This was to Camilla. Nona dragged her attention to Camilla, and was upset; Camilla had a long, growing red stripe sliced through the soft grey material of her shirt, carved straight down her chest. It was bleeding freely. It did not look too deep, but it was long and nasty. Her dark glasses were trembling on her nose.
Camilla said, “Did you ever intend to emancipate the city? To resettle the people?”
“Absolutely not,” said the Prince. “I only wanted the Sixth as a goodwill gift for God. The moment I got down here I knew I wasn’t staying. This trip was a fuckup start to finish, not my fault, and now I have to carry the entrails. There’s a Resurrection Beast up there, Hect, don’t know if you truly know what that is, but I’m not staying anywhere near. Honestly, the people here don’t know how good they have it. We’re dealing with some shit back on Antioch, and really, God can’t spare the Hands. No, the Sixth isn’t a priority. Which means … I really don’t need you. I don’t want the details about Cassiopeia, and God—doesn’t—need—to—know.”
Each last word was punctuated with a rise in volume, delivered like she had a mouthful of seeds and was spitting them out one by one. There was a pause afterward—Nona saw that Pyrrha had dragged herself to stand—Crown had advanced forward a step, and so had her bodyguards.
The Prince sighed. She said, “So you see, Hect, you’re a bit superfluous, and you got inside my guard quicker than I liked. So here, I’ll make you an offer … I can kill you here, or I can take off your arms and your legs, pack you up for interrogation, and kill you later.”
“Psychological,” said Camilla. “Familiar.”
“Yes. You remember, don’t you? You intervened for me with Cytherea the First. You saved my remaining arm and my legs, I’ll give you that … but you weren’t so quick off the mark that you saved my arm, so I admit a great, seething well of deferred and probably unjust anger toward you.”
Camilla thought about it. “Sorry?” she said.
“Apology not accepted, asshole,” said the Prince brightly. “So, what do you want? I can kill you now, or I can settle some old ghosts by disarming you … and dislegging you.”
Crown said, strangled—
“I will never, ever forgive you if you do this, Ianthe.”
“Traitors, Corona, remember,” said the Prince. “You’re all traitors, so I’ve got to pick my battles. You’re my sister, so you’re my priority. You won’t come without your Captain Deuteros … I’ve given you one thing you wanted very badly and as per usual, you only want more. Someone’s got to pay the piper, my dear, one way or another. Hect—you can’t say I’m not being fair.”
Camilla said, “You’re consistent. I’ll give you that.”
“Yes. Thank you. Nice to be acknowledged. And now … Head off, or arms and legs off and head off later? I don’t mean to sway you, but I’ve done arm off and it ruined my day.”
Camilla thought about it again. She thought about it for so long that Nona assumed, for a moment, that she was really considering these options.
“You challenged the Sixth for its keys,” she said eventually. “You named the time. You backed down, but I had right of reply. We didn’t consent. Or reject. I accept the challenge of the Third.”
Prince Ianthe Naberius looked at her. The expression was—strange.
“That was a lifetime ago,” she said. “Over a year.”
“The challenge is valid.”
“The prize isn’t, not anymore. What are the stakes?”
“If I lose, I die,” said Camilla. “If I win, I walk away.”
“What—you and Harrow? I’ll never accept.”
“Not Harrow. Only me,” said Camilla.
The Prince sounded quite interested and reasonable. “You can’t kill me in this body, Hect, or even disable me. And you wouldn’t just be fighting my cavalier … you’d be fighting me and Babs. And you’ve got to know that between Naberius and me, there are no more weaknesses. I took those away … and now he is perfect. You’ve no way of winning.”
“No,” said Camilla. And—
“I want to die on my feet.”
“How beautiful and lovely a sentiment! Therefore, I refuse,” said Prince Ianthe Naberius, much more impatiently. “Piss off, Hect … an unlosable battle against a wounded swordswoman with no aptitude, no backup, who obviously wants to die? Not only is that fishy, but it’s unoriginal. The outnumbered, overpowered hero against the narcissistic villain. Yuck. Just like a storybook. As poor old Augustine used to say, It’s impossible, and what’s more, it’s improbable. Kneel her.”