She just looked at him—the relational aspect of his statement not lost upon her. She looked down and realized the ring itself—which she had first taken as a sign of love—had always been utilitarian. “From a homing device to a bomb,” she said. “Never a token.”
He looked her in the eyes intensely. “From a wife-to-be to a seductress. We are at war, Shekalane.” He held up her hand, said, “It is because you wore this that Ursathrax will be saved. You have done well.”
“What is to become of the ferryman and Jamais?”
“This ... Jamais. Will he talk?”
She shook her head. “He has no interest in the affairs of Styx—of our world.”
Valdus nodded slowly, thinking. “I will interview him, and we will take it from there. As for the ferryman ...” He chuckled. “Do you need to ask? He must be killed, of c
