Antlered Chair. Kin, Historian. Cousins, brothers, uncles . . .’ Duiker felt something breaking inside him at Nil’s words. Half-formed expectations, held by desperate need, had insisted that the killers were . . . Jaghut, Forkrul Assail, K’Chain Che’Malle . . . someone . . . someone other. ‘No,’ he said. Nil’s eyes, young yet ancient, held his as the warlock nodded. ‘Kin. This has been mirrored. Among the Wick. A generation ago. Mirrored.’ ‘But no longer.’ Please.
