“The Boris brothers,” Steris continued. “They’re acquaintances of yours, aren’t they?” “I shot their father,” Wax said, not looking up. “Twice.” I couldn’t let it die, the book read. It’s not right. Hemalurgy is good now, I figure. Saze is both sides now, right? Ruin isn’t around anymore. “Are they likely to try to kill you?” Steris asked. “Boris Junior swore to drink my blood,” Wax said. “Boris the Third—and yes, he’s the brother of Boris Junior; don’t ask—swore to … what was it? Eat my toes? He’s not a clever man.”
