And it’s on my lips to tell her so. To tell her that I got to the city on my own two feet, with no stranger from another world to help me, and I don’t owe anyone anything. Except, that’s not true, is it? There’s the workers who raised me, who took me in after my mom’s death and taught me how to seduce the most powerful man in the wastes. Did I ever reach back to them? Did I ever thank them? Have I ever thanked Jean? Or prayed in thanks for Caramenta, by whose blood I’ve risen to heights I did not even know the words to wish for? I look over her shoulder at Nik Nik, the sometimes Blood Emperor
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