconcile the hypocrisies of the Evejah.

Arlen spread his hands. “Got two choices here, Ahmann. Either we stand around arguing abstractions, or we fight Sharak Ka the best we can with what we’ve got and sort out who’s right after we win.”

Jardir nodded. “Then there is only one choice, son of Jeph.”

The days passed, and their tentative accord held. Jardir felt more in control of his magic than ever before, stunned at the breadth of power at his fingertips, and his previous narrow vision of it.

But for all their progress, Waning drew closer by the hour. He and the Par’chin could run at great speed when the magic filled them, but even so, Anoch Sun was not close, and they still had to lay their traps.

“When will we leave for the lost city?” he asked one morning, as they waited to show the night’s kill the sun.

“Tonight,” the Par’chin said. “Lesson time’s done.”

With those words, he melted away into mist. Jardir watched closely with his crownsight as he slipped down into one of the many paths that vented magic onto the surface of Ala. Everam’s power of life, corrupted by Nie.

He was gone for but an instant, but when he rose back out of the path, the current of magic that came with him told Jardir he had traveled a long way, indeed.

In his hands, he carried two items: a cloak and a spear.

Jardir was reaching for the spear before the Par’chin had fully solidified. His hand passed through it at first grasp, but he snatched again, and took hold at last, pulling it from the Par’chin’s hands.

He held the spear before him, feeling the thrum of its power, and knew it was the genuine Spear of Kaji. Without it, he had felt empty. A shell of himself. Now it was returned, and at last his heart eased.

We shall not be parted again, he promised.

“You’ll be needing this, too.” Jardir looked up just as the Par’chin tossed Leesha Paper’s Cloak of Unsight to him. His arm darted out to catch it before the edge touched the ground.

He eyed the Par’chin in annoyance. “You insult Mistress Leesha by treating her wondrous cloak so disrespectfully.”

Leesha’s gift did not have the hold over his fate the spear did, but he could not deny that the feel of the fine cloth, and the invisibility it gave him against even the most powerful alagai, made him feel their mad plan might have a chance.