Free Last Argument of Kings by Joe Abercrombie Page A

the slightest spark. She did not know what they were waiting for, and she did not care.
    But she had heard a lot of talk about votes.
    The First of the Magi watched her as she stepped through the door, the bright sun shining on the side of his bald head. “Tea, Ferro?”
    Ferro hated tea, and Bayaz knew it. Tea was what the Gurkish drank when they had treachery in mind. She remembered the soldiers drinking it while she struggled in the dust. She remembered the slavers drinking it while they talked prices. She remembered Uthman drinking it while he chuckled at her rage and her helplessness. Now Bayaz drank it, little cup held daintily between his thick thumb and forefinger, and he smiled.
    Ferro ground her teeth. “I am done here, pink. You promised me vengeance and have given me nothing. I am going back to the South.”
    “Indeed? We would be sorry to lose you. But Gurkhul and the Union are at war. There are no ships sailing to Kanta at present. There may not be for some time to come.”
    “Then how will I get there?”
    “You have made it abundantly clear that you are not my responsibility. I have put a roof over your head and you show scant gratitude. If you wish to leave, you can make your own arrangements. My brother Yulwei should return to us shortly. Perhaps he will be prepared to take you under his wing.”
    “Not good enough.” Bayaz glared at her. A fearsome look, perhaps, but Ferro was not Longfoot, or Luthar, or Quai. She had no master, and would never have another. “Not good enough, I said!”
    “Why is it that you insist on testing the limits of my patience? It is not without an end, you know.”
    “Neither is mine.”
    Bayaz snorted. “Yours scarcely even has a beginning, as Master Ninefingers could no doubt testify. I do declare, Ferro, you have all the charm of a goat, and a mean-tempered goat at that.” He stuck his lips out, tipped up his cup and sucked delicately from the rim. Only with a mighty effort was Ferro able to stop herself from slapping it out of his hand, and butting the bald bastard in the face into the bargain. “But if fighting the Gurkish is still what you have in mind—”
    “Always.”
    “Then I am sure that I can still find a use for your talents. Something that does not require a sense of humour. My purposes with regard to the Gurkish are unchanged. The struggle must continue, albeit with other weapons.” His eyes slid sideways, towards the great tower that loomed up over the fortress.
    Ferro knew little about beauty and cared still less, but that building was a beautiful thing to her mind. There was no softness, no indulgence in that mountain of naked stone. There was a brutal honesty in its shape. A merciless precision in its sharp, black angles. Something about it fascinated her.
    “What is that place?” she asked.
    Bayaz narrowed his eyes at her. “The House of the Maker.”
    “What is inside?”
    “None of your business.”
    Ferro almost spat with annoyance. “You lived there. You served Kanedias. You helped the Maker with his works. You told us all this, out on the plains. So tell me, what is inside?”
    “You have a sharp memory, Ferro, but you forget one thing. We did not find the Seed. I do not need you. I do not need, in particular, to answer your endless questions any longer. Imagine my dismay.” He sucked primly at his tea again, raising his brows and peering out at the lazy pinks in the park.
    Ferro forced a smile onto her own face. Or as close as she could get to a smile. She bared her teeth, at least. She remembered well enough what the bitter old woman Cawneil had said, and how much it had annoyed him. She would do the same. “The Maker. You tried to steal his secrets. You tried to steal his daughter. Tolomei was her name. Her father threw her from the roof. In return for her betrayal, in opening his gates to you. Am I wrong?”
    Bayaz angrily flicked the last drops from his cup over the balcony. Ferro watched them glitter in the bright sun,