“Only if they are broken by the other party.”

  “Can I make a counter offer?”

  “Not if it means we do not deliver as already agreed.”

  “Who is the other party?”

  “The ogre king, Pallinchuk.”

  “You can tell me?”

  “Concealment of his identity was not part of the bargain.”

  Seppelitus swallowed, filing that detail away for later—for if he ever had need of garitzik aid. He looked at the garitzik, and it looked back, waiting.

  “Do you have any more questions?” it asked, when the silence had gone on too long.

  Seppelitus shifted in his seat, trying to think of something to ask, anything, but his mind remained stubbornly blank.

  “Well?” the garitzik pressed.

  Seppelitus shook his head, and it stood.

  “Then I have things I need to know.”

  If it had come around the table, Seppelitus might have tried to run, but it did not. It merely took hold of one of the table’s edges, and slid the entire thing aside, taking an easy step forward to stand before him, and place a hand on either side of his face.

  Seppelitus resisted the urge to reach up, and grasp its wrists, fought to keep his grip on the edge of the chair as it knelt and bent its head toward him. He lost the battle as their foreheads touched, and let go of the chair so he could clasp its face.

  “Be still,” it said.

  Be still, echoed in his mind.

  You can’t, he protested, his legs flailing as he tried to push away and stand. Just ask. I’ll tell you what you want to know.

  This is easier and faster, and the garitzik cast its first question, like a fisherman with a fly.

  Was his father a wizard? Natural-born or made? A true seventh son? And what of his mother? His sister? His grandfather? Where did they come from? Where did they dwell? What were their trades? Did Seppelitus have children? No bastard sons? Daughters? Were there seven? A pity. And why was he not a wizard? Too lazy to study? Had he always been able to call the magic? Just the one kind? Could he see or sense it? Did he know of others like himself?

  The questions continued, a relentless swarm of hooks and flies on gossamer-fine lines cast into his head, and the answers came, striking like the emerald coraval or the blue-scale tees, to be drawn up and away. Seppelitus imagined the garitzik unhooking each one before putting it into a basket to be gutted, later. And he fought, the answers dancing on the end of the line, while his captor laughed at the sport, and outplayed each one.

  When the creature had taken all it needed, it let him go, releasing his face and stepping back, grasping the table edge, and pulling it back into place, while Seppelitus trembled, and gasped for breath.

  “You motherless son…” he managed, and leant forward, resting his arms on the table and his head on his arms.

  He did not see the garitzik noble rise, although he sensed it move. His head felt choppy, like the ruffled waters of a lake, every thought a wave that beat against his skull, while his body ached in echo.

  Seppelitus did not feel like lifting his head to watch the monster leave. After all, the gargoyles were going to deliver him to an ogre who wanted to be a sorcerer, and there were too many to fight. Even if he could access his magic, what would be the point?

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  Instead, he listened, as the garitzik noble walked across the chamber and opened the door, heard it pause, wondered why it spoke.

  “We are not motherless, seventh son”—and the garitzik’s tone hinted at what kind of son it thought he might be—“but we are hatched. There are more appropriate insults.”

  Seppelitus was still trying to work out what to make of that, when it left, closing the door firmly behind it. He did not resist when the other garitzik closed in, and drew his arms behind his back to bind them, but he made them lift him to his feet, which he found was more necessary than he’d realized.

  Two of the creatures took him from the chamber, and farther beneath the stronghold.

  “Before the ogres, there is one thing more.”

  Seppelitus heard the glee in the creature’s voice, and tried to guess what caused it. He tried, also, to note the corridors they passed, the twists, turns and descents, but he couldn’t. His mind felt battered…or as though someone had filled it with batter. His thoughts swam through a doughy morass.

  All the better for coming up with half-baked ideas, Seppelitus thought, and felt his lips shift into a humorless smile.

  “You think this funny?” his escort said, noticing his expression. “You love what comes next.”

  “Pretty sure I won’t,” Seppelitus said, but his reply was flat.

  “Sure, you will,” and the garitzik turned to follow a small corridor, whose entrance was flanked by pillars cut into the walls, and twined with carvings of winged serpents and flowering foss vines.

  Seppelitus was almost certain those were something he should be concerned about, but serpents and foss had nothing to do with ogres. They were associated with something much, much worse, something that should fill his gut with fear.

  He wracked his mind for the answer. Foss, the serpent vine, treacherous and beautiful…the serpents…winged—leathery wings, no feathers—winged serpents patterned with foss-shaped blotches. Elegant.

  He raised his head, trying to see if the walls were painted, but the first narrow stretch of stone was plain. It wasn’t until the garitzik stepped out into hall of ice-like marble that he realized. Of course, the otherworldly glow-crystals were a dead giveaway. He stopped short, his gasp whispering out into the semi-dark.

  “So, you brought him, then?” The voice was sharply female, and bloated with such sensual promise that Seppelitus backpedaled, trying to resist the forward drag on his arms.

  It did him no good. The garitzik hauled him onward as though his struggles meant nothing. He tried to speak, but found his voice catching on a throat gone dry with terror. Seppelitus swallowed, moistening his throat enough for words.

  “Please.”

  “Perhaps,” the voice teased. “It depends on how busy we are with our latest toy.”

  “And our lord has forbidden he risk damage.” The gargoyle’s tone was censorious.

  Seppelitus could see her, now, and she was every bit as beautiful as her voice promised—despite the pout on her pretty face. She also possessed a fine pair of black wings, striated with purple outlined in red, a serpentine tail she flicked idly from side to side, and familiar features. Succubus, but he couldn’t place her face, before she spoke again.

  “Are you suggesting we would forget ourselves?” she asked, and Seppelitus was horrified to find himself wishing she would, even as he tried to run.

  “It has been known for others…” the garitzik began, lifting its prisoner from the floor, so Seppelitus’s feet took him nowhere.

  “True, but you fulfilled this contract for us, and more will follow.” The succubus stepped close enough to lay a palm gently against Seppelitus’s cheek.

  “Be still,” she said, capturing his eyes with her gaze. “Be still. You have nothing to fear.”

  And Seppelitus felt his body obey, while his mind screamed in denial. The garitzik lowered him so that his feet touched the floor.

  “Come,” it said, and the succubus giggled.

  “I ca…I can’t,” Seppelitus protested, and trembled in his captor’s grasp.

  “I could fix that for you,” the succubus quipped, playfully suggestive, as she led the way through a curtain dividing the hall into two sections. On the other side was a dining room, its large stone table set for six. Another succubus was already seated, to the left of the table’s head.

  Seppelitus looked at the guard on his right, the one who had given him the instruction.

  “Please,” he whispered, even as they stepped closer to the table.

  “They cannot have you,” the garitzik replied, but the gaze it turned on him was curious, “though most of our prisoners beg for their touch.”

  “At first,” added the guard on his other side.

  “Now, come.”

  “Please. Don’t—” Seppelitus repeated, even as he obeyed.

  The garitzik shook him, and he fell silent, hearing an echo of his whisper coming from behind one of the tapestried walls.

  “Sit.”

  Guided to the chair at the table’s foot, and a seat away from the succubus, Seppelitus did as he was told, regretting his obedience when his captors stood on either side, their hands resting on the back of his seat, their bodies blocking any chance of his leaving the table.

  The succubus who had brought them, continued to the curtain at the end of the room.

  “My lord?” she called. “We have guests.”