6
TITLES
SAERIS
A SEPULCHRE.
The Blood Court kept its quicksilver in a fucking sepulchre on one of the lower floors of the palace. I had surveyed the dark necropolis, trying not to stare into the empty eye sockets of the stacked skulls that formed the walls, feeling both vindicated and sick to my stomach. The dull chatter in the back of my head made sense now. I hadn’t fabricated it. But the knowledge that the pool—it was small; I’d been right about that—was here meant that I would have no peace from it now. It seemed that I wouldn’t be able to escape the miserable thrum of pain that beat behind my runes, either.
Fisher hadn’t seemed as perturbed as I would have expected him to be. “You know, this isn’t a bad thing,” he’d said.
“It isn’t?”
“No, Osha. I meant it back in the council chamber. You’re coming back to Cahlish with me tonight. This just means our journey will be much easier. No more riding across the dead fields.” It took hours to cross the dead fields. Feral feeders lived in burrows dug deep into the ash and char. They hid from the sun below ground during the day, but the moment the sun began to dip, they emerged from their bolt-holes with a mind to feed. They wouldn’t attack me, but they posed a threat to the horses. To Kingfisher and Lorreth, too. With
Fisher’s magic decommissioned on this side of the Darn, we hadn’t been able to use his shadow gates, but now we didn’t need to.
We had access to a pool.
So I’d made relics out of a chain kindly supplied by Taladaius, a signet ring belonging to Lorreth, and a small charm of one of the gods that Fisher attached to a collar for Onyx, and that had been that. Less than an hour later, we’d made use of the unexpected resource, and now here we were, back at Cahlish, none the worse for wear from the experience.
A stunning dress in hunter-green velvet had been waiting for me, laid out on Fisher’s bed, when I’d gone to freshen up. Tiny jewels—emeralds, I suspected —decorated the plunging neckline. The sleeves had been embroidered with green stitching, subtle, barely visible, depicting a pattern that, upon close inspection, turned out to be tiny leaping foxes.
A beautiful dress, undeniably.
I had run my hand over the soft material, something pinching tight behind my solar plexus.
It would fit me perfectly. Evidently, it had been made for me. But . . .
I’d still been wearing my fighting leathers when I’d met Fisher on the stairs.
My mate had beamed at me, apparently unfazed that I hadn’t chosen to don the dress, but a kernel of guilt had taken root in my chest. I was still feeling a little bad about my decision when we arrived together at the dining room.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Fisher said, holding his hand against the
doorknob.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Really?”
“When did you get so anxious?” I grinned at him. “I promise I’m ready. After those feeders crossing the river? And seeing that mark? We all need a moment.
This will be good for all of us.” I said the words. I was supposed to. I smiled because I was supposed to do that, too, but the thoughts churned relentlessly in the back of my head regardless: Were the infected feeders sent by Madra?
How had they gotten here from Zilvaren?
How the fuck were we going to kill them?
Would there be more?
I knew the same worries plagued Fisher. He did a beautiful job of hiding it, though. A part of me resented that we were playing this game of pretend, but what I’d just said was true. We did need some kind of respite.
“Okay, then. If you’re sure—”
“Fisher!” I laughed. “Just open the door!”
He hid a smirk as he turned the handle and swung open the dining room door for me. I seized hold of the image, capturing it quickly; a smile from the Lord of Cahlish was a rare thing. I’d started capturing each moment it happened on an imaginary vellum, filing the memories away in my mind to keep forever.
The sight of his upturned mouth and the tentative laughter in his eyes made a nice addition to my collection.
“I told them you were coming,” he confessed, the admission shyly made. Had I ever seen him like this before? Nope. It was unbearably sweet. There was no time to savor this new side of Fisher, though, because as soon as the door swung open, a wave of excitement and cheering exploded inside the dining room.
Renfis stood, raising a glass of whiskey in the air.
Te Léna and a handsome male with dark brown skin—her mate, I assumed —grinned, crying out their welcomes.
Joining them were Lorreth and Archer, Danya and Iseabail . . . . . . and over the top of the warm welcome came the excited squeal of a small white fox.
“Onyx!”
As soon as we’d arrived back at Cahlish, the fox had darted off—to go hunting, I’d assumed—but apparently he’d sneaked into the dining room before us and reacquainted himself with our friends. He leaped out of Iseabail’s lap and darted across the dining room in a streak of white and black. I barely had time to get my hands out in front of me before he launched himself into my arms and
began licking my face and neck. “Oh—Oh my goodness. Hey, buddy. Hi, hi, hi.
Yes, I’m happy to see you, too.” He chittered, squirming all over the place.
Anyone would have thought he hadn’t seen me in a year.
Fisher made a show of looking grumpy about it, but there was that shadow of a smile again, hovering at the corners of his mouth as the little fox twisted in my arms and rained affection down on him as well.
“I should probably take him to Ballard,” Fisher said. “Wendy could look after him. Just until all of this blows over.”
I pretended to scowl at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Fisher winked surreptitiously, letting me know that he was joking. “Far be it from me to come between a female and her fox.”
It had only been a couple of days, but Onyx seemed completely recovered from his ordeal, crossing the mountain range and being chased by the feeders.
His paws were fine. His coat was pure white, thick and full. The limp that had been troubling him was gone now, too. I buried my face in his fur and inhaled deeply, using the action to hide the fact that I was taking a moment.
This was a lot. I hadn’t expected to feel so overwhelmed. I looked up, beaming at my mate. “I didn’t realize this was such an official gathering.”
“Of course it is!” Ren cried. “The last time most of us saw you, we were shoving you up into a shadow gate in the library. Having you back here at Cahlish in one piece is something to be celebrated!”
Their expressions bore no animosity, but something squeezed unpleasantly in my chest. “In one piece” was a bit of a stretch. I wasn’t the same person I had been when Ren and Lorreth had shoved me through that shadow gate. Not even remotely. What was I to them now? Their friend? Their enemy?
Fisher still loved me, but our souls had been bound by the gods. No matter what, we were fated to be together. There were no invisible ties binding me to any of the people before me. Lorreth, Ren, and Danya had spent centuries fighting against Malcolm’s horde. They’d lost scores of people, people they’d loved, in the pursuit of protecting Yvelia from the evil that inhabited Sanasroth.
And now here I was, half vampire, half the thing they hated most in the world, and they were rushing to greet me.
I hadn’t had friends in Zilvaren. Friends were expensive. In the end, they always cost you. Your food. Your water. Your money. Your safety. Your life.
Connections with others taxed your resources in a place like the Third, and I never had enough of anything to begin with. I’d told myself, when I’d woken up in Ammontraíeth and discovered what I’d become, that it didn’t matter to me if I lost the people in this room because of it. But now that they were all smiling warmly at me and coming forward to hug me, a part of me cracked and broke
inside.
It would have mattered.
It would have mattered a lot.
Ren was first to hug me. It was his reaction I’d worried most about. He hadn’t come to visit me in Sanasroth like Lorreth had. When I’d asked Fisher if I should expect him, he’d apologized and said he’d left him in charge of Irrín and that he wasn’t able to leave the camp, but I’d seen through his reasoning. I’d known it for what it was: an excuse. I hadn’t pushed, though. I hadn’t wanted to have my suspicions confirmed. But there was no disgust or fear on the general’s face as he drew me to him tight. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” he said into my hair.
“All right, that’s enough,” Fisher grumbled.
Renfis pulled back, laughing. “I’m not going to say it outright, but you know how you’re behaving, right?” he said.
Fisher made a show of scowling, but he shoved his friend playfully. Lorreth threw his arm around my shoulder, which didn’t seem to make Fisher any happier, but he bore his brothers showing their affection for me with some grace, at least. Lorreth’s grin fell when Iseabail, the auburn-haired witch, stepped forward to greet me. He muttered something about treacherous blood, and when she reached out to take my hand in hers, he made a sound of disgust and retracted his arm, stalking away to take his seat at the dining table.
“It’s nice to meet again under less stressful circumstances,” she said, in her lilting cadence. Now that I came to think about it, her accent was fairly similar to Renfis’s. I would have to ask him if they hailed from the same part of Yvelia.
The witch was stunning in a loose, dark blue blouse; a leather belt; and a long, flowing black skirt that swirled around her heeled boots. Her thick, wavy hair was unbound and red as a blazing sunset. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invaded your welcome-back dinner? Te Léna invited me. I would have returned home a week ago, but I’ve been put to work here. I’m surprised to find that I’m enjoying some time away from the clan.”
She spoke as if she was overstaying her welcome in my home. Cahlish was Kingfisher’s ancestral seat. It had been in his family for as long as it had stood. It was strange to have anyone act as if it belonged to me. It didn’t. Or . . . sinners, maybe it did now? Just a little bit. It was all so confusing. Fuck, I hadn’t had nearly enough time to wrap my head around all of this.
“Don’t you dare apologize for staying. We would have lost Everlayne without you. And you’ve been helping Te Léna work the quicksilver out of Kingfisher, too. There isn’t a person here who resents your presence.”
Iseabail glowed, her eyes dancing as she laughed. Squeezing my hand, she nodded her head back over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows. “I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But I think there’s at least one person who’d prefer it if I were dead in a ditch rather than here, fouling up the halls of Cahlish with my witch’s blood.”
Lorreth’s hearing was just as good as any of the other members of the Fae in the room. He heard every word Iseabail said, and from the thunderous look on his face, he wasn’t happy. Iseabail didn’t seem to care, though. “Don’t worry. I’m not one for drama, even when others seem intent on causing it.”
There was a loud clatter from the table; Lorreth had knocked over his ale and was furiously trying to mop it up with a napkin.
Iseabail snorted.
“Why does he hate your kind so much?” I knew Lorreth to be funny, kind,
and thoughtful. Seeing him like this around a woman who had helped us all so much was genuinely confounding.
Iseabail’s smile faded. “Ach. It’s probably best if I let him tell you that one.”
Te Léna and her mate, Maynir, wore matching outfits of gold and taupe.
They overflowed with happiness as they spoke to Fisher and me, telling us all that had happened in the past few days at Cahlish. The light Te Léna cast off only dimmed when I asked after Everlayne’s progress, and she had to confess that Kingfisher’s sister was still sleeping and couldn’t seem to wake. She brightened quickly, though. “I’ll take you to see her in the morning, if you like.
Hearing your voice might be the final push she needs to wake up.”
“I’d love that.” I’d spent only a few days with Layne at the Winter Palace before Fisher had swept me away into the night. With the exception of Iseabail and Te Léna, she knew everyone else in the dining room far better than she knew me. It was unlikely that I would be the one to break Everlayne’s fugue state, but I was willing to give it a shot.
Danya was last to greet me. The last time I’d seen her, her hair had flowed halfway down her back, but it was short now, cropped to her jaw on the left, shorn to the scalp on the right. Dressed in fighting leathers and a patinaed silver breastplate stamped with the head of a howling wolf, she was stiff as a board
when she came to stand in front of me.
“Alchemist,” she said curtly.
“Danya,” I answered.
“Where’s the redhead?”
“Who?”
“The annoying male with witty comebacks.”
“You think Carrion is funny?”
Danya rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”
“He’ll be here soon,” I said quickly. “He went to the bath house. He was taking longer than expected, so we came on ahead.”
“Okay. I’ll go find him,” she said, shrugging.
“No! No, uh . . . don’t do that.” He hadn’t said as much, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Carrion had gone in search of more than a bath. The water sprites he had befriended recently apparently spent most of their time down in the baths, and I didn’t want Danya walking in on him in a compromising situation with any—or all—of them. Why, I didn’t know. Carrion and Danya together would be the kind of living hell that I had no desire to experience firsthand—but he was my friend, and friends watched each other’s backs. “He’ll be here any moment, and I . . . I wanted to ask you about your new hairstyle.
What prompted the dramatic cut?”
She stared at me blankly. “A burning corpse set me on fire.”
Gods a-fucking-live. Perfect. “Oh. Okay. I thought it was some new, edgy form of self-expression.”
“The length of a warrior’s hair is directly related to their skill in battle. Mine was longer than Ren’s and Lorreth’s put together. I would never have cut it to look . . . edgy.”
Whew. I was not getting anywhere here. “I heard that you were injured during the fight. Couldn’t Te Léna have restored your hair when she healed you?”
The female looked at me like she did not understand me one bit. “There are no shortcuts to glory, Alchemist. For my brother’s sake, I’m glad you didn’t die in Gillethrye. He already lost enough people to that accursed city. For my own part, I’m glad you didn’t die because an Alchemist is a rare thing.” She quickly cast her eyes to the floor, dipping her head in a perfunctory display of deference.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
She took up a place at the table opposite Lorreth. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by his presence, either. Since I’d splintered her sword into hundreds of shards, reforged it, and inadvertently gifted it to Lorreth, she’d been far from civil toward the other member of the Lupo Proelia. Not that I’d seen her have a kind word for anybody, ever, mind you.
Across the dining room, I felt the weight of Fisher’s eyes on me. He stood
with Ren, head bowed as he listened to his friend, but his focus was all for me.
He had come to Ammontraíeth kitted out for war, but here, in his home, with his family close, he wore only a loose black shirt and black pants. The fire behind the two males painted their faces with an orange glow and lightened the waves of his thick hair to a warm, dark brown.
Gods, but he was perfect.
His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire, his jaw marked with dark stubble, full lips parted. He nodded, sparing Ren the shortest of sidelong glances, then looked back at me. His burning gaze landed with the force of a blow that would have taken me to my knees if we weren’t among friends.
I can hear you from here, y’know. Fisher’s deep growl brushed against my mind like velvet.
What? I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even think anything.
The left side of his mouth kicked up a touch. You didn’t need to. Your eyes are
saying plenty.
Fuck.
You okay, Little Osha? You’ve gone red.
I’m fine. I’m over here, minding my own business. Are you fine? You’re supposed to be listening to your friend, not accusing me of things.
Oh, I’m listening to him. He lowered his eyes to his feet. A weightlessness pulled at my stomach when he looked back up at me from under ink-black lashes. It’s hard to concentrate on camp logistics when I can smell you across the room, though, Osha.
I was going to die of embarrassment. You cannot.
Across the room, I caught the flash of wickedly sharp canine as a suggestive smile parted Fisher’s lips. Be under no illusion, Little Osha. You are all I can smell.
He was exaggerating. But could he exaggerate? Did the Fae consider emphasizing the truth to be the same as lying? I made a mental note to look that up. For now, I found myself growing more convinced that he was telling the
truth. Because I could smell him, too.
Bruised herbs.
Citrus.
Smoke.
Leather.
Pine, and cold mountain air.
And underneath it all, the maddening scent of him—the scent that made him unique and made me want to climb the fucking walls. A trace of pheromones that sent electricity zipping up the length of my spine and— “Dinner is about to be served, mistress.”
Oh.
Archer was standing right in front of me. The top of the fire sprite’s head barely reached my stomach. He had no hair to speak of. His skin was made of blackened coal, and thin fissures snaked across his forehead and his cheeks, threads of what looked like embers burning within the depths of them. I’d never seen him wear clothes before, but tonight he had donned a thick hunter-green vest with gold buttons down the front that covered most of his rotund little belly.
“Wow. You’re looking very handsome tonight, Archer!” I stepped back, making a show of taking him in.
Archer beamed with pride. “Thank you, mistress. We normally have no need for clothes, but sometimes we dress nicely for special occasions.” He tugged at the bottom of the vest—or jerkin—proudly puffing out his chest. “We all consider your return to Cahlish a very special occasion indeed!”
“Well, thank you, Archer. That’s very sweet.”
The fire sprite held out his hands, gesturing for me to follow him as he crossed the dining room. When I’d first dined in this hall, Archer had damn near had a heart attack when he’d discovered me sitting in the seat on Fisher’s left—but that was precisely where he led me now, as he guided me to the table.
“Come, come. You must sit. It is custom, mistress. The lady of the house should be seated before the food is brought in.”
“Oh. Oh, I don’t think—you don’t need to call me mistress, Archer. I’m not
the lady of the house.”
“Yes, you are.”
The words sent a bolt of panic through me. Fisher was behind me, and he’d heard every word.
“No other will ever claim this seat.” He said it matter-of-factly, drawing out the chair in question, gesturing for me to sit down. “From now on, you are Lady of Cahlish.”
Archer made a little squeak of excitement, covering his mouth with his hand, the flames flickering within his otherwise black eyes flaring brightly.
Well, shit. I sat down. What choice did I have? If I didn’t, my legs were going to give out and dump me in the chair regardless. Don’t you think I have enough new titles for the time being?
Whatever do you mean? Fisher took his seat at the head of the table next to me, his expression carefully controlled as he took in those gathered around him
in their respective seats.
Mate. Queen of Sanasroth. King Killer— A tightness formed between Fisher’s brows. They’re calling you that?
They are. And now you want to add Lady of Cahlish to the mix? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be his partner in all things. I did. But the past few weeks had been surreal. I had been bound to him, forced to obey if he issued a command, fed and clothed only by the good graces of others. And now I was a queen with unknown resources at my fingertips. Even though tensions ran high back in Ammontraíeth, I was still regent, and as such I needn’t want for anything. It boggled the mind to consider it: me, a street rat from the Third, with handmaids to help dress me and bathe me, and seamstresses falling over themselves to be the first to make me a dress. But all those things felt like they were pulling me away from myself. I didn’t need rich foods and rare wines. I didn’t want fine dresses and people fussing over me.
I was still a plague rat from the Third. Clean water and simple fare were all I needed. A second set of sturdy clothes and a comfortable place to sleep were still a luxury beyond measure, and Fisher understood that. I knew he did. He had
suffered far longer than I had and in far worse conditions. The Third had been bad at the best of times, but the maze had been infinitely worse. Yet . . . he was no stranger to aristocracy. Born into a noble house, he’d come from this, which made it easy to return to. I was still figuring things out.
Kingfisher placed a hand on my leg under the table. He didn’t say anything else on the matter and didn’t need to. A soothing calm washed over me, easing the tension in my bones. He didn’t want me to worry or feel uncomfortable, especially in front of everyone else. There would be time to discuss the matter of my title later.
Food started streaming in on platters. Roasted pork and dressed fowl. A variety of cheeses and colorful fruits. Vegetables and hearty pies with steam rising from their crusts. Sweet and savory smells hung thick in the air, complementing each other and causing several stomachs around the table to growl. The army of fire sprites who carried in our dinner weren’t surprised when Kingfisher conjured a low, long stone table that ran parallel to our own, complete with small stone stools, and told the sprites to join us and eat; this was obviously something that had happened before. Archer sat at the head of the sprites’ table, kicking his short legs, looking pleased as punch as he and his friends fell upon their food.
Sprites were messy eaters. A good deal of food dropped to the floor before ever making it to their mouths, which made their table far more popular with Onyx than ours. The fox slipped between the stools and table legs, scarfing down morsels of chicken and pastry like he worried he’d never be fed again.
An easy peace existed as we ate, one that I had never known before. Lorreth and Ren traded playful insults back and forth. Danya made stilted but polite conversation with Maynir. Te Léna and Iseabail chatted with Fisher and me, and though there were plenty of serious things to be discussed, the conversation
was kept as light as possible.
An evening of kinship and calm.
There was still so much to be uncertain about, but tonight we were all
taking a collective breath, and it felt good.
Just as the main course was winding down, the dining room doors swung open and Carrion entered, wearing a loose white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and a pair of black pants. His hair was swept back from his face, clumped together in wet strands, still damp from the baths, the usual gold and copper highlights temporarily cast in bronze. His skin had a healthy glow to it, either from the heat of the baths or from some other deviant activity that I didn’t want to think about. He grinned rakishly at the entire table as he crossed the room and took up the empty seat next to me that Iseabail had saved for him.
“Evening all. Apologies for the late entrance. I had to work up an appetite before I came to eat.” Before anyone had a chance to answer, he leaned close to me and whispered, “I heard from Lorreth that you got yourself a new sex tattoo at your coronation. Can I see it?”
Merciful saints and sinners. He’d been in the room three seconds, and I already wanted to kill him. It was bad enough that I’d had to drink from Fisher in front of the entire Blood Court. I liked the new tattoo I’d earned in the process, but acquiring it that way, in front of everyone, had been mortifying. “I will pay you twenty chits to fuck off right now,” I growled back at him.
Carrion laughed off the offer, and his scent hit the back of my nose—not necessarily offensive, but very, very obvious. It was pungent as wine and rich as perfume. I knew the others smelled it, too, from the way they all started politely breathing though their mouths.
This is what they’d all been smelling on me whenever Fisher and I were together? Gods alive, that was mortifying.
“Smells like you worked hard for that appetite,” Danya drawled, spearing a piece of fish onto her fork. Now that I looked at her, she wasn’t breathing through her mouth. Strangely enough, she seemed to be the only one who was inhaling deeply through her nose. Gross. She leaned across the table, angling her torso in Carrion’s direction. “From the smell of you, you must be ravenous.”
Oh no. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. Was she flirting with him?
Knowing that he’d just come from having sex with at least one other person?
That was just . . . right up Carrion’s street. Urgh. Kingfisher groaned quietly next to me, as disturbed by what was happening as I was.
“If they procreate, I’m banishing them from Cahlish. A combination of the two of them would probably tear open some sort of hell gate and suck the entire estate through it.”
“I heard that,” Carrion said, cheerfully shoving a piece of roasted carrot into his mouth.
“You were supposed to. Don’t get any ideas,” Fisher grumbled. “You’re not allowed to fuck a member of the Lupo Proelia.”
Danya lounged back into her seat, eyeing Carrion with a predatory glint in her eye that made me a little afraid for him. “And what about me? Can a member of the Lupo Proelia fuck a newly anointed member of the Fae?”
Fisher was a member of the Lupo Proelia, and he was fucking a newly anointed member of the Fae. Or at least I hoped he would soon. Since he couldn’t say no to Danya, he tactfully chose to say nothing at all.
Carrion waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively. “Don’t worry, sunshine.
I’m sure she doesn’t want to marry me.”
Danya snorted, inspecting her nails. “Definitely not.”
“See.” The smuggler looked delighted. “There’s nothing wrong with blowing off a little steam here and there, as you well know.” He started loading up his plate with a thick slab of pie. “It’s not like I’ll be planning a wedding anytime
soon. I won’t be overshadowing yours.”
I choked on my wine. “What the hell?”
Archer halted his conversation with his friends and let out a gasp. In a split second he had jumped up on his stool and was standing on it, shaking with excitement. Flames broke out on his right shoulder, but he was so distracted that he didn’t even try to put it out. “Oh, yes. Yes! I’ve been waiting to start making the wedding arrangements. Is it time?”
Te Léna and Iseabail laughed at the sprite’s enthusiasm. But Ren and
Lorreth both looked uncomfortably down at their plates.
A wedding? No one had said anything about a wedding. Fisher had never specifically asked me if I would marry him. Did the Fae even do the whole dropping-down-on-one-knee-proposal thing?
Maybe agreeing to the mating bond was tantamount to agreeing to marry someone. I was so woefully uneducated when it came to Fae traditions. I was covered in a cold sweat when I turned to Fisher . . .
And found his face devoid of emotion. “There isn’t going to be a wedding,” he said.
Te Léna’s broad smile evaporated. She sagged back into her chair. “Don’t be silly. Of course there will.” She blinked as she tried to process what she was hearing. “You can’t tell me that you don’t want to get married?”
“We don’t need a ceremony to join us together, Te Léna.” He laughed, but the sound felt clipped. Off, somehow. “We’re God-Bound. I’d say that trumps getting married, don’t you?”
“Well, yes. The way you two are bound is remarkable.” Her warm brown eyes traveled up and down our inked arms even as she said it. “But . . . the ceremony is . . . it’s beautiful, and . . .” She looked like she was about to cry.
“I don’t need a ceremony,” Fisher said, softening his tone a little. His jade eyes speared me through when they landed on me. “Do you, Osha? A hall full of people you don’t know, poking and prodding at you. Everybody looking at us?
Everybody watching?”
Relief coursed through me. Gods, I would have married him, of course I would have, but it wasn’t something I needed in any way, either. And after the coronation ceremony in Ammontraíeth, the last thing I wanted right now was to be made a spectacle of all over again. “No. No, I don’t.” I answered quickly.
Definitively. And it was the answer Fisher was looking for, which was why the look of relief on his face made sense . . . but not the flicker of disappointment
that came after it.
Archer looked like he was about to cry.
Slowly, the little fire sprite sank back down onto his stool.