Free Ghost in the Maze by Jonathan Moeller

wraithblood. In retaliation, Callatas had sent the Teskilati to destroy the Ghost circle of Istarinmul, taking many alive and torturing them to death in the Widow’s Tower. 
    Agabyzus was the sole survivor, and he had gladly surrendered control of the Ghost circle to Caina. 
    What was left of it, anyway.
    “There was a great deal of chaos in the Emirs’ Quarter last night,” said Agabyzus in a low voice, “and you appear to have injured your hand.”
    “Not yet,” said Caina, and she unwrapped the bandage just enough to let him see the pyrikon. To judge from his reaction, he had seen it before. “You know what this is?”
    “No,” said Agabyzus, “but I have seen such rings before. Callatas’s most loyal lieutenants wear them sometimes. Ricimer had one, though I suppose it melted when the Widow’s Tower burned.” His frown deepened. “Why are you wearing that? If someone recognizes it you shall be in grave danger.”
    “I can’t take it off,” said Caina. “It wrapped itself around my finger when I found it. There’s some kind of sorcery on it. I’m not sure what.”
    “The Master Alchemist Vaysaal is assassinated, there is an uproar in the Emirs’ Quarter,” said Agabyzus, “and you turn up the next day with that ring.” He shook his head, and for a moment he almost looked amused. “Truly, you have a knack for chaos.” 
    “I cannot argue with that,” said Caina. 
    “Did you kill Vaysaal?” said Agabyzus. “That was a dreadful risk.”
    “I didn’t kill him,” said Caina. “I just took advantage of his death.” 
    She told Agabyzus about her raid of Vaysaal’s palace, the wraithblood laboratory, and the trap Anburj had set for her. Agabyzus listened in silence, his face grave. Damla returned with a tray holding coffee and spiced cakes, and Caina realized that she had not eaten any of Nasser’s food, which meant she had not eaten anything since entering Vaysaal’s palace. She accepted the food with thanks and ate and drank as she talked.
    “That,” said Agabyzus when she finished, “was a mad risk.” 
    Caina shrugged. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
    “Your boldness saved my life and the lives of my nephews,” said Agabyzus, “but, still, I would counsel you to moderation in the future. Getting yourself killed will not bring back those you have lost.”
    Caina scowled. “Is that what you think I am doing? Trying to kill myself to atone for my sins? I am past that.”
    “If you say so,” said Agabyzus, his doubt plain. 
    But he had a point. Before the deaths of Corvalis and Halfdan, she had never been so reckless. She would not have entered Vaysaal’s palace without a better plan, would have first spent several days infiltrating the servants and learning their comings and goings. Or perhaps she had always been this bold, and had come to view the past through the lens of her love for Corvalis. 
    “The opportunity came, and I took it,” said Caina. “What’s done is done.”
    “I have no right to command you,” said Agabyzus. “And your boldness saved my life. I have no right to criticize it. But I do have the right and the duty to counsel you, and I would counsel you to greater caution.” He sighed. “If we are to rebuild the Ghosts of Istarinmul, if we are to stop whatever villainy Callatas intends to inflict upon the people, it is up to you. I am but a shadow of the man that I was before the Widow’s Tower. I will help you however I can, but the final decisions lie in your hands.”
    “And your knowledge and contacts have been most helpful,” said Caina. “Now I have further need of them. What can you tell me about the man calling himself Nasser Glasshand?” 
    Agabyzus sighed and leaned back into his seat, drumming his bony fingers against the table. 
    “There have been,” he said at last, “tales of a thief calling himself Nasser Glasshand circulating through Istarinmul for decades, maybe even a century.”
    “Then I met with an imposter,”